#( squints. SQUEALS. )

[playtheshadw]

Towering Seawall

[hinamie]

your ask me anything button is so funny because I actually want to know YOUR secrets but is Yuuji wearing SHACKLES in your atla illustrations? what that boy do? 😭 what has he been through? or are they more like bracers? Sorry if you've already addressed this. I'm chomping at the bit to know EVERYTHING your art is so captivating and the way you're both building this story is so exciting

SHACKLES GDHSGSH omg u know i think a while ago someone else speculated that they were like . a sealing device for sukuna so you're not the first to wonder abt them :'>>> but they r neither of those things ! fear not the only crime this boy has committed is stealing my goddamn heart and sukuna has Other factors keeping him in check in this au

They're bracelets!!! they were nobara's very first attempt at jewelry making via metalbending so they're clunky and heavy and unwieldy but yuuji loves them and insists on wearing them everywhere. boy will not take them off unless he Has to. Nobara wld rather die than admit it but she's incredibly flattered by how much wear they get despite being so amateurish, however she also gets Old Art Cringe seeing them all the time.,, she's offered multiple times to make yuuji new ones now that she's improved but he continues to turn her down bc his current ones have so much sentimental value <3

also im so !!!!!!!!! that you like my art (c..captivating ?? im bluSHING what a word holy shit)) and are enjoying watching the au come together :'D the reception fr this project has been more than either of us could have hoped for tbh ,, i was worried that ppl would get Annoyed at th lack of jjk canon art/content but the excitement n support have been incredible so !! thank u !

[420technoblazeit]

[thestuffedalligator]

The way necromancy works is this: Everything in your body — meat, bones, skin, blood — has something like a memory. They remember, in their own way, what it’s like to be alive. Skin remembers the sun. Bones remember what shape they’re supposed to be in. Muscle memory is more than just an idiom.

The way necromancy works is that the caster puts a little bit of their willpower into a corpse to order it to remember how it functioned in life and obey. This is easiest to do with bones, which are easy to trick, and becomes increasingly difficult the more of the original body remains.

To reanimate a full body to your command, you have to have a lot of willpower.

The necromancer checked the map. She checked the map again. She squinted up at the stars, lips moving silently. Then, taking the lantern off its hook, she peered over the side of the little sailboat.

There wasn't much to see. The sea was dark and still as glass, except where the lanternlight turned a patch of seawater a yellowish-green. A tiny fish flitted into the gleam, attracted to the light, and then vanished into the murk again.

The necromancer chewed the inside of her cheek. She sat down again, the boat bobbing gently with the movement, and checked the map one more time. Then she opened the little wooden case on the floor of the boat, which unfolded into a neat arrangement of drawers.

There were. Things. In the drawers. Some wriggled. Others twitched little beetly legs into the night air. A few of them made noises, which ran together into a squeaky, wheezy squeal of horror.

The necromancer twiddled her fingers over the display as she considered her options. Then she grabbed a few of the twitching, wriggling things, held them in her palm and squeezed her hand into a fist as tightly as she could with a squelching noise.

She opened her hand to inspect her work. She breathed the spell into it, and then, holding her hand over the edge of the boat, dropped the spell into the sea.

And that seemed to be it. She sat back in the boat and closed the little wooden case. After a moment she started looking over the map again.

There were a lot of handwritten notes on the map. Each one was connected to a mark and some coordinates; some of them said, "Storm 1457," or "Struck a rock 1483." Others said "Total failure," or “Completely dissolved.”

The note the necromancer seemed most interested in was the one that read, “Battle of Salzstein, 1501.”

The necromancer checked the map. She checked the map again. She squinted up at the stars, lips moving silently, and then she was suddenly thrown down to the floor of the boat as though a giant, invisible hand had crushed her.

Her mouth opened in a noiseless scream.

Two minds were fighting for control of the corpse; on one side was the mind of the caster, and on the other was the memories of bones, of flesh, of skin, trying to drive the caster out.

The weight of that mind was incredible.

Sweat poured off the necromancer’s brow; darkness whorled across her vision. Then slowly, every movement a bone-breaking agony, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, lungs straining.

The trick was that this mind knew how to obey.

The necromancer stood, wobbled, steadied herself and poured her willpower into the sea. She tried to make hers the full willpower the thing had obeyed in life, the will of the wind, of the sea, of the rigging and the wheel.

Because of course it had been alive. In a sense, they were all alive. Sailors talked of them like they were alive, gave them names, called them “she.”

Sailors knew they were alive.

It was the cessation of that life that interested her.

The necromancer reached out with her power, seized the mind in her hands and pulled, blood and foam flecking out the corners of her mouth as she ground her teeth together with the titanic effort and ordered it to obey.

The sea roiled, hundreds of tons of water moving fast as something deep below boiled to the surface.

A bowsprit sprouted from the water. Then a wood-rotted figurehead of a mermaid. Then inch by inch, yard by yard, the huge barnacle-encrusted bulk of silt-stained timber rose out of the deep, seawater streaming out of every gunport.

For a moment the warship hung in the air like a monstrous fish held by the gills of a colossal fisherman. It dropped into the sea with a sound like a depth charge; the little rowboat lurched in its wake.

The necromancer released the spell. Then she threw up, and passed out.

———

Later, once she had woken, gathered together the tackle box, the lantern, and the map and had scrabbled aboard, the necromancer inspected the undead ship.

There was a hole in the hull where a magazine charge had exploded. This was, admittedly, fine. Undead men could walk with a hole in their bellies; an undead ship could sail with one as well.

Really, she thought, despite the discomfort the spell had worked masterfully.

It was a perfect start.

She unfolded the map on the soggy floor of the quarterdeck, sucked the end of a pen, and next to the last marker wrote “Total success.” Then her finger began to trace down the page to the next.

And the undead ship — unbidden and obedient — shifted its sails and began to move south.

[tojisteddy]

Forfeit

or: you and Country!Simon get in an argument and he fucks the anger away.

cw: 3.3k wrds, 18+ mdni, smut with little plot, jealous!simon, no use of y/n, married!reader (to Simon), angry sex, p in v, creampie, cunnilingus, pussy pronouns and slaps, back shots, cowgirl, nipple play, exhibitionism (if you squint), outdoor sex, daddy kink (papa/pa), breeding kink, country!simon, lucky!reader.

a/n: forfeit by Kiana Ledé was my inspo

It’s not that your friends were bad, quite the opposite really, they were great and easily welcomed your husband into the group even though he was on the quieter side. They’d come from the city to congratulate you on the marriage since just your two best of friends came to the wedding.

It was your friend, Vee, her boyfriend that didn’t know his fucking place.

He saw the way you looked at Simon, all heart eyed and yearning for his approval. And Simon’s pretty seafoam orbs would dance all over you, to your pretty face, to your lips to your chest and back to your dark mocha eyes and pretty skin, give you a smile under his skull bandana that no one would understand but you. And Simon would just know you were blushing because you’d look away with smiling harder than ever, squeezing his arm as you continued conversation with your friends—

God, Simon was in love with you. Could’ve done anything for you.

Would’ve beat the breaks off your friends boyfriend if he was alone for a second.

It couldn’t be more obvious that you were a happily married and taken woman. But that stupid bastard couldn’t keep his eyes up, continued to ask about you brushing off Simon, and to top it off you were acting like it wasn’t happening. Still entertaining conversation with him, laughing— giggling.

“Where did you two meet? I’m suprised a city girl like you would move so far just to live in the country.” The fool asked in the middle of conversation, cutting you off from talking about some story from college.

Strike two.

“O-Oh, we’ve known each other since we were younger—“

“—We fucked like dogs right in that old barn when we re-introduced ourselves though.” Simon doesn’t miss a beat. He’s not really one for white lies and he doesn’t care if the truth hurts.

He’ll be as crass as he wants to prove a point. Your friend’s boyfriend, the idiot, was staring too hard. Simon doesn’t mind when people looked, you were as pretty as rain. Curves nice as ever, that jaw dropping smile, pretty brown eyes and curls he loved to play with no matter how long or short. His drop dead gorgeous baby, married to him in the backwoods. Heavy on his.

Heat rushed through your whole body, embarrassment, while your friends squealed in excitement. Your friend Shauna teased, “[+], I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl.”

You washed it down with a sip of wine though, a playful smack to your husbands shoulder— a warning— “Nothins wrong with a little fun. Right Simon?” You emphasized his name. The first time you’d said it all night.

Five and a half times in that barn, but who’s counting?

The wild man gave a cheeky grin, “Course Darlin.”

More squeals from your friends, they thought Simon was right out of a movie. A dream man. He was.

Not when he was acting territorial.

When dinner finally rolled around Vee’s boyfriend, Samuel hate this whore, offered to help. It was the touching that was an issue. The sly touch to your back when he was moving around you, how he kept trying to brush fingers and you’d jerk your hand away— he’d knock the poor boys head off. Simon swooped in of course, told Samuel it’d be best if he sat, ‘let the man ‘f the house handle it’ while wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you a little closer as you held the baked duck in your hands.

strike fucking three.

Thankfully, everyone was tired after their long plane ride down and the wonderful dinner you prepared. You sent them off with a tight smiles and big waves, yelling how you couldn't wait till tomorrow to show them around.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🍀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Simply put, Simon never liked arguing inside the house.

Didn’t matter if it was cold or raining outside. He’d rather take it on that porch. Get out everything that needed to be said, even if he was giving you a spanking— he didn’t want that energy festering inside the house. Apologizing could be done there or in the house but don’t hold a grudge.

Ever since he’d been with you, the house was truly the definition of one of those wall decorations that said, ‘home sweet home.’ Peaceful, loving, quiet. The method Simon had you two so hung up on, worked.

Any anger or irritation got left at the door. You’re mad? Go for a walk or figure it out on the porch.

You’ve really only had a few arguments since your short time together, little things and could be resolved before they could even begin erupting. Nothing like this, that had you scrapping food off dishes to harshly and putting them in the dish water and washing the poor dishes so roughly.

Simon leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised, bandana that once covered his face sitting on the counter.

“You gonna break the dishes if you keep doin it like that.”

You mumbled, shaking your head, completely incoherent, “Fuck off.”

“What’d you say?”

“I said, fuck off!” you yelled, placing the dish in your hand ever so gently on the drying wrack.

You laugh, nothing but sarcastic, “Why did you have to talk to him like that, huh? He was being friendly! Everyone was havin a good time!”

“Did you not see the way he was talking ‘nd ogling his damn eyes at you the whole night? Son of a bitch acted like he wasn’t looking at a married woman!” Simon scuffed.

“He was not!”

“[+] you can’t be fuckin—“ The older man cuts himself off. Takes in a deep breath— get to that porch. He grits, “Come on, let’s talk.”

You know exactly what he means, you know he really isn’t asking. But you’re unmoving, simply continue the rest of the dishes in the sink.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said, no! How many times do I gotta fuckin repeat myself tonight?! I don’t wanna do your talkin on the porch shit! I wanna finish the damn dishes and go to sleep on my side of the bed! You listen to everybody but me! Your fuckin wife--“ Simon doesn’t let you finish, just manages to get you over his shoulder. The utensils you had in your hand clanging to the floor as you slap at his back, shouting and thrashing to get out his arms.

You land on your feet when Simon puts you down on that hard wood of the wrap around porch. You shove at his chest, “You think you can just move me as you fuckin please, Riley!? I’m a person! A human being!”

“A human bein, I’ll move again if I fuckin want to till you fuckin get it in your big ass head-“

“—I do not!—“

“—You’re big ass head,” he repeated, “that, that idiot was fuckin flirtin with you! Lookin at you like a meal on a silver platter, kept tryin to touch up on you with his own damn girlfriend sitting next to ‘em! And ya went ‘nd encouraged-“

“—Don’t fuckin lie Simon! I would never encourage anyone to- to flirt with me! And the whole night I was lookin at you! Could barely get a handle on myself because I’m hung up on the likes of you!” You poked at his chest. He knew you were right, you’d never do anything like that, not even if the thought graced your mind.

You were a gorgeous little thang, any man with working or non working eyes would fawn over you just from your kindness alone, your pretty voice too. But for someone to do it so blatantly. Do it while Simon was right there. Oh, he hated it.

“Just fuckin admit it, you’re fuckin jealous! I don’t why you wanna pick a fight with me when you should be mad at your damn self for acting like that.”

Oh the unruly thing— to speak the truth on jealousy.

Forfeit the fight and apologize.

Simon’s hands clenched and unclenched, chest heaving up and down— he chose the latter.

Let him show you how you were his and his alone, right on that porch. He’d think of an apology mid fuck, say sorry once or twice and say it again to you tomorrow. Proper, make you breakfast and talk all soft how you like. Make you squirm in your seat with kisses on your neck till you shrug and whisper, ‘I-I guess Mr. Riley.’

Fuck, you were so damn cute. Couldn't keep his hands off you.

Till then, he’d bend you over while he sat in one of the rocking chairs. Hike that pretty white skirt up to your hips while bringing your mushy mess of clothed pussy right to his face.

How’d he do all that so quickly? Well it’s quiet easy when your both a little mad, a little cynical in your own right— so pissed off that you both need to “cool off” your own emotions. Rub one out.

That southern man would yank you close by the hip with his large hand and plant a kiss on your needy two tone lips. Roughly intertwining your mouths, if you’d interject (or tried to get another word out), he’d slap your ass a few times. Enough to get a moan out of you, telling you to ‘shut the fuck up.’ You’ll stumble over to the chair together and he’ll spin you around, do what he has to do.

And God, did he loooove fucking you on that wrap around porch. Whether it be at the end of a long work day or right after the chickens crowed on his day off that had to be spent with you and no one else.

Mouth salivating, Simon ripped apart your white cotton panties in two, with a cut pink bow and embroidered with Mrs. Riley on them, causing you to yelp out, swatting at his shoulder while he spread your pussy lips apart. Staring at the glistening pink mess only he could see, only he could create.

“So gorgeous mama. Ruinin this underwear, who’s all this for?”

He whispers, not to you, not to himself, to God— ‘Thank you for the meal’ he’d give your cunt a sweet peck before letting his flat tongue swallow you whole. Slurping up every drop that came out of you.

“F-fuck you Mr. Riley, seriously fuck you!” You gasped, hand reaching behind you to spread yourself wider.

He groans against you, slapping at your sopping mess once, “Lil girl, I’m tryin,” he flicks his tongue around your hole before sliding two fingers into you. “Therrre you go Lucky, all that damn talkin, just needed somethin in your pretty little hole huh?”

You moan, “Talkin c-cause I’m right! hngh- You’re just- hah- just so hardheaded- aangh!”

Simon thrusts his fingers harsher, sucking at the fingers you were getting wet, then down to your pretty button of a clit. You kick your foot out right when his fingers curl into you juuuuust right, almost falling forward till he wraps an arm around you to keep you steady.

“Stay still baby girl, or you’ll fall.” he gruffs, lapping his tongue every to slowly through your folds.

“Mr. Riley- I can’t! Shit! Augh“ you hiccup, you gut twisting in knots.

“Shhhh Mrs. Riley? Yer bein so loud when me ‘nd her are talkin.” Simon buries his face in your cunt, fingers slamming into creating a loud sloshing of your wetness until he feels you flutter once, his takes a breath away, his voice horse as your syrupy cum trickles down his throat and onto the floor. “This is just what she needs baby, just hush and take it.”

He bites the beautiful fat of your ass before diving back in, slurping and letting his fingers work in and out of you till you’re shattering around his thick digits. Screaming as you wet his face. And Simon swallows it all down. Sticking his tongue in your sponginess of your walls as you clench repeatedly.

Simon pulls away, turning you around while your still in a daze, face wetter than ever with your slick. He pulls you on top of him, springing his aching cock free from the boxers that restrained them, that slaps right at his abs. You rested your head against his, letting the man rub his aching red tip against your hole.

With a slap to your ass, you ease yourself down on him, a pornographic moan of pain and pleasure leaving your plump lips.

“Take this off.” Simon huffs, fingers pulling at the straps of your bralette and grinding up into you.

“Mmph- But Simon i-it’s strange.” You hiccup. You always get so nervous when you two go at it on the porch. His shy baby, he’d remind you that no one, especially at 1 or 2 in the morning, is coming or will ever hear your loud moans. But maybe you’d sound like a banshee if this man got anywhere near your chest. Your nipples had become so sensitive as of late and you didn’t know why.

Simon on the other hand, adored it. Couldn’t get enough when they got all puffy and the way you whined when they hurt. Like music to his ears. But he soothes you, rubs your back and rests his chin on your chest.

“Ain’t strange f’me tuh have what’s mine, is it? Come on, show ‘em to me. You know I looooove how pretty they are.”

You bite your lip, this man could get you to do anything. If this was 10 months ago, you would’ve laughed in your own face if you said you were fucking outside, let alone mindlessly listening to a man. You took off the material holding your breasts, throwing it off to the side.

Simon cups them both in his large hands, groping and squeezing at them, “Pretty tits gonna be filled with milk for our kid soon, huh mama? Can’t wait to see you feedin ‘em. Gonna look so beautiful.”

You moaned his lap, attempting to cover your mouth with the back of your hand as he gave one of your nipples a little suck. Gently taking it between his teeth and nipping at it.

You looked beautiful, your pretty mounds bouncing right in his face while you moved up and down, taking every inch of his veiny cock he was willing to give you. All while he sucked your hardened nipples, looking you right in the eyes. A groan escapes you lips, grinding your hips even harder.

He grunts, meeting you half way and thrusting up into you when your legs began to shake, “Love when I suck on ‘em don’tcha Lucky? Need it to get off.”

You only whimper, eyes fluttering, as you fight your own pleasure. You manage to stifle up a, “Shut up Mr. Riley.” But it does no Justice to the way your rubbing your perfect tits in his face. Begging for more. Wanting him to suck just a little bit more.

“Lil girl, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want, can I?” He tuts, looking up at you with such lust filled eyes.

“Please Si, need you, please?” You keen, letting your nipples rub against his face to feel something, anything.

Simon would give you anything at the drop of a hat, even if you didn’t have any manners, and most definitely if you used that ultra rare nickname with him. He grips your hips, slamming you down on his dick, taking your gorgeous nipples in his mouth and sucking like his life depended on it making you moan. His tongue swirled around your areola, French kissing both of them equally while he rudely bullied his cock through your velvety walls.

Your fingers find his golden locks of hair, running through them while he rams into you, finding your g-spot causing you to squeal, more of your slick dropping past your thighs and onto Simon.

“Fuck me baby, Gonna cum, you want it?”

“Want it so bad Mr. Riley. Nng- Need it all in me.” You whine. Your head falls on his shoulder as he sob his name like a prayer, clutching onto him as your walls tighten around his length, spasming.

“That’s it pretty, that’s it, s-shit.” Simon fills you to the brim, working his cum deep inside you, bouncing you a few more times.

You don’t even know how you got to the floor.

You fluttered your eyes open and Simon had you on your knees, the meanest arch with your back and your face pressed up against the hardwoods floor. Your mixed cum was dripping down to the floor while he smacked his tip against your sloppy cunt. You shuddered at the feeling, mewling in want.

Simon heard your phone ring from his back pocket, he scuffed yanking it out from his pants, just to see that idiot calling you. And probably while his girlfriend was sleep, that fucking cheating bitch. A curse feel from Simons lips.

“Mr. Riley?” You keened, You looked back at him with those big brown eyes, batting those long lashes, a pout adorning your face. You shimmied your ass back on him and he groaned.

Were you too cock drunk to hear your own damn phone vibrate? A devilish grin on Simons face, he’ll get what he wants and fill you up just how you need to too.

He answered it, leaving it on speaker before tossing it in the chair Simon just fucked you in.

“[+]? Are you there?” The stupid prick asks in a whisper, and right then Simon rocks himself into you. Giving your ass a harsh slap before drilling his dick inside your cum soaked walls.

“Fuuuuck- feels so goooood Mr. Riley!” You practically screamed, eyes fluttering shut. That was answer enough, honestly. Your Mr. Riley was fucking you dumber than dumb, your mouth forming a ‘o’ with movement.

“Tell me darlin, who you in love with?”

“M-my huuushband.” you slurred out, drool leaving the corner of your lips, nipples grazing the floor with every harsh thrust.

“And who’s that?”

“Mmmph- you Mr. Riley.”

The ends of Simons lip curve up, such a good girl taking his cock. A white ring forming at the base of his length, “ ‘S that right pretty?”

“I-I love you soooo much papa! More than- hngh- mooore than anything, I swear!”

Papa? New.

He likes it.

Simon snickers at your response, stretching you out so fucking much, and giving you the sluttiest, cruelest thrusts of his life. The loud, smack, smack, smack of your hips colliding could be heard miles away, “Pa loves you too, don’t I, Lucky?”

“So much, fuck, love on me sooo much Pa!” You breath hitched,

And it’s just enough to let that bastard hear exactly what Simon Riley does to you. Simon glances at the phone and it’s already hung up, he's sure the idiots dick got wet from the precious and needy sounds you and your sobbing cunt were making.

Love making was a be-au-tiful thing between a married couple who loved each other, wasn’t it?

Simon bends down, tweaking your nipples in his hands as he rams into you faster, swiveling his hips into you.

His voice is low, gentle, and he whispers right in your ear which makes you tingle all over, “I’m sorry sweet girl, was jealous.”

“I- shit, shit, shit, I know. Mmph- ‘s okay. Love you so much, always want you sooo fuckin much papa.” Your words turn into sobs, tears filling your eyes as you jerk in his arms.

“That’s my girl.” Simon mumbles against your cheek, holding you closer, makes you take his thick cock while he bruises your poor cunt. His hand comes down to your clit, giving it small circles with his thumb, and you cum. Hard. And maybe you were as loud as a banshee, completely soaking the dick that was splitting you cunt in half.

And Simon didn’t stop, fucking you right through your orgasm that seemed to never end.

Simon growls at the feel of your gummy walls, managing to get tighter while he gives you frantic thrusts. Gobbling at your neck while he snaps his hips into yours, kissing your cervix with his leaking tip. Grunts and moans of ecstasy fill the star fill sky as you two cum. Ropes of cum leaking right into your womb, just as you needed.

A good filling.

Simon pats your stomach, “That’s right where our babies gonna go Lucky. Promise, tonight a baby's gonna be right in there.”

You giggle, eyes low and dazed, “G-gonna make you a real Daddy, Mr.Riley.”

“Yeah,” he swoons breathlessly. Kissing the apple of your cheek making you giggle again. “Can’t wait to see our pretty baby sweetheart.”

a/n: this was a request so lmk what you think bubbas (I know it wasn’t that icky but idk I still think it’s cute). Also @bunnybeaches proofread for me so thank you so much🥺 I luv you.

most recent masterlist more country!simon

[spurbleu]

neighbor!simon x reader. longer read. follow up.

your neighbor is a homebody. sort of.

he’s either never home or always home. you aren’t sure what he does, but whatever it is leaves his flat vacant for months at a time, not so much as a mouse breath breaching the thin popcorn walls that separate your rooms.

and when he is in the complex, you’d never know it. a shut in, the only give away is the muffled news channel that burrows through your moldings, or smithed footfall at ungodly hours.

the first time you caught him moving in while off to work. big bloke- and when you waved to him he stared, before lumbering into his complex. given, he was holding a large cardboard box, so you weren’t expecting him to return the greeting. but a hello would’ve been nice.

it was 4 months until you got a good look at him.

you were awake at a time you shouldn’t have been for a reason you had long forgotten. you do remember thinking you might as well do your laundry.

when you went down to the mat, there he was.

tracker fed shoulders taking up half the space, and on an inhale they took two thirds. clothes looked as though they had been dyed in pen ink and left to dry in hail. mud boots, thick legs, and the silhouette of a cauliflower ear against the fabric of his balaclava.

he glared at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. an anomaly, disturbed his routine. steel face, stone eyes, swear you’d seen the same look in your history books on the shields of greek soldiers.

it all scared you shitless, so you turned on your heel and didn’t go back until the morning. you make it a point to hustle past his door after that.

but you tend to take more than you can handle. swaddling your groceries as you wobble up the stairs, just barely there before your foot catches on the last step. produce among some of the other fragile items scattered across the tiles, and you curse under your breath.

you wouldn’t characterize yourself as a klutz, but it scrambling to collect your groceries feet from your door isn’t helping your case. the paper bags struggle against your grip, and it feels like you’re just biding your time until they all rip apart.

“you need help.”

its said more like an observation than it is a question. you turn slowly, and a goliath stands 6 feet and something over you. he sports a medical mask and a ballcap, which reveals new features- sun bleached skin that peels from the bridge of his nose to between his brows, which are thick and blonde. the left is cut in half by scar tissue and spite. if you squint you see freckles.

the night he scared you, you remembered his eyes as pitch. crow feather. under your bed.

you now see they’re the deepest shade of brown.

“i- no its fine i..” your arms do a dance with the bags, trying to keep them steady.

he grabs them both from you, and suddenly they still. its like handing squealing pigs to a farmer. built for holding them. it makes you feel weird that you like it.

“unlock the door.”

you do as you’re told and find your keys in your back pocket. fumble at the lock before opening the door and standing to the side to let him in. he nods.

sets your groceries down before gently tipping the brim of his cap. he doesn’t say anything before leaving.

and this started the strangest routine.

every week you’d get groceries, he’d be there.

the first time he was on the second flight of stairs. when you questioned how he knew you’d been shopping, he rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

“your huffin n puffin gave you away.”

he was there for four more trips. each time, you had gotten more words out of him. found out he had the driest sense of humor and a plethora of knock-knock jokes that you painfully laughed at.

he even kept up with the occasional flirt.

“yknow, you could start charging for your manual labor.”

“you rich?” he returned.

you laughed. “far from it. but this is a service, and you haven’t started making demands so…”

he stopped and stared at your back before you turned around. “so what?”

“i have to assume you just like me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his cheek twitched under his eyes. although it was hidden by the mask, you had made him smile.

“don’t get your hopes up.”

all of it was enough for you to get comfortable. and then he wasn’t there.

the absence was strange enough to make your pace stutter when you reached the second floor, but you recovered and trekked to your room.

not without glancing at his door, though.

he must be back at work. surely he isn’t…well. he couldn’t have moved out without telling you. you aren’t close but maybe you are?

you thought so hard about it for so long that you placed your ear to the wall separating your flats.

after a few moments, you heard nothing. not even a mouse breath.

you felt foolish for being so relieved. and you kept feeling foolish for hoping he’d be there with every errand, and disappointed when he wasn’t.

it was 4 more groceries trips before you saw him again.

waiting at the entrance of the complex, crossed arms and black attire stood out like a sore thumb in the winter blight that bit at your nose with snow and temperatures below freezing. you picked up the pace.

when you got to the cement steps, you sorely regretted your decision to jog. not because it winded you, or it amplified the struggle you had with your bags, but because of the smug smile you could see crinkling the bastards cheeks under his mask.

“you missed me.”

you handed him a bag. “i missed your arms. carry that.”

you could hear the grin from behind you.

“whatever you say, sweet’eart.”

[nezuscribe]

you try not to get jealous. it does you no good. but sometimes you get a little miffed when it comes to how women treat your husband, arranged!gojo.

you see how the women giggle at him, how they bite their lips whenever he walks by. you see them giggle to each other, the way they try to catch his attention.

and though most ladies of the high society act this way, some of the servants around the estate, the women of the town, and others behave like this too.

they act as if he’s not married, as if that ring on his hand is purely for decoration. and sure, maybe a couple months ago it was for show but now things have changed and you don’t appreciate those ladies all that much.

and gojo notices.

he knows you’re getting better at talking to him about what ails you, but he also knows that it’s a a lot to get used to at once. he sees the way you tense up at their whispers, the glares you throw their way when you hear his name in their conversation. he understands because he’s the same as you, his feelings mirroring yours.

so he decides to comfort your worries a bit indirectly.

“what…” you whip your head around as gojo stops at a random spot in one of the hallways, taking you away from your tea time with shoko as he fails to give any explanation for his hurried responses, “what are you doing? you have that meeting with your counsel and-”

“missed you,” is all he’s able to say as he slams his lips onto yours, earning a surprised yelp in response.

your back hits against the stone wall, one of his hands against your head to protect it from bumping back as your gasp in surprise, letting him slide his tongue in your mouth as he sloppily kisses your lips.

“satoru, w-wait,” you try to stop yourself from whining out loud, your fingers cuing into his artic strands as his hands move down to hold your waist, “it’s daytime, p-people, people can come…” you can’t speak anymore because he doesn’t let you, lips slotting against each others as your eyes screw shut, heartbeat in your throat as he hands squeeze as your skin.

“i missed you,” he just repeats, nipping slightly at your bottom lip as you mewl, feeling his lips trail down your chin to your throat as you tilt you head upwards to give him a better angle.

you almost want to laugh because it’s only been hours since you’ve seen each other, but for gojo it feels like days since he’s seen you.

you peek slightly too look at him, see the way his lips attack your skin, sucking and biting, surely leaving marks as he makes his way down. you love the way his hair is slightly wavy, most likely from his bath after sparring.

you’re almost too intoxicated from his feverish kisses to notice the sounds of incoming footsteps, but the loud overbearing giggles is what pulls you back to reality.

you tense up, scrambling to push him away from you but he won’t budge. if anything, he seems to be motivated, moving back up to your lips to steal your words away.

“t-there’s people coming!” you try to warn him but he doesn’t seem to care, his blue eyes gleaming with a different look as your whine from one of his hands moving upwards to your chest, giving one of your breasts a light squeeze.

“so?” he murmurs, lips hovering against the corners of yours as his brow cocks upwards.

you go to say something else but he tilts your chin upwards to meet him, one hand balancing on the wall behind you, one on your hip, his hair messy from your fingers gripping at him.

you don’t feel like moving, too drunk off of him to even notice the ladies as they round the corner, not looking their way as you hear their squeals of shock, the way they try to hurriedly leave.

you glance slightly to the right as gojo moves back down to your neck to get a look at them, your fingers still tangled in his hair, one hand draped over his neck, squinting slightly as you remember their faces from last week, when you overheard them talking about your husband.

there’s a slight tilt in your lips as you hear their scrambled apologies, the way they try to leave as fast as they can. you try not to gloat too much in their looks of envy and jealousy.

and if you focused just enough, you could feel the smile on his lips.

“you missed me?” you ask a little breathless, a coy tilt to your voice.

“so much,” he mumbles as he glances up at you from his white lashes, his pupils blown wide, lips messy with spit, red and swollen as he presses a slopping kiss to the slight skin showing of your chest.

“you’re so immature,” you chide, trying to look away, the hide the bashfulness in your face but his hand cups your jaw, pulling your face back down to see his.

“they had to see for themselves,” he tells you, his voice wavering on something darker, “had to see who the only lady gojo is.”

and you smile, eyes a little hazy as your fingers slightly tug on his soft strands, reveling in the way his eyes roll back and his lips find their way back up to yours.

yeah jealousy wasn’t the best. but thank the gods your husband was just as petty as you.

[daxisyzz]

Hey there i hope you’re having a great day!

I was thinking about a version of Bucky in which he is absolutely head over heels smitten with his girl that he melts over her simply sweet talking him to get something she wants, he can’t even help it he thinks she is the cutest thing ever.

I feel like no one can do smitten Bucky Barnes justice other than you

Or maybe I’m being biased lol.

Thank you!

Hope you're having a great day too. And thank you for the compliment, it made my day 🫠

Here's your fluffy bucky story. Hope its how you wanted <3

Pretty please

Pairings: Bucky Barnes × Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is hopelessly in love with you. He gives you everything you ask for—until you stop asking. That’s when he decides to give you the one thing you never say aloud.

Word count: 1.3k+

Warnings and tags: Smitten Bucky, a duck?, reader feels slight guilt only for a second, lover boy barnes.

Bucky Barnes had faced down entire armies. He’d survived missions no man should’ve made it out of, stood toe-to-toe with monsters, and walked through fire more times than he could count. But none of that compared to this—to you. To your soft smiles, your gentle laughter, and your very specific brand of mischief. You didn’t need weapons or war to bring a super soldier to his knees.

You just needed one look.

That head tilt. That spark in your eyes. The way your lips would part in that little smile as you leaned in and said in the sweetest voice imaginable—

“Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He never stood a chance.

You didn’t abuse it. That was the most dangerous part. You only asked for little things. Cute things. Things that could never be considered a burden. And Bucky, well… he’d give you the moon if you asked. Hell, he was halfway to building a rocket when you offhandedly said once, “I wonder what sunrise looks like from space.”

It was a joke. A passing thought.

But Bucky remembered. Bucky always remembered.

The duck was his personal favorite.

It had started on a rainy afternoon, one of those slow, sleepy days where time seemed to stretch. You were in his hoodie, feet tucked into his lap on the couch, scrolling through videos on your phone while the sound of the storm tapped softly against the windows.

You gasped. “Oh my God.”

Bucky looked over, amused. “What?”

You turned the screen to him, pointing wildly. “LOOK at this duck. He’s wearing a sweater vest. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. James. Look at his feet.”

Bucky squinted. “Huh. He’s fancy.”

“Fancy?!” you cried, clutching the phone. “He’s a whole gentleman. I would DIE for him.”

He chuckled, fingers drumming lightly along your shin. “Would you die for him… or want one of your own?”

You bit your lip. “Bucky, I am not asking you for a duck.”

He leaned back. “But you want one.”

You hesitated. Then…You folded your hands under your chin, your eyes impossibly wide and filled with longing. “Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He groaned, one hand dragging down his face as a grin crept in. “Not fair. That’s cheating.”

You beamed. “You love it.”

“I do,” he muttered, fully doomed.

Two days later, you opened the back door to the sight of a small, waddling creature in a tiny hand-crocheted sweater vest approaching the porch.

You blinked. “Is that—”

Bucky stood behind the duck, arms folded and entirely too pleased with himself. “His name is Sir Quacksalot. He likes strawberries. And cuddles.”

You gasped. “YOU GOT ME A DUCK?!”

He shrugged. “You said pretty please.”

Your squeal nearly shattered glass. You scooped the duck into your arms and spun around like you’d just won the lottery. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”

Bucky leaned against the railing, watching you coo over your new feathery friend. His chest felt warm—like some part of him had been waiting his whole life to see you this happy.

There was nothing he wouldn’t give you. No wish too silly. No ask too big.

At least, that’s what he thought—until you stopped asking.

It started subtly.

You still smiled at him, still kissed his cheek while he made coffee in the morning, still called him your “Bucky bear” when you wanted to make him blush (which always worked). But you weren’t asking anymore. Not for little things. Not even for something as simple as “can we make pancakes for dinner?” or “let’s take the long way home.”

At first, Bucky didn’t notice. Life got busy. He assumed it was just a lull, something fleeting. But after a week, then two, his chest began to tighten with something like worry.

You still looked happy. But it was quieter. Softer. More... reserved.

He started paying more attention. How your “thank yous” came with a hesitance. How you’d say, “You didn’t have to do all this,” a little too often. How your smile would falter sometimes when he gave you something, even as you hugged him and said you loved it.

And then one night, while you were asleep curled up in his arms, Bucky got up to grab a blanket—and his eyes landed on your notebook.

He wasn’t looking to snoop. He’d seen you scribble in it before—little doodles, grocery lists, the occasional poem or recipe. But this time, a page had slipped out slightly, catching his eye.

He picked it up.

And his heart stopped.

A sketch. A rough pencil drawing of a cabin. Trees. A porch swing. Notes scribbled in the margins.

String lights here?

Big fireplace with that armchair I love.

Waking up to snow. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Just us.

Then, the words that made his breath catch:

“Somewhere far enough to breathe. Somewhere I can wake up with him and feel like the world is still.”

You hadn’t shown this to him.

You hadn’t asked.

And he knew—instantly, gut-deep—that you’d wanted this more than anything. But you’d stopped asking because you didn’t want to seem like you were asking for too much. As if he hadn’t already given you his heart, his home, his soul.

Bucky closed the notebook gently.

And called in a few favors.

You were already suspicious when he drove you out of the city and wouldn’t tell you why. The trees grew thicker, the air cooler, and your eyes narrowed with every passing mile.

“Bucky,” you said slowly. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “If this is a murder cabin, I swear—”

He snorted. “Trust me. You’re gonna like it.”

When he pulled off onto a narrow gravel path, your heart began to thud. And then you saw it.

The porch swing. The twinkling lights. The tall trees surrounding the cabin in quiet serenity, the kind of calm you only ever dreamed of.

Your hand flew to your mouth. “No way,” you whispered.

Bucky stepped out of the car and rounded to your door, pulling it open gently. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You stepped out, staring at the cabin like it might vanish if you blinked. “How did you—?”

“I found your notebook.” You froze.

“I wasn’t snooping. Just saw the page,” he said softly. “And I thought… if you won’t ask for it, I’m just gonna make it happen anyway.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t ask because it felt… like too much. You already do so much for me.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like he was touching something precious. “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you. You want it? It’s already yours.”

Tears stung your eyes.

He pulled you into his chest and held you there for a long time, his chin resting against your head, his heart thundering against your ear.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I love you more than I’ve ever known how to say.”

That night, you sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Bucky behind you, his arms around your waist as you sipped hot cocoa in one of your mismatched mugs.The stars were clear. The world was still.

Sir Quacksalot waddled across the porch in another ridiculous sweater (Bucky had packed a whole duffel bag of duck outfits, because of course he had).

And you leaned back into the arms of a man who would burn down the world just to see you smile.

He kissed your shoulder, then whispered against your skin, “You never have to ask, doll. If it matters to you… it already matters to me.”

And in that moment, with his love wrapped around you like a second skin, you finally believed it.

[kashverse]

inspired by @freakycore's post here!!

sukuna was convinced you were trying to seal him away.

the moment the package arrived, he narrowed his eyes at it, his arms crossed over his chest as you ripped the box open with excitement. when the pink and black plush was finally freed from its plastic prison, you squealed, hugging it to your chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was about to commit homicide. "what the fuck is that?" he demanded, stepping closer to snatch the plushie out of your hands.

"it's you!" you beamed, completely oblivious to the way he was scrutinizing the poor thing as if it was some cursed object about to explode. "you made a doll of me?" he growled, shaking the plush slightly. "what kind of half-assed sealing method is this? you trying to imprison me in this ugly thing?"

"first of all, rude," you huffed, grabbing it back. "second, no, it's just a cute plushie. i spent so much money on this, you have no idea."

"stupid," sukuna muttered under his breath, but he didn't let it go. instead, he grabbed the plush back and began an extensive examination.

he poked at its belly. he pulled at its little stubby arms. he flipped it upside down, shook it, and even sniffed it.

"did you just smell the plushie?" you asked, horrified. "shut the hell up," he snapped, grabbing the plush by the head and staring directly into its beady little eyes. nothing happened.

he scowled.

"stop looking at it like you're waiting for it to start talking," you sighed, reaching for it again. sukuna yanked it out of reach, clicking his tongue. "if it does talk, i’m tearing it apart."

"you’re going to make me cry."

with great reluctance, he finally let you keep your ridiculous purchase

but later, while you were at work…

sukuna stood in front of the mirror, holding the plush up to his face. "tsk. ugly," he muttered, rotating the plush so it was nose to nose with him.

he stared into its beady little eyes. it stared back.

he squinted. it squinted back—no, wait, that was just his reflection.

frowning, he propped it up on the bathroom sink and crossed his arms. "go on. say something," he ordered.

silence.

his eye twitched.

he grabbed the plush again, shaking it slightly. "i know you're in there, bastard!"

silence.

sukuna scowled harder, throwing it onto the bed before storming away. but twenty minutes later, he was back, sitting at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, glaring at the plush like it had personally insulted him.

this wasn’t over.

[alygator77]

──little things like this

a/n. just something small i felt like writing 🫶🏻 what i imagine grocery shopping with satoru would be like.

cw. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. and just... satoru being satoru. also, he's missing you (like, a lot).

You should’ve known better than to bring him.

It was supposed to be a quick trip—milk, eggs, veggies, rice, soy sauce. Easy. You had dinner planned and everything. His favorite—the one he always says you make better than anyone. The one he begged you to cook the first night he stayed over, back when you were still figuring each other out in that too-small apartment with the broken stove and mismatched bowls. He used to sit barefoot on the counter, freshly showered, stealing bites before you could plate anything.

But now?

Now you’re married to Satoru Gojo, and he’s pushing your daughter through a grocery store like it’s the highlight of his week—sunglasses shoved into his windblown white hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He’d just come off a string of missions, barely enough time to breathe between them, but when you mentioned needing to grab a few things, he immediately offered to come. Said he missed you. Said he wanted to do “normal stuff.”

Which might’ve sounded sweet, sure—until somewhere between produce and frozen foods, he completely veered off-script. And now, fifteen minutes in, your cart is a sugar bomb. Sour gummies. Five flavors of Pocky. A jumbo bag of marshmallows no one in your household has ever requested.

Though here he is, your husband, pushing your cart with one hand, lighting up in pure joy at every little treat you come across through the aisles.

“Satoru Gojo…” you deadpan as he reaches for a pack of cookies. “That is not on the list.”

Clicking his tongue, he holds them up like a sacred offering.

“Buuut… neither were you,” he hums, batting those ridiculously pretty blue eyes. “And yet—best thing I ever brought home.”

Narrowing your eyes, he smirks.

“’toru…” you sigh. “I really don’t think we need more sugar in this cart.”

Tilting his head, he pretends to ponder. “Need? …nah,” he tosses them in the basket anyway. “But, deserve? Absolutely.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the list on your phone. You have… what—three items checked off? You’re pretty sure Satoru has added at least seven more. And, he seems to be multiplying his haul by the minute.

As you make your way down the next aisle, your daughter’s delighted squeal draws your attention. Glancing over your shoulder, there is Satoru—holding up two bags of candy to her like a game show host.

“Mmkay princess… choose wisely,” he whispers, low and dramatic. “Red or blue. You get one.”

Babbling, her little hands reach forward, grasping for the blue one.

“Ahhh… strong choice,” he nods, handing it over. And then, with zero shame, he drops the red bag into the cart behind her back.

“Ahem…” you squint, and he straightens. “You said one?”

“What? She picked hers,” he says, all innocence, sliding his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose. “This one’s mine.”

You groan, laughing despite yourself, as he resumes pushing the cart—now like it’s a racecar, swerving down the aisle while your daughter giggles.

“Please don’t teach her to shop like you,” you call out.

“Too late~” he sing-songs, vanishing around the corner, muttering under his breath, “Drifting into dairy… snack thrusters engaged…”

You sigh—but there’s no real frustration in it. Just warmth. Familiarity. Love.

Because sometimes you forget—you’re not in that cramped apartment anymore, counting coins and comparing brands. Not since Satoru. You still catch yourself reaching for the cheapest option, still instinctively scan barcodes and double-check price tags. But he never even looks. He just fills the cart like it’s second nature. Like full shelves and soft snacks and mochi picked on a whim are things you deserve.

You’re still learning how to live like this—where love doesn’t feel like a debt, and money isn’t something to fear. And even though he could buy out the entire store without blinking, he still treats picking out snacks with you like it’s the most important thing he’ll do all week.

Shaking your head, you turn back to the list. Soy sauce. You still need soy sauce for his dinner.

But as you round the corner, you don’t find the aisle you’re looking for—you find him instead, crouched in front of the freezer, elbows resting on his knees, two tubs of ice cream in hand.

Why is he studying them like he’s trying to defuse a bomb? He looks… entirely perplexed.

“Satoru…” you step up beside him, brow raised. “You good?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He doesn’t look up. “Just, uh… evaluating options.”

Glancing down at the tubs—matcha and black sesame—you fold your arms.

“Umm… you evaluating them for fun, or is this, like, an actual crisis?”

“Mmm… crisis is a strong word,” he mutters, still avoiding your gaze. “It’s just… strategy. Y’know. Ice cream strategy.”

Crouching down beside him, you rest your hand on his knee.

“Uh-huh…?”

There’s a pause.

Then, he sighs through his nose. “Alright… fine. I… couldn’t remember which one you liked more,” he admits. “I thought it was matcha. But then I remembered that one week you wouldn’t touch it, so now I’m stuck here like a dumbass, spiraling in the frozen aisle…”

You try not to laugh. “You’re spiraling over ice cream?”

“I’m spiraling because it’s you,” he huffs. “I wanted to surprise you… thought maybe we could stay up late and eat it in bed like we used to?”

Your teasing slips away, replaced with something soft.

“Oh… Satoru.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in the way his voice lowers when he speaks again.

“I just… dunno. It feels like it’s been forever. Between missions, work, parenting—you’ve been running around nonstop. I just wanted tonight to feel kinda normal again. After dinner—after the princes goes to bed. Just… us? Even if it’s just ice cream.”

You watch him for a beat—your husband, who can bend reality, stand at the edge of the world, and still get hung up over picking the right tub of ice cream for you.

“I… like them both,” you mumble, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “So why not both?”

He exhales like it physically relieves him. “Oh, thank god.”

You both stand, and without hesitation, he tosses both tubs into the basket.

“But… don’t go picking at mine and then pretending you didn’t like that flavor, okay?”

Grinning, you step ahead of him.

“Oh, I will steal yours. That’s marriage, babe.”

With a quiet laugh, he falls into step behind you.

“Brat.”

By the time you reach checkout, your cart holds three kinds of mochi ice cream, a suspiciously large bag of seaweed snacks, and absolutely no bread. Your daughter’s holding her bag of candy like it’s a stuffed animal, fussing while you try to scan it, and you’re juggling a reusable bag, along with what’s left of your patience while she begins to cry.

Noticing your frustration, Satoru slips in, insisting on scanning everything himself—for you. But when the self-checkout machine beeps loudly, his brows furrow and he pouts.

“The fuck? I did scan the damn carrots…” he mutters, narrowing his eyes, fumbling with the touch screen. “Don’t gaslight me... stupid thing..."

You sigh, somehow his presence makes the monotony feel… warm. And though this ‘quick trip’ has become what feels like an all-day event, you can’t deny how much you have also missed this man.

Outside, the air is soft with the promise of evening. Your daughter’s nodding off in her car seat, still hugging the candy bag like a teddy bear. Satoru loads the bags into the trunk with a proud little huff, dusting off his hands like he’s accomplished something huge.

“See?” he says, flashing a grin as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Told you grocery shopping as a family would be fun.”

You glance at the receipt. Then at him.

“You spent more in the snack aisle than on actual food….”

“I live off sugar and love. You know this.”

You roll your eyes, laughing under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat. But as you buckle your seatbelt and glance down at the grocery list again, your heart sinks a little.

Did you…? Fuck.

You forgot the soy sauce.

Exhaling slowly, your gaze drifts over to Satoru in the passenger seat—slouched comfortably, eyes closed, perfectly content. The fading sun glows across his face, catching the edges of his smile.

“Y’know… I was gonna make your favorite tonight.”

His eyes open slowly. “Oh yeah?”

You nod. “But… we forgot the soy sauce.”

"...oh." He grimaces, genuinely. “Shit… I really thought I grabbed it,” he scratches the back of his head. “Want me to run back in real quick?”

You pause, then look at your daughter sleeping in the rearview mirror. Her gentle snore. The quiet hum of the car. The warmth in the air.

“No…” you murmur. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You look at him again, and it hits you—not the ice cream, not the dinner. Little things like… this. Him. Her. This whole imperfect evening.

“Yeah… let’s get takeout,” you say, shifting the car into reverse. “We'll cuddle in bed. Split some ice cream.”

He smiles again, slow and warm.

“Deal.”

[redtsundere-writes]

second part of this

Just thinking about how boyfriend!Simon doesn't like to go out, yet somehow ended up dating a party gal. When you go out, he usually watches the telly, orders delivery (for you too, in case you get home hungry) and waits for the phone to ring. Tonight was no different.

It was 3 a.m. when your best friend called him from the club, slurring their words from the buzz. He gets the assignment: making sure you get home safe. The couch creaked as he got up to get his jacket and the keys of his truck, but he forgot his mask.

Simon hates clubs, he doesn't get why you like them so much. Loud music, blinding strobe lights and, ridiculously expensive drinks. He finally spots your group in the sea of drunk people. You were laughing uncontrollably at some dumb joke your friend told you.

“It's time to go home, doll,” Simon tells you, putting his jacket over your shoulder.

You squint your eyes, scanning his characteristic strong boy, unruly blonde hair, and his big hands. You have never seen this handsome man before.

“Nooo, nooo… I have a boyfriend.” You push off his hand as he tries to help you get up from your seat.

“Luv, I'm your boyfriend,” Simon chuckles, reaching for your arm again, but you dodge him.

“Nooo, nooo… My boyfriend is a tough, big guy in a mask that will fucking kill ya if he sees ya flirting with me,” you slurred.

“Doll-”

“Listen, listen… Listeeen! I'm honored, but I LOVE my boyfriend very much, and I would never, you listening? I WOULD NEVER cheat on him.” You warned Simon. “I doubt someone could fuck me better than him anyway…”

Simon listened, wide-eyed, realizing you drank so much that you didn't have a filter anymore. But still, it was cute to see you act so loyal. A real ride or die. He should take you home, but… he decided to have some fun.

“Oh, really? What if I can offer you something much better?” He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his voice barely audible over the music.

“Much better than sex with my boyfriend? Ha! I doubt it!” You tried to push him away, but Simon pulled you closer by the waist.

“What about a McSpicy with a side of nuggets that is waiting for you at home?” Your boyfriend purred on your ear again.

“How did you know I like…?” You pulled away slightly to focus better on his face, especially his deep brown eyes. That's when everything clicked.

“Simon!” You squealed excited to see him again, throwing your arms around him.

“Took you long enough.” Simon chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

Inspired by a comment from: @cod-indulgences

Masterlist.

[dissolved-g1rl]

What if Bucky is super insecure because he has gotten a lot more grey in his beard so the reader shows him how much she loves it by riding his beard/face :pp

ੈ✩‧₊˚ told you so! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

He has a headache, this is seriously giving him a headache. He fresh from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, hair dripping water onto his skin, he slicks it back and sighs. The grays in his hair he can handle, except it’s two hairs that have gone gray. That’s whats so annoying, his fucking beard is graying before his hair is! He leans away from the mirror when he hears a knock on the door. “Come in baby, ‘s not locked.” He grumbles.

You poke your head inside, it’s steamy inside the bathroom, and smells like his soap. Piney, sorta woody, minty—all Bucky. Water drips down his the cleft of his chest down his abdomen, he’s gotten squishier, the abs are still there, less defined, but still there. “Sorry, I needed to brush.” You chirp sweetly, padding over to the sink. He pats your ass as he moves past you to your guys’ bedroom to get dressed. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the dresser and sighs again, rubbing the side of his jaw. He dresses himself, just in time for when you walk in minty fresh.

“Hi, sorry—I wasn’t trying to be pervy, walking in on you.” You say sheepish and it makes him smile. “I wasn’t naked, and you’re not pervy, I also don’t care if you see me naked.” He says grasping your hips when you clamber onto his lap. “Hi gorgeous.” He hums, “Hi handsome.” You croon back, rubbing under his jaw, he winces slightly which makes you confused. “Sorry, did I scratch you?” You ask softly, pulling your hand away quickly. “No, sorry, no, you didn’t nick me.” Bucky reassures quick to soothe you. “Something wrong?” You murmur, looping your arms around his shoulders. He sighs, he should just tell you. “I have grays.” He grumbles, it makes you laugh. “Bucky, so what? You’ve have ‘em for like…years.” You say incredulously. “I didn’t have as many though! I’ve gotta ton now.” He pouts, for most people it’d be jarring to see the winter soldier pouting, you kiss it away. “It’s sexy, very…silverfox!” You hum, running your knuckles against the salt and pepper hairs. “You’re just sayin’ that.” He grumbles once more, “Am not.” You deny, “Are too.” He says with an airy laugh. “Lie down.” You croon, “Why?” He murmurs suspiciously, going down easy when you push down on his chest.

You crawl over him, hovering over his stomach. “It’s sexy, hot, attractive, whatever adjective.” You mumble. “What’re you doing?” He asks, squinting at you, placing his calloused hands on your hips, pushing your shirt up. He’s not surprised to see pink panties with polka dots, but it’s still incredibly pleasant. “Nothin’ just showin’ you how much I like the salt and pepper.” You say cheeky, climbing higher till your cunt is level with his mouth. He smiles feeling hot, if he realized being a little whiny would result in getting to see your cute drooly pussy he would’ve started bitching way earlier. “Oh honey.” He croons, tugging your panties till they bunch up, tickling your folds softly through the fabric, he can feel the patch of wetness seeping through the gusset. “Bucky!” You whine, trying to push your hips forward for something more. “Need somethin’?” He asks teasingly, thumbing your clit as he presses his nose against you clothed folds. You’re stuck between wanting to push forward to keep his thumb circling your sensitive clit, or pulling away so he quits sniffing. “Bucky! Stop! That’s so gross!” You blubber and he rolls his eyes. He pulls away, pulling your panties to the side, kissing the inside of your thigh, gently scraping the skin with his teeth. “I can’t have any fun without you squealing.” He says, cupping the back of your thighs up to your ass, squeezing your cheeks in his large palms, making sure your panties are kept to the side. “Shut up!” You hiccup, leaning forward and bracing your hands on the headboard. He noses through your slit, his facial hair grazes against your skin, it makes you throb, rolling your hips down. “Mhm.” He hums, forcing you down, slurping up all your sticky pre, it makes you feel hot, how lewd. He kisses your outer lips, practically making out with your pussy. His hand trails from your behind to your front, pulling your hood back, giving him full access to your clit. He kisses it softly, bobbing his mouth lightly rolling it between his lips, drawing slow circles with his tongue. You fold forward, “Fuck!” You shiver your thighs shaking around his head. He dips his pointer finger between your lips, getting it sticky and wet, pushing it inside, massaging your gooey insides, adding a second finger when you’ve barely adjusted to the first. “Already?” He croons, feeling you start to get all jittery, rolling your hips onto his fingers, curling your toes when he slips his tongue out to flick your clit. “Shut up! ‘M sensitive” You sputter, “Keeping going—Oh!” You hiccup, going taut, he keeps you upright, rolling his tongue around your clit, keeping his fingers curled inside you as you cum all over his mouth. Pulling away only when you get all twitchy.

“Told you I liked it.” You murmur afterwards, sleepy, yet blissed out. “Yeah.” He scoffs, drunk off your syrupy cunt, wiping the aftermath of your orgasm off his mouth with the back of his hand. “So I shouldn’t buy beard dye?” he hums “I’d kill you.” You murmur. “Noted.”

credit to @diviniyae for dividers

a/n: not proofread lol

[xoxochb]

°˖➴ “but soft rafe isn’t canon!” I am inside of your walls

“don’t give her that, she’ll eat it.”

rafe shrugs nonetheless at your scolding and watches his baby girl’s movements attentively. within his arms, her wide eyes curiously admire the cream colored seashell.

and like you presumed, she lifts it to her mouth and begins so slobber over it. hurriedly, you rush to take it from her— only to be met with an almost dramatic cry from the infant.

you frown empathetically and kiss her small forehead. “I’m sorry, baby, but you can’t eat this.”

her bottom lip quivers as her cries die down to hiccups upon your tender words. you peck her nose a last time before letting the sea take the shell back.

you sigh and look back to rafe who begins lightly bouncing the baby to return her happy mood. your worry fades as her tears stifle.

“she’s fine, see?”

you throw an unamused expression towards rafe. in return, he smiles. you find it hard to compose your own growing grin.

“shut up.” you shake your head playfully.

rafe snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side opposite your daughter. once you’re in her view, she lets out a squeals, small feet kicking in joy.

mirroring uncontrollably, you laugh and let her take your index finger between her entire fist.

“she’ll eat your finger now,” rafe states the obvious.

you roll your eyes and extend your head upwards to him. “at least my finger is clean unlike the dirty seashell you wanted to give her.”

“in my defense, it looked clean.”

you squint your eyes gaily. “that doesn’t mean it is.”

there is no further argument as he is well aware you were correct, and would regardless, win it. rafe presses a kiss against your forehead, and then to the baby’s, who gnaws on your finger.

“I’ll find her a clean one.”

“thank you.”

“‘course.” he kisses the infant’s chubby cheek before your own. “anything for my girls.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

[aryaryxoxo]

Six Times You and Bakugou Couldn't Escape Each Other (and One Time You Really Couldn't) #katsuki bakugou x fem!reader ⤷ Every year, without fail, your families book at the same resort at the same time—for six years straight. And every year, like clockwork, you and Bakugou Katsuki somehow manage to ruin each other’s vacation. (5k)

Warning: grammar, idk ajsdnkada

Year one

“Sweetheart, slow down!” your father called out behind you as you bolted down the hallway, suitcase wheels clattering noisily behind you. You could hardly contain your excitement for the week ahead. Your parents had promised a stay at a luxurious five-star resort—complete with museums, slides, swimming pools, nature for sight seeing and more. To your ten-year-old mind, it sounded like paradise.

You fumbled eagerly with the hotel room keycard your mother handed you earlier, finally managing to swipe it through the door scanner. With a satisfying click, the door opened, and you stepped inside—eyes widening in awe.

The room was huge. The soft scent of linen and the faint hum of air conditioning greeted you as you took in the two queen-sized beds. One was obviously meant for you, and the other is for your parents, though everyone knew you'd end up sleeping with them anyway. Still, your parents had asked for an extra bed, hoping to make you feel a little more independent.

“Mama! There’s a huge balcony!” you squealed, climbing up on a nearby chair to peek out at the view.

“Be careful, my dear,” your mother warned gently as she came over and scooped you into her arms, holding you securely so you could see better. The sun bathed the surrounding trees in golden light, and below, the pool sparkled like a jewel.

“Dear look, we have a neighbor,” she murmured, pointing to the balcony beside yours.

Later, you busied yourself by placing Mr. Strawberry—your beloved stuffed bear—on the bed near the large window. You carefully unpacked his accessories from your bag: a pair of sunglasses, a pink dress (because Mr. Strawberry didn’t care about colors), and a plastic toy ice cream cone.

“What else did I bring?” you muttered, burying your head into the small backpack to make sure you hadn’t missed anything.

When you finally pulled your head out, you froze.

Standing in front of you, gripping Mr. Strawberry by the neck with a suspicious glare, was a blond boy around your age. His red eyes were narrowed into a deadly squint, locked onto you like laser. You blinked. He blinked back—menacingly.

“Can you give him back to me?” you asked, arms stretched out, trying to sound calm despite the twitch in your eye. “No,” the blond menace replied, with all the audacity in the world.

You took a deep breath. Maybe he didn’t hear you right. “Please give me back.” He looked you dead in the eyes, held the bear tighter, and said, “No. Again.”

Without thinking, you launched yourself forward, diving to rescue Mr. Strawberry from the clutches of the foul beast.

“What are you doing?!” you screeched, tugging at your bear’s paw.

“Why are you in our room?!” he snapped, yanking back.

“This is our room, you jerk!”

“You’re the jerk!”

Kid logic took over, and the war began.

"You murderer!" you cried, grabbing a fistful of his spiky hair and yanking it like your life depended on it.

"OW! You psycho!" he bellowed, still holding Mr. Strawberry hostage.

That was the moment your parents burst out of the bathroom, faces frozen in horror. There you were, their sweet little child, with a death grip on some blonde boy’s hair, while he clutched your teddy bear like it was a hostage negotiation gone wrong.

“KATSUKI! We haven’t even checked into the room and you're already causing trouble!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

All eyes turned to the new arrival—a wild-eyed blonde woman, her fiery stare nearly identical to the boy’s. She stormed over, grabbed the boy—Katsuki—by the collar, yanked the bear from his arms, and gently handed it back to you with a tight, apologetic smile.

“I’m very sorry,” she said with a deep, frantic bow, still hugging her son tightly as he kicked and protested in her grip. “I hope my son didn’t hurt your daughter.”

“Why are you apologizing?! That brat started it!” Bakugou barked, twisting in her arms.

“What brat!?” you snapped, hugging Mr. Strawberry tightly to your chest as you locked eyes with the demon child in a full-on death glare challenge.

“We’re also sorry. I hope our daughter didn’t hurt your son,” your parents added politely, bowing back.

You turned toward them with a look of sheer betrayal.

“What?! He started it! He wanted Mr. Strawberry to die! He was gripping him by the neck!” you defended with the sincerity of someone reporting a serious crime.

“Hah! That’s a stupid name for a teddy bear,” Bakugou muttered, sticking out his tongue and pulling a face.

His mother quickly slapped her hand over his mouth and hissed, “Shut it.”

Your father knelt down in front of you, his expression calm and soft. “Sweetheart, I know how protective you are of Mr. Strawberry, but you could have really hurt him. I don’t think Mr. Strawberry would’ve wanted that.”

That made you pause. You looked down at Mr. Strawberry, then up at the boy who had just been silenced by his mother. His mouth was finally free, and he looked like he had more dumb things to say.

“If he apologizes for hurting Mr. Strawberry,” you said solemnly, “then I’ll apologize too.”

“Hah! As if I will—!”

“Katsuki.” His mother’s tone was deadly.

“...Fine! Sorry!” he spat.

You gave a slow, dramatic nod. “Fine. Sorry too.”

And thus, a truce was declared.

“Again, my deepest apologies,” the woman said, rubbing her temple with a sigh. “The receptionist gave us the wrong keys”

She turned to your parents, offering a strained smile. “I’m Mitsuki Bakugou, by the way.” She reached out to shake their hands with her right hand while still trying to wrangle the wild animal with the other.

She finally set him down when a man’s voice called out from behind her.

“Honey, I finally got the keys!”

A man with slightly tousled brownish hair stepped into view, holding up a new keycard triumphantly. The demon child—aka Katsuki Bakugou—immediately ran over and latched onto the man’s leg like a clingy goblin.

Mitsuki grabbed the card from his hand as he introduced himself as the husband and father. You blinked. This gentle, quiet-looking man was the father of that tiny demon? You couldn’t quite figure out how that made sense. But then again, his mother was currently throwing daggers with her eyes at her own son. Maybe chaos just ran in the bloodline.

“Looks like we’re next to each other,” she said with a small smile, glancing between your families.

That statement made both you and Katsuki whip your heads around to glare at each other.

This vacation was doomed.

Year two

“I’m so excited!” you muttered to yourself, practically bouncing on your heels. Today was the day—you were finally going to ride the big slide. The one that twisted around the resort’s water park. It was so cool, you had to climb three flights of stairs before you even began.

You hurried up the stairs, clutching the wet rail, already picturing yourself screaming with joy on the way down. But just as you reached the second floor, an aggravatingly familiar voice echoed behind you.

“I’m faster than you, idiot!”

That kid. The one from last year. Bakugou Katsuki, aka the bane of your last year vacation’s existence, was charging up the stairs like his life depended on it. 

Was it stupid to race up three flights of slippery stairs, where one wrong step could lead to a full-on cartoon-style head trauma? Absolutely.

Did that stop you?

Not a chance. He ruined your vacation last year (both of you had spent the entire week glaring at each other across hallways, pool chairs, and buffet lines until the day you left).

You took off after him, determined not to let the blond gremlin beat you. The two of you reached the top at the same time, immediately breaking into a loud argument over who touched the top step first.

“I clearly beat you!”

“No way, I saw your foot slip, loser!”

The poor lifeguard attendant looked at you both with all the exhaustion of someone who did not get paid enough for this. After one long glance, she pointed toward the exit.

“You’re both too little for the slide.”

You stared in horror. Bakugou’s face contorted with the rage of a thousand suns.

“What?! That’s stupid! I can ride it! Height doesn’t even matter! I’m ready! I’ve got reflexes and everything!”

The worker sighed, looking you both over with an exhausted expression. “Kid,” she said, pointing directly at Bakugou, “you’re standing on your tiptoes right now.”

Bakugou shot her a death glare, but she didn't flinch.

“And,” she continued, barely hiding the exhaustion in her voice, “you need to be fifteen years old to slide down”

“I’m fifteen!” you insist, trying to convince the lifeguard. You widen your eyes, putting on your best puppy-dog look. Well it doesn’t work because both of you ended up sulking at the bottom of the slide five minutes later—soaked, grumpy, and somehow even more determined to ruin each other’s day.

“This is your fault!” Bakugou snapped, crossing his arms and practically vibrating with rage.

“Huh?! Be grateful we didn’t end up banned from the slide because of your ego! Demon child!” you shot back, pointing at him like he was the cause of global warming.

Bakugou, clearly offended. “What did you just call me?!” He lets out a loud tch and sparks begin crackling from his palms—tiny bursts of frustration lighting up like firecrackers.

And of course, not to be outdone, you activated your own quirk—just enough to make your point. 

“Kids,” the lifeguard said, suddenly appearing between you like a divine referee, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “Please don’t use your quirks. There are children running around. And frankly, you’re the loudest ones here.”

You both instantly looked away, muttering complaints under your breath. But the battle was far from over.

Year three

You tried not to be paranoid—really, you did. This was supposed to be a good week. You were at your favorite resort, the sun was shining, and everything should’ve been perfect.

Should’ve.

But how could you truly enjoy it when a certain gremlin with anger issues kept popping up every year to ruin your peace?

Not this time, you told yourself. This year, you were going to have a good time. No explosions. No arguments. No Katsuki Bakugou.

That’s why you begged your mother to sign up for the museum tour being held on the other side of the resort. A quiet, educational day. Some mother-daughter bonding. And besides, the odds are in your favor. Day three of your trip and you still haven’t seen him.

“My dear, are you okay?” your mother asked, noticing the way your head kept whipping side to side.

You were scanning the crowd like a wartime soldier, just to be sure there were no signs of blond chaos. You hated to admit it, but every time you spotted someone with spiky blond hair, your soul briefly left your body and rage came in.

Even back home in the United States, you found yourself flinching at the sight of blond, spiky hair in public. He lived in Japan, for crying out loud. 

And yet, every time you spotted someone who even remotely resembled him, your fight-or-flight kicked in like clockwork.

“And this,” the tour guide said cheerfully, pointing to a glass display, “is a fossil discovered along the shores of this very resort!”

You leaned in, relaxing just a bit—until the guide looked past the crowd and said:

“Oh! You must be Ms. Bakugou! Please, please, join the tour. You’re not late.”

No.

No, no, no.

Why.

You turned slowly, clinging to your last sliver of hope that maybe it was just his mom. Maybe she came alone this year. Maybe the universe had some mercy.

But no. Because right there, next to her, stood him. And of course, he was already looking directly at you like he knew this would happen.

You whipped your head back around.

Don’t look again. Don’t look again. Don’t—

You looked again.

And he smirked.

He only muttered two words.

“Mr. Strawberry”

That was it. Just two words.

Oh, you were going to go berserk on a 12-year-old.

Year four

If you asked Bakugou if he loved the beach, he’d tell you he hated it more than losing a fight—because at least that, he could control. He could train harder, fight smarter, blast his way to a win. But the beach? The beach had sand that was somehow always stuck in his shoes, sunburn on his neck, and screaming kids with no sense of personal space.

He’d take a sparring match over this hell they called the beach any day.

And yet, every summer, without fail, his parents dragged him back to the same resort.

He'd complain, scowl, and threaten to blow up the welcome banner—again. But deep down? There was something about this place that kept him from actually going nuclear.

Something he refused to admit even existed.

And right now, that something was in front of him, on the balcony beside his own. Glaring while holding that ridiculous plushie with the equally ridiculous name Mr. Strawberry. It’s so absurd, so laughable, that Bakugou could hardly hold back a snort every time he thought about it. He’d even catch himself smirking in class sometimes, thinking about how seriously you’d defend that stupid bear.

“I guess satan couldn’t reach me so he sent you,” You remarked with a mocking grin, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Bakugou stared at you blankly, his expression the epitome of unamused. “What did you just say?”

You turned to leave, done with his obnoxious presence. But before you could take a step away, Bakugou's eyes flicked over to the water gun resting on the railing beside him. His gaze narrowed, and a dangerous smirk played on his lips.

“Oh, you think you can walk away without paying for that?” he muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the handle of the water gun. With one swift motion, he aimed it directly at you.

The cold blast of water hits you square in the back, instantly drenching your pajama and sending a chill through your spine.

You whipped around, face flushed with irritation. “What the hell, Bakugou?!”

He was grinning now, pure smugness plastered across his face. “Satan said you needed a bath.”

You looked at him, seething with frustration, your hand already reaching for something you could use in return. And then it clicked. His stupid mistake.

You grabbed the water gun sitting by your side, fully aware that a little bit of payback was in order. You aimed it at him, squeezing the trigger with satisfaction as the cold stream of water hit his chest.

“Guess you needed one too,” you shot back, a smirk forming on your face now.

Bakugou's eyes flared with irritation, and for a moment, it seemed like he might retaliate with a blast of his quirk. But there was something about the way the water gun had soaked him that made him pause, a little part of him enjoying this.

Damn it. He cursed silently, but deep down, he knew that this—whatever this is—had become a weird part of his vacation routine.

And that’s when it hit him: The universe must really hate him. For the past four years, he’d been stuck in the same resort, rooming next to you year after year. Always just a balcony away. Always.

It was like the universe wanted him to deal with you. And Mr. Strawberry.

And for a moment, the stupid thought flickered in his mind: This summer wouldn’t feel right without it.

“Tch, whatever," Bakugou grumbled, wiping his face with his hand. "This is so stupid."

Year five

“Mom, you know I hate hiking, right?” you groaned as you trudged behind your parents up the hill.

“Dear, I thought you wanted to be a pro-hero?” your mother chirped back. “You need stamina training! And fresh air!”

“Lots of fresh air,” your dad added, already taking a dramatic picture of the tree line like it was the cover of a nature documentary. “This resort just keeps getting better. Look at this view! Million-dollar scenery!”

You did admit—it was beautiful. Rolling green hills, birds chirping, a breeze cool enough to keep your sweat from sticking. Still.

“Great, can we go back now?” you asked, eyes hopeful. Desperate.

Your mother shot you a look. “That’s a terrible mindset, young lady.”

And then—because the universe is an evil, evil thing—a familiar voice spoke up behind you.

“I see you’ve finally taken a liking to hiking, huh?”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Masaru Bakugou. Which could only mean…

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath. Why not ruin the day completely.

Sure enough, stomping beside his parents, wearing a scowl that could peel bark off a tree, was none other than him. Bakugou Katsuki. He grew around a few inches in height since last year but still the same temper, same explosive aura of annoyance. But this time… he locked eyes with you and groaned like it physically hurt.

“Oh, come on,” he hissed.

Well, at least you could agree on one thing: neither of you wanted to be here.

“How about we all hike up there?” Mitsuki grinned, already locking arms with your mother like they had been best friends since forever.

“Sure!” your mom beamed, and just like that, both sets of parents began their cheerful ascent, chatting like this hike wasn’t a death sentence.

You and Bakugou trailed behind at a very safe distance from each other—until, of course, that peace was destroyed.

“That’s a robin,” you said, pointing to a small bird on a branch.

“No, it’s not. That’s a sparrow, dumbass.”

You stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Excuse me? Sparrows don’t have red chests. It’s a robin.”

“Tch. As if you know anything about birds. You think everything small and fluffy is a robin.”

“Well at least I know what a robin looks like! I did a birdwatching project in 3rd grade!”

“Yeah? Must’ve failed it.”

You were both now full-on bickering, flailing your arms and pointing at birds, while the rest of the group climbed steadily ahead. Neither of you noticed that in the middle of your feathery fight, you'd veered off the main trail.

“I hope that robin poops on your head,” you snapped.

“I hope it’s a hawk and it carries you off,” he shot back.

By the time you both paused for air, the trail was gone… and so were your parents.

“We’re not that far off the trail… right?” you asked, trying—really trying—not to sound as nervous as you felt. The trees looked taller now. The shadows, longer. Even the birds were quiet.

Bakugou glanced up at the sky. “The sun’s about to set.”

You followed his gaze and swallowed. The golden light was fading fast, dipping low behind the mountains. Your stomach twisted.

There was something in his eyes—not panic exactly, but awareness. A shift in the air. Seriousness that Bakugou never had when he was arguing with you. That made your chest tighten.

“…So, we’re just a little lost,” you tried again.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked around, jaw tight. “We’ll find the trail. Just stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you snapped.

You were definitely freaking out.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, adjusting the backpack slung over one shoulder. “Come on. Just stick close.”

“…You’re not gonna leave me if we get chased by a bear, right?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he muttered, “Only if you slow me down.”

But you caught it—the faintest smirk. And weirdly, you felt just a little less lost.

It’s been what—minutes? Hours? Days? Years? You don’t know. What you do know is you both still haven’t found the trail.

“Eat,” Bakugou said, tossing a granola bar your way. “You need energy.”

You unwrapped the bar slowly, staring at it as if it might somehow give you the answers you were desperately searching for. “I’m sorry,” you said in a defeated voice, your words barely above a whisper as you took a small bite.

Bakugou didn’t look up, focused on his own bar. “For what?”

“If I didn’t argue with you, we probably wouldn’t be here... lost,” you mumbled, the guilt in your chest gnawing at you.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the ground in front of him. “Don’t be stupid. It takes two people to end up in a heated argument. Don’t take the blame.”

“Wow, so mature, Bakugou,” you replied, chuckling.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, I take it back. It’s your fault.”

You laughed, but before you could reply, Bakugou added, almost as an afterthought, “Next time, don’t follow idiots into the woods. Especially if the idiot’s me.”

And for some reason... that sounded a lot like, “I’m glad you were with me.”

Then you both hear it—the unmistakable sound of voices, distant at first, but growing louder with every passing second. Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize it’s bakugou’s and your parents calling your names.

You finally see them—your parents, rushing toward you through the trees. The sight of them, the sound of their voices. As soon as they reach you, they envelop you in a tight, desperate hug. You can feel their tears soaking into your shirt, but you don’t mind. You cling to them just as tightly, your own tears falling freely.

“Oh my god, we were so scared!” your mother sobs, not letting go, her arms shaking around you.

“Never do that again, sweetheart,” your father chokes out, voice thick with emotion.

But despite the comfort of your parents’ embrace, your eyes instinctively dart to the side. You catch a glimpse of the Bakugou, standing just off to the side. His parents are also hugging him tightly, but it’s Bakugou you’re watching. He’s looking at you, his face unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are focused solely on you.

Year Six

This was stupid.

Bakugou wasn’t a wimp. He wasn’t some crybaby extra scared of a dumb water slide. He was fifteen years old, damn it. A certified teenager. Practically a man.

He’d been waiting for this. Every summer, he’d glare at the height requirement sign, fists clenched, promising next year would be his year. And now it was. He finally hit the mark. He could go on the biggest, fastest, craziest ride in the whole resort.

So why did it suddenly look... bigger than he remembered?

Bakugou stared at the dark tunnel of the slide. You couldn’t see what was inside. Couldn’t see where the turns were, or how steep the drops got. All you could hear was the echo of rushing water—and the occasional shriek of someone halfway down.

It bugged him more than he wanted to admit.

Because he liked knowing what was coming. He liked control. Strategy. Knowing where to aim, how to move, what to blast. But this? This was just blind falling.

His feet didn’t move.

“You coming or what?”

Of course you were here.

Why didn’t he think of that?

Of course the universe would punish him further by making you the one to witness him scream like a toddler over a dumb slide.

“You scared of a little splash?” you asked with a grin, arms crossed as you stood by the stairs.

“Shut up,” he snapped automatically.

But you noticed it—the way he hesitated, his fists clenched a little tighter than usual. Yeah. He was scared.

Six years of knowing Bakugou—well, “knowing” was a strong word. You only saw him every summer, and most of those memories involved glaring matches, passive-aggressive sabotage, and possibly a near-death pool float incident. Still, you knew enough to read the signs.

“How about I go first?” you offered, stretching your arms like this was some kind of heroic sacrifice. “If I survive, then you’re definitely gonna survive too.”

“Tch. Why the hell would that mean anything?”

“Because I’m better than you,” you said, stepping beside him. “So if I make it out alive, there’s hope for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

You looked at the slide—tall, winding, dark. Then back at him. And for once, you didn’t tease. You didn’t joke. You just said quietly, “It’s not as scary as it looks. You just gotta trust the ride. Trust yourself.”

Then you pushed off, disappearing into the tunnel with a splash and a laugh that echoed after you.

Bakugou stood there, blinking.

He could hear your scream echoing through the slide tunnel—a mix of thrill and victory—and not two minutes later, he spotted your small figure from below. You were dripping wet, grinning up at him like you just conquered the world. Then you threw him the biggest thumbs-up he’d ever seen.

And something about that—your smile, your faith in him, the way you waited—did something weird to his chest. Tight, warm, unfamiliar.

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. Alright. He could do this.

He stepped up to the edge, heart pounding. This is stupid, he reminded himself one last time. Then, he closed his eyes and took a long breath. When he opened them again, he dove forward.

Instantly, he was swallowed by speed. Flashes of color streaked past, water rushing around him, tugging him down, spinning him through twists and turns. But instead of panic—he felt it.

Freedom.

He was flying, gliding, laughing without meaning to. And for once, he wasn't thinking about winning or training or looking tough.

He was just having fun.

By the time he shot out of the slide with a splash, blinking water from his eyes, he saw you waiting with crossed arms and a smug look.

“You survived,” you said.

He snorted, pushing his wet hair back. “Told you I wasn’t scared.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But the smile you gave him? That was real. And this time, he didn’t look away.

“Do you want to go down the slide again?” you asked, eyes still sparkling from the adrenaline.

Bakugou glanced at the sky, then toward the resort. “We need to go. Check-out’s at eleven.”

“Oh.” You muttered, trying to hide your disappointment. “Right…”

But then, as always, you bounced back with a grin. “Then see you next year. Whoever slides down the most times wins.”

Bakugou scoffed, pushing himself up the pool, grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Tch. Like hell I’m gonna let you win.”

He didn’t want to smile—but yeah, it tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway.

“Better start training, gremlin.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and as he walked towards the elevator, something about that moment lingered.

A promise.

Year Seven – After the Vacation

This is why Bakugou doesn’t do promises.

Because he kept it. Day after day, for that entire week, he waited for you at the bottom of the slide. Arms crossed. Scowl on. Towel slung over his shoulder like he didn’t care.

But he did.

You never came.

His mom said maybe you went to a different resort this year—after all, you were from the United States. “Things change, Katsuki,” she said.

But that didn’t stop the sting. Didn’t stop him from looking for that ridiculous plushie. Or listening for your laugh. Or pretending he didn’t check the pool every morning, just in case.

You didn’t come—and that pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

He could’ve used that time to train. To prepare for the U.A. entrance exam. Not that it mattered—he was going to pass anyway. But still. He wasted time on you.

Now he’s sitting at his new desk, jaw tight, glaring at the front of the classroom as the homeroom teacher, Mr Aizawa flips through the attendance sheet. He doesn't care who his classmates are. Couldn’t care less about some dumb electricity guy or the half-and-half weirdo.

And Deku is here. Great. Just fantastic. He still doesn’t understand how he got a quirk.

His foot tapped impatiently against the floor. And then Mr. Aizawa said—

“Next, we have a student from overseas. Transferred from the U.S. due to exceptional entrance scores.”

The door slid open with a soft click.

Bakugou didn’t look.

He was too busy pretending not to care, arms crossed, scowl perfectly in place. But then he heard it—that voice.

A little breathless. A little out of place. A polite, mumbled “Sorry” to Mr. Aizawa. And then—He had to make sure.

He looked up.

And there you were. Standing in the doorway in a U.A. uniform, bag slung over your shoulder. And then you looked at him.

Eyes squinting. Recognition slowly settling in. Connecting the dots like constellations in the sky.

“…Demon Child.”

The room went dead silent.

Someone coughed. Aizawa blinked. Midoriya looked like he was trying to figure out if this was a villain code name.

But Bakugou?

He’s pissed. Probably.

At you? Maybe. At the universe? Definitely. At the fact that now, for the first time in six years, you’re closer than you’ve ever been before.

But most of all, he’s pissed at himself—because despite everything, despite the hours he spent waiting by that slide like an idiot, despite how you didn’t show.

Seeing you again did something to his chest.

And now? Now you’re stuck in the same hero class.

Fate, apparently, has a damn good sense of humor.

...

A/N: this is inspired by the fact that me and my family went to the same resort every vaca hasjdhajkdha (unfortunately there's no cute guy (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) )

[pascallftv]

not a fair fight

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

summary: steve covers for robin at the hawkins fair. unfortunately for him, your booth is right across from his. he’s going to make you spit that gum out one way or another.

warnings: very brief discussion of weight (not towards reader), steve is an asshole, reader is a brat, brat taming, forced proximity kinda, enemies to lovers if you squint, f!oral, unprotected p in v, fingering, dom!steve lowkey, missionary, doggystyle, cock warming

word count: 5.6k

Steve hadn’t wanted to work the fair. He would have rathered to be at Tommy’s back to school party, but here he was, stationed under a rickety tent at the Hawkins fairgrounds, sweat beading on his forehead and gathering at the small of his back.

He wasn’t thinking when he made that deal with Robin.

Steve had struck a deal with Robin that if she watched the Family Video counter for him while he scattered off to help the kids for a couple days, that he’d do whatever she conjured up as payback for him.

In her case, it was Steve covering her shifts at the Guess Your Height and Weight booth for the entirety of the county fair. It was a bullshit deal really. It wasn’t like two shifts at Family Video even came close to an entire weekend at the fair, but Steve had no choice. A deal was a deal, and he wasn’t one to break his promise.

“How much you think I weigh, Harrington?”

Steve’s arms were crossed, his facial expression disinterested and borderline appalled. In front of him stood some girl he’d seen at a couple of Tommy’s parties, but her name was a mystery to him. Her blonde hair cascaded down her exposed back, her clothing leaving little to nothing to the imagination.

Steve mumbled out a random number monotone. He couldn’t care to actually guess, and quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit either way.

The girl gasped and crossed her arms. Her boyfriend stood behind her, his eyebrows furrowing. He stepped forward, wallowing his tongue around in his mouth for a second before spitting at Steve’s shoes.

“What the fuck, man?” Steve grunted, stepping back from the pissed off boyfriend billowing in front of him.

“Let’s go, baby.” He snapped, grabbing the girl’s hand and escorting her away from the booth.

“Hey! That’s two dollars!” Steve called after them. The boyfriend turned his head and flashed him a middle finger in response.

Steve sighed heavily and looked down at the wad of spit running across his shoe. His eyes flickered up and found you sat in a lawn chair, your leg propped up over the arm of the chair, swinging haphazardly. You looked up at him over the top of your book, smacking gum between your cherry lips, a taunting grin pulling at them.

“Smooth, Harrington.” You said, looking back down at your book and flipping a page.

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed the towel off of the table tucked back in the tent and began wiping at his shoe. His eyes flicked up to you inside your booth. You were surrounded by a multitude of makeup products that he had no idea what they were. In his eyes it was all fucking junk.

“How many tubes of lip balm have you sold, baby cakes?” Steve called out to you. Your head didn’t move, just your eyes as you looked back up to him.

“None of your business.” You said, your voice bored and unamused.

“No one’s going to buy that shit.” He continued, grunting as he lowered his foot from the table.

You stared back at him, deciding whether or not you wanted to get up and strangle him or set fire to his booth with a flame torch. You were under the impression that Robin would be across from you all weekend, but much to your disappointment, it was Man Whoreington instead. You’d always fucking despised him ever since you moved to Hawkins two years ago.

A group of middle school aged girls hurried into your booth, squealing in excitement at all the products for sale.

“I’ll take one of each.” One of the girls said, smacking a one hundred dollar bill down on the table in front of you. You gazed up at her, then over to Steve, whose eyes were as big as saucers.

“Sure thing, baby cakes.” You bit back a smile.

It was absolutely ridiculous. Steve watched in awe as girls crowded your booth, the cash flowing.

“What was that you were saying, Harrington?” You cocked a smile as you packaged up the girl’s products. Steve ran his tongue across the front of his teeth and shook his head.

You blew a bubble with your gum as you waved the girls along, then sat back in your lawn chair, propping your legs up on a box. Steve had always been a douche to you, and you weren’t sure why. You’d always been nothing but nice to him, and you were especially nice to Nancy and Jonathan, as well as those boys you always saw Steve babysitting.

Your eyes were locked on your book as a figure loomed over the table in front of you. A throat cleared, and you lifted your eyes. Steve leaned down on the table, a strand of his brown hair falling over his forehead. Your gaze traced up from the moles on his neck to his hazel eyes.

“Can I help you?” You mumbled, looking back down at your book.

Steve's eyes trailed from your smug face, to your chest, then down to your bare thighs where your denim shorts had ridden up.

You didn’t move, just smacked your gum— sharp, loud, and completely on purpose.

“Jesus christ.” He muttered, straightening his back. “Can you not chew like a fucking cow for five minutes?”

You blinked up at him, your gaze innocent. “Something bothering you, Harrington?”

“Yes. That sound. It’s like—“ He mimicked the gum smacking sound with his teeth and tongue, his mouth opening in an exaggerated, and quite obnoxious, chomp. “That. It’s giving me a fucking migraine.”

You tilted your head and ran your teeth along your bottom lip, stretching your arms up over your head, exposing a bit of your belly. “Free will.”

“What?” Steve spat.

You sat up slightly and leaned your arms on the table. “It’s called free will, Stevie. You can walk away whenever you want.”

Steve laughed under his breath, running a hand through his wavy hair. “Believe me, I want to. But just our luck I’m stuck across your glitter and bumble gum empire this entire weekend. Gotta make sure you don’t choke everyone out with your raging estrogen.”

You smiled devilishly and grabbed a lock of your hair, twirling it around your finger. “Aww, Stevie. You watching me, then?”

“Would be hard to miss ya, all the chewing and—“ he motioned to your body, “everything.”

You popped another bubble, this one even louder and wetter than the last. You let it snap, then slurped the gum back into your mouth with a wink.

“Fascinating.” You spoke monotone.

Steve’s hands dropped to his hips, clearly running out of patience. “Spit it out.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The gum. Spit it out. Before I do it for you.”

Your pulse quickened at his words. Not because you were intimidated, more just… heated. Not heated in a pissed off way, but in the kind that made your cheeks hot and in the way you wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging.

You rolled the gum to the side of your mouth. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He leaned forward again, both palms braced on the table of your booth, his face inches from yours now.

“Depends.” He said softer. “You always this bratty or do I just bring it out of you?”

Your smirk didn’t fade, but you didn’t answer him. Maybe he was right, but you’d never admit that to him. And perhaps you wanted to see how far you could push this.

Just your luck, you watched a group of guys walk up to the Height and Weight booth across the way. You dramatically sighed and shook your head.

“Maybe if you can guess their weights correctly I’ll tell you.” You gestured towards the guys and leaned back in your chair, this time kicking your feet up on the table.

Steve turned his head and noticed the group, and you swear you could see the steam beginning to roll out of his ears. He clocked them immediately. They were the jocks that took over after he graduated. The kind you used to flirt with in school.

One of them waved from across the way, and you waved back, extra slow and sweet. Making sure Steve was watching, you blew them a kiss. You heard him mutter something under his breath. Then you watched his jaw tense so tight you thought all his teeth would break.

“Aww, don’t pout. You’ll get wrinkles.” You teased, drumming your fingernails against the back of your book.

“You’re not cute.” He snapped, not even looking at you.

“You sure about that?”

His head whipped towards you. He leaned back over the table, this time so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Keep pushing, sweetheart. And you’ll find out exactly how uncute I think you are.”

You popped your gum again just to spite him. Then slow and daring, you plucked the gum from your lips, holding the sticky pink blob between your fingers.

“Here, since it bothers you so much.” You said, extending it towards him.

He managed to get even closer, and grabbed your wrist. “Next time I tell you to spit it out, I won’t be so polite.”

You blinked, your pulse rising up your throat. Then, he let you go, turned, and stalked back to his booth.

You sat there, hand still half-raised, gum dangling from your fingers. Suddenly you weren’t feeling so smug.

The fair shut down for the night around eleven, the loudspeaker croaking its final calls. The lights began to dim across the fairgrounds, and the soft hum of generators filled the background with white noise.

You were back at your camper, freshly showered, bare-legged and barefoot, your cami clinging to you in the summer heat. You’d tossed your book aside half an hour ago. You couldn’t focus, not with this heat. Not with the constant vision replaying of your mind of Steve leaned towards you, his voice, his grip.

Then the music started.

Steve’s camper was close, too close. The walls were paper thin, and when he cranked the volume on some Billy Idol song, it vibrated the walls. You clenched your jaw.

You gave it five more minutes.

Then you slammed the door behind you and stormed the ten feet to his. You didn’t knock. You banged. Hard.

The music didn’t stop, but the door swung open a moment later. Steve stood there in shorts, shirtless, and his hair damp like he just showered. A towel was hung around his neck, and a smug grin toyed at his mouth like he had been expecting you any moment.

“What?” He cooed, like he had no idea what could’ve possibly inspired you to knock at his camper at almost midnight.

“Turn it down.”

“No.”

“Seriously?” You crossed your arms in disbelief.

“Seriously.” He leaned a shoulder against the frame of the door, deliberately relaxed. “Unless you came over to apologize for being a brat all night.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You were the one being a brat. You grabbed my arm.”

“Because you don’t listen.”

You scoffed. “You don’t scare me, Harrington.”

“Didn’t say I was trying to.”

But the way he said it, quiet and low, made your heart hammer against your chest. He watched your face shift, and something unreadable passed over his expression.

“You still chewing that gum?” He asked.

You blinked and wallowed your gum to the side of your mouth. “Maybe.”

“I’m serious. I’ll take that shit out of your mouth myself this time.”

Your breath caught.

A tense beat of silence passed between you, you standing there gawking at him in the low glow of the camper light. You hated how good he looked like this, casual, smug, and shirtless.

“You done staring?” He taunted.

“In your dreams, Harrington.”

You turned on your heel and walked back to your camper, trying not to let your knees buckle. His music continued in the background.

That didn’t stop you from laying in your bunk for the next hour, wide awake. The music finally stopped an hour ago, but you were still unable to sleep. You chewed haphazardly on your gum, blowing bubbles every few minutes.

You were half asleep when the knock came. It wasn’t loud or aggressive, just three measured raps against the door. You sat up slowly. The clock read 12:59 a.m. You padded barefoot to the door and cracked it open.

Steve stood there, this time with a t-shirt pulled over his head. He looked tired and less smug than earlier.

You blinked up at him. “You lost or something?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

You raised a brow. “So you thought bothering me might help?”

“Yeah, actually.” He leaned an arm against the door frame. “Look.. you piss me off.”

“You piss me off too. Why does this concern me at one o’clock in the morning?”

Silence. It was strange, seeing him like this. Quiet, no booth, no crowd, no one to impress. Just Steve.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

You hesitated for a second, and against your better judgement, you stepped aside.

The camper was cramped. One bench, one tiny sink, and a bed pressed against the far wall.

Steve moved slowly, ducking his head as he stepped inside. He didn’t say anything for a moment and looked around, then sat on the bench like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You leaned against the sink, arms crossed. “So now what?”

Steve looked up at you, eyes shadowed and unreadable. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? The part where you threatened me, or the part where you said I’m not cute?”

His jaw ticked.

“The part where I said you don’t listen. And the part where I said I’d take the gum out of your mouth myself.”

Your breath hitched.

He stood slowly.

“You’ve been acting like you want me to lose it.”

You stayed where you were, your pulse rapidly increasing. “And what if I do?”

His mouth twitched.

Then he crossed the room in two big strides and backed you against the sink. One hand planted beside your hip, the other grazing the strap of your cami.

“Then I guess it’s not a fair fight, is it?” He murmured.

Then he kissed you. Hard.

Your teeth clacked, and you tasted like bubblegum and he tasted like cherry cola. His fingers curled under your jaw as your hands bunched at the bottom of his shirt. He pressed you back until the countertop dug into your lower back, and you made a noise in the back of your throat that made him groan into your mouth.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper, his breath hot against your lips:

“Told you I’d shut you up.”

And then he kissed you again, like he was mad at you. For every eye roll, every gum smack, every moment you’d made his life hell. And god, you kissed him right back, like you’d been waiting all fucking day for this.

Steve’s hands were everywhere at once. He squeezed your waist, your hips, the backs of your thighs. He lifted you onto the edge of the counter like you weighed nothing, his mouth never leaving yours. You parted your knees around his hips, the camper creaking beneath the sudden shift in weight.

“This what you wanted?” He muttered against your lips. “Me losing my shit?”

You grinned against his lips as you panted. “Took you long enough.”

Steve chuckled once, his voice low and gravelly. He grabbed your jaw and tilted your face so he could take you in with his eyes.

“I want to take that fucking gum out of your mouth.” He said.

You wallowed the gum from the side of your mouth and went to reach for it, but he caught your wrist in his hand.

“No, I’ll take it out.”

Then he was kissing you again, this time tougher. His tongue swiped the gum from your lips, taking it for himself, then pulled away just enough to spit the gum into the sink beside you.

You gawked at him, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen.

Steve grinned. “There. Better.”

You reached for him this time, yanking him by the front of his shirt to wrap your legs back around his waist. He groaned when he felt how hot you were against him. You rocked against him, slow and taunting.

“Still think I’m not cute?” You whispered, your teeth grazing his earlobe.

He let out a strangled laugh and slid his hands under your cami and over your bare skin. “No. I think you’re a fucking problem.”

“Well, you gonna solve it then?”

He didn’t answer, at least not with words.

Steve grabbed the hem of your cami and pulled it up over your head, and tossed it over his shoulder. His mouth went straight to your chest, his tongue flicking across your nipple. One hand reached behind your back to arch your closer.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him whimper.

“So fucking full of attitude.” He muttered against your skin.

You leaned back, watching through heavy eyelids as he dropped to his knees in front of you, his fingers trailing down your thighs, thumbs brushing against the waistband of your shorts.

“What are you going to do about it, Harrington?”

“Going to teach you a lesson.” He said.

He hooked his fingers in your shorts and dragged them down agonizingly slow. His smirk grew bigger as he watched your breath hitch.

“You gonna tell me how much you hate me?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. The look you gave him, your eyelids heavy, lips parted, and your body leaning into his every touch told him everything he needed to know.

Steve’s hands were rough on your thighs, his thumbs digging in as he pulled you close to the edge of the counter. He traced hot, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thighs, his teeth dragging just enough to make your grip claw into the edge of the counter.

“Still seem a little bratty.” He said, then landed his mouth on your mound from the outside of your panties.

You sucked in air as his fingers looped into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs, dropping them to the floor. Your brows furrowed in awe as you watched him take in the sight of your bare pussy.

“Fuck.” He breathed out, and reached a finger up to your folds, and ran a finger along the length of you, your arousal coating it.

You whined, titling your head over onto your shoulder as you watched his facial expression grow more concentrated. You sucked in a sharp breath and Steve’s mouth came down on you, his tongue licking an agonizing stripe up your heat, gathering your wetness. Suddenly his finger found your opening, prodding at it for a moment before pressing into you. You let out a gasp and jolted, your head tilting back at the intrusion.

He hummed against your folds, his tongue finding its way to your clit, flicking fast against it as his finger began to pump in a consistent rhythm in and out of you. You sighed deeply, a soft moan leaving your lips as his finger curled perfectly inside of you, teasing as your spongy g-spot. Steve added another finger, spreading you open wider. You whined out, your hand coming down to latch onto his hair. His mouth worked harder against your clit, the pleasure winding tight in your lower abdomen.

He pumped his fingers faster, curling them in perfect rhythm. You whined when he pulled his mouth away, but only missed the sensation briefly as his free thumb came down to circle your clit.

“Fuck.” You sputtered out, your pussy clenching at the added pressure.

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers.” Steve murmured, staring up at you through hooded eyes.

You panted heavily, the knot in your lower belly winding tighter at his words. He was relentless, his thumb still working magic circles and his fingers pounding into you with great speed.

Your orgasm hit you unexpectedly, your breath leaving your throat, your cheeks flushing hotter and your toes curled behind Steve’s back.

“That’s it.” He urged, fingering you through your orgasm, your come coating his knuckles.

You rode out your high, your eyes clenching shut in pleasure. You breathed out through your nose as you felt Steve’s touch leave you. He stood up between your legs his hand snaking up your belly to your nipple, giving it a gentle pinch.

“Still smug.” He murmured against the skin of your tit. “Even with my mouth between your legs.”

You didn’t laugh, still trying to catch your breath and regain your vision.

And then he stopped talking. You heard the rustle of fabric against skin, and you realized Steve was taking off his t-shirt. Then his fingers looped into the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down his thighs, exposing his erect cock. He wasn’t wearing boxers, just his short shorts. You stared down at him in awe, his tip leaking and angry. His hand fell to his length, pumping it in slow strokes, his gaze falling from your tits to your pussy, which was practically dripping, your arousal threatening to drop onto the floor.

“Cat got your tongue, baby cakes?” Steve grunted, his fingers sliding up your heat and landing on your sensitive clit, giving it a pinch.

You gasped, your thighs clenching together.

“Nuh uh.” Steve growled, his hands coming down to spread your legs back open. “These.. stay open.”

“Steve, fuck.” You said breathlessly, looking down at his erection. He was bigger than you expected, much to your surprise.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’re going to forget how to talk. Forget how to chew that stupid fucking gum.” Steve grumbled.

You watched through tired eyes as Steve ran his length against the inside of your thigh, teasing your core. A smirk tugged at his lips as he watched your eyebrows furrow.

“What do you need?” He said, his voice low. His tip was ghosting over your folds now, your arousal mixing with his precum.

“Mmm, fuck.” You tilted your head back as he nicked your clit that was still too sensitive from your orgasm.

Suddenly Steve’s hand slapped your ass hard, your body jolting from the sudden hit.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, your legs tightening around Steve’s hips unwillingly.

“I said.” He leaned closer, his breath fanning over your lips. “What do you need?”

“Need you to fuck me.” You whispered, trying to close the gap between your mouths to kiss him, but he pulled away an inch to tease you.

“Hmm, couldn’t quite hear that. Might need to say it a bit louder.” Steve taunted you. Goosebumps littered your skin as his hand that was haphazardly stroking his cock trailed down to your clit, your legs jolting as he began to slowly rub in gentle circles.

“I-I need you.. to f-fuck me.” You struggled, your thighs clenching around his hand, but his assault didn’t stop.

He rubbed faster circles, this time he closed the gap between your mouths, and kissed you intensely. His teeth took your bottom lip, and he bit down slightly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to assert his power over you, even in a kiss. Then his tongue was against yours, tasting every bit of your mouth, running along your teeth. It was disgusting really, having him consume in such a thorough way, but you didn’t care. You needed more.

His tip prodded at your entrance, your pussy now throbbing from the lack of intrusion. His finger slowed on your clit, and you awaited the feeling of him stretching you. His free hand reached up to one of your nipples, giving it a gentle squeeze before slowly rolling his hips towards yours, his tip breaching your opening, the stretch radiating deep in your belly. Your head fell back in a moan, and Steve took this as an opportunity to litter kisses from your throat down to your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth.

He rocked his hips into yours, his length pumping in and out of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his length. You hadn’t had sex in months, and even then, your partner hadn’t been this big. This was uncharted territory and you feared after tonight, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to find someone who’d compare to this.

“Feels so good.” Steve grunted as he thrusted into you, his hands traveling all over you.

His hands squeezed at your breasts, then trailed down to your ass to squeeze the flesh of your cheeks, spreading them a bit, before finding their way to your thighs. You panted heavily over the sound of skin slapping, and basked in the feeling of Steve’s breath fanning over the sensitive pebbles of your nipples.

Suddenly Steve was pulling out of you, and you whimpered from the emptiness between your legs. He stepped back, and began lazily stroking his length again. He tilted his head toward the bed.

“Go get on the bed. On your hands and knees.” He demanded. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and your eyes trailed from his face, down the hair on his chest to his trimmed pubes, then to his hand wrapped around his cock.

You obeyed his orders and ambled over to the bed. You did as you were told and got on your hands and knees, your ass perched up in the air, your holes on display for him. Steve groaned at the sight of your drenched pussy catching the dim glow of the lamp as he got closer to you.

You exhaled shakily as Steve’s hands found their way to your ass, spreading the flesh to get a better look at you. Your brows furrowed when you felt his hot breath on your folds, and sharply inhaled when his tongue lapped up your arousal, brushing your clit.

Without warning, Steve was pushing back into you, not taking it slow at all. He fully sheathed himself in you, his girth stretching you once again. You gasped and grabbed a fistful on the sheet, your tits bouncing from his rapid thrusts.

“Jesus—“ You said between thrusts. “Christ.”

“Been wanting to fuck you like this all day.” Steve breathed out, leaning down so his chest was pressed to your back.

His hand snaked around your shoulders to lightly cup the front of your throat. He gave the sides of your throat a gentle squeeze, resulting in your pussy clenching down around him.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” He said, his hand repeating its movement.

You whined, your back arching into his front. You were like a bitch in heat, and the sounds of wet skin slapping permeated the air. Never in a million years did you expect to be bent over by Steve Harrington, let alone loving it this much.

“I’m g-gonna come again.” You stammered, you lowered the side of your face into the mattress, Steve’s hands spreading your ass again to watch his length disappear and reappear from your entrance.

“Come on, baby. Let me feel it.” Steve said, a hand trailing down to your clit, rubbing gentle circles.

You whined out at the added pressure, your lower belly tying knot after knot. You flexed your calves, feeling the pleasure beginning to heat up deep inside you. Your next orgasm washed over you, your vision becoming fuzzy as every muscle in your body clenched. Your breath caught in your throat, and your grip tightened even more on the sheets.

“That’s it.” Steve muttered, his finger working your clit through your orgasm.

Your orgasm subsided, and your chest heaved in heavy pants as you came down from your high. Your senses were back, and Steve’s finger on your clit was about to make you scream.

Your hand swatted his hand away from between your thighs, and you groaned as his other hand gripped the flesh of your hip tighter.

Steve pulled out of you again, holding himself off from his release. He wanted this moment to last forever, and he wasn’t done with you quite yet.

“Lay on your back for me.” Steve said, his tone less demanding and softer.

You rolled over, and scooted yourself towards the head of the small bed, resting your head against your pillow. Steve climbed onto the bed and onto his knees, positioning himself between your legs.

“You on the pill?” Steve asked as he lowered himself over you.

“Yes.” You said, your arms reached up to cup his face, pulling his face down into a firm kiss.

Steve took the moment to sheath himself back inside you, your mouth parting. You would never get used to the feeling of him inside of you, and you’re not sure you ever want that feeling to stop. Steve fucked into you steadily, his skin slapping against yours.

His mouth left yours and trailed back down to your chest, his mouth working on one nipple while his free hand squeezed your other tit. Your head felt back against the mattress, your eyes rolling back at the new angle.

With every thrust you could feel his cock rutting up almost to your cervix, your g-spot being stimulating perfectly.

“God, you’re driving me fucking crazy.” Steve panted as he fucked into you faster. He was close, and he was shamelessly chasing his high.

“I hate how good this feels.” You said, your voice sounding almost drunk. You were half present mentally, your orgasms taking most of your energy.

“Yeah?” He bent down and rested his forehead against yours. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” You spat out quickly.

“Didn’t think so.” He said, and his mouth was on you again, this time sucking on the flesh of your neck like a vampire, his teeth working against your skin.

He wanted to mark you. He wanted those jocks to know you were already claimed and were off limits. He wanted you for himself.

“Not going to last much longer.” Steve sputtered, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more staggered.

Your nipples hardened as you felt the coil tightening again in your core, your third orgasm drawing closer. One of your hands trailed between you, finding your clit. Steve leaned up a bit to give you more room, one hand gripping your waist and the other squeezing the flesh of your ass. He took in the sight of you underneath him, your cheeks flushed, your tits bouncing with every rock of his hips, your fingers working in messy circles around your clit as you chased your high once again.

“That’s it, come for me again.” Steve panted.

He was dangerously close. He was feeling his lower belly beginning to tighten. Any second his muscles were going to betray him and let his high overcome him.

Your third orgasm hit you hard, and you involuntarily whimpered, your body shaking as it overcame you. Your toes curled and your back arched, and your hearing went fuzzy. Steve followed suit, his release shooting hot spurts deep into you, his lower abdomen clenching through his orgasm. He whined, feeling your walls clamp down on him, milking every last ounce of his seed into you.

Your high slowly faded, and you were still trying to catch your breath. Your skin was flushed and damp and Steve laid on top of you, his legs intertwined with yours, his cock softening inside of you. Steve’s chest rose and fell against yours, one of his arms draped lazily by your head, his fingertips toying with the ends of your hair.

Neither of you said anything for a long while.

Outside, the fair grounds were silent. No rides creaking, not fair-goers in sight, no sound of Steve’s music blaring. Just the two of you trying to catch your breath.

You finally shifted, just enough to look down at him, his face pressed to your chest. His eyes were open, looking off into the camper, like something was on his mind.

“You okay?” You asked, voice low.

He blinked, then shifted to look up at you. His hand moved to your face, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. Just wasn’t.. expecting that.”

A tired smile tugged at your lips. “Which part? Where you spit out my gum for me or the part where you fucked me and liked it?”

Steve huffed a laugh and shook his head. “You’re exhausting.” He muttered, but his voice was soft and fond in a way that made your chest ache a little.

“Seriously though. If you regret it and never want to speak to me again, I get it.” You tucked an arm under your head and watched his face.

His eyes narrowed slightly at you. “Do you?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. “No.”

He exhaled, slow. “Then I don’t either.”

Then, quietly and hesitantly, Steve shifted to pull the thin blanket up over you. It was then you realized he was still inside of you, soft, but you still felt full. His hand found yours beneath it, lacing your fingers together.

“Don’t tell Robin.” He murmured, half asleep now, using your tits as a pillow.

You smiled, eyes slipping shut. “Don’t tell her what?”

“That I like you.”

He said it like a secret.

And you held onto that like a promise, and you hoped that when the morning sun came, Steve Harrington wouldn’t regret those words.