#and now i gotta go back through all of it too and like. make sure it flows okay

[fuctacles]

[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively. 

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs. 

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.  

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead. 

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out. 

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still. 

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big. 

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category. 

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again. 

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head. 

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him. 

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly. 

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."  

Eddie winces. 

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh. 

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers. 

Eddie chuckles. 

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting. 

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening. 

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job." 

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets. 

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken. 

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers. 

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself. 

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips. 

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic. 

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along. 

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along. 

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least. 

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit. 

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor. 

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night. 

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous

[mona-risms]

Also in way less wholesome thoughts about Rumi, I think she has a insane breeding kink.

I don’t even think she would know it until she slept with someone. But I feel like that would send her into a feral frenzy.

Like, all that shame and guilt her whole life from being a demon, and all the other repressed emotions she had to bottle up would explode if she was fucking someone and they told her they wanted to have kids with her.

I feel like for irony sake that may just turn her into a succubus. A simple fuck would turn into a day long feral mating marathon.

Like it would probably work it’s way through the whole living space, starting in the bedroom, for an hour or two until the bed is completely ruined, tears from claws, a broken bed frame, stained with sweat, squirt, and seed.

Moving on to the couch eventually that would get much of the same treatment.

Pressed against those big windows, juices seeping down the glass.

On the kitchen table with claw marks in the wood from Rumi.

Using the cabinets to keep her standing as you rail her eventually pulling them off the walls.

But neither of you care.

It’s not pretty sex.

You’re both flushed, scratchs, bite marks, squirt, seed, spit, and sweating all over. Ran ragged like you just ran a triathlon.

Rumis hole looks like a glazed donut from how much seed has been put in and spilled out of her at all angles.

By the time you are halfway through moans have just devolved into her shrieking from overstim.

But she just can’t stop herself. And you don’t wanna stop either.

People are calling phones… Rumis missing a interview rn.

Eventually the girls just find you both passed out in the middle of the apartment covered in all the fluids that could possibly come from sex passed out from exhaustion.

Sincerely

Tsaritsa Pyro Archon Anon

I have a breeding kink too there we go we're Perfectly compatible! And this is obviously why me and Rumi should be married!!!!

But fr shit would go CRAZY HELLO 😭😭😭😭😭 I mean tbf a demon's gotta have their sustenance somehow 😜😜😜😜 JOKING JOKING maybe not joking shhh you're out here doing my job for me fr though actuallg LMFAOOAAO

Her bedroom must be so fucking wrecked before you two migrate to the balcony, a mix of fluids everywhere as she finally lets out the loudest fucking noises instead of her biting it down and restraining them, and then to the shared living space. Like Zoey and Mira are both out for promotional material they'd probably have to do individually, so they left much earlier and now the penthouse is empty as hell, save for the two of you

NOTHING survives in the shared space though you're right in this—EVERY surface is thoroughly defiled and utilised. Should Rumi care? Yes. Would she care under different circumstances? Definitely yes. But right now the only thing in her mind is making sure she drains you dry, everything else blurs away from the sheer intensity of your coupling

If you're using an ejaculating strap then ugh FUCK yes it makes no difference to her as long as she feels full and thoroughly bred. If anything? She'd probably want you to get the strap with the most capacity. But is it a good idea, if you have a working dick and could Potentially get her pregnant? No, probably not, but the way you fucked her and never let go, the way you were so achingly sincere in the way you'd Want to have kids with Her. Even despite the whole half-demon thing, the main insecurity she's had for her entire life? She'll take the risk for once either way, after avoiding risks on herself for so long

Mira and Zoey most likely got contacted by Bobby in a panic bc "WHERE IS SHE??????" so they come back home.....and SCREAM at the state because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST??????? SORRY didn't REALISE they needed HAZMAT SUITS????????????? You probably get woken up and honestly good luck trying to explain why the Fuck there's so much damage and. Fluids. EVERYWHERE. They're never letting either of you live this down, ESPECIALLY Rumi considering she caused most of the extreme damage (thanks demon heritage!!!!) and how she's stained and dripping nonstop 😭

If you even dare try to explain what happened to Bobby the poor guy might faint. But it's okay it's why they're paying him the 3% right.....though he might need to be compensated via 4% GAHAHAHAHA

[steddiehyperfixation]

i think you should try again

written for @steddiebingo prompt: scoops | 2k words | T |

It's the first day of summer vacation and Eddie should be overjoyed. Free. The cage that is school has been opened and he should be a bird in flight, stretching his wings and soaring weightless through the world, unladen with places to be or homework to do. But he isn’t—overjoyed or free or flying or any of it. The cage is open but he still feels just as trapped and heavy as ever, dragging himself sullenly around the trailer until even his uncle feels the need to say something about it. 

Wayne, never usually one to give unsolicited advice and who generally tends to stay out of Eddie’s business, finally looks over at him and tells him, “You gotta quit mopin’ around, Ed. This sulking ain’t doin’ anyone any good, especially not yourself. I reckon you’d feel better if you got outside, go do somethin’.” 

Well, Eddie reckons that’d probably make him feel worse actually, but he gets the part that his uncle’s not saying too, and he doesn’t want his sour mood to bring Wayne down as well. So he gets himself dressed and drags himself sullenly around town instead. 

It’s the new Starcourt Mall’s grand opening today and it’s packed to the brim with high school kids enjoying their break and graduated seniors celebrating their freedom. And it does make Eddie feel worse. He takes it out on a particularly loud, whooping jock in the food court, shoulder-checking him hard and receiving an elbow to the ribs and a “Watch it, freak!” in return. Stupid fucking town. Eddie pulls a devil face, and watching the jock and his friends recoil from him lifts his spirits only marginally. 

What does lift his spirits is wandering to get ice cream and happening across the one and only freshly graduated senior in this place who isn’t free or celebrating. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter of a Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor in a totally dorky sailor uniform complete with a hat, a sight that makes Eddie fight a smile for the first time all day. 

Eddie approaches the counter with a grin, looking Steve up and down. “You know, I was feeling like shit today, but I think this just cheered me up.” 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Nah, it’s kind of cute, actually,” Eddie says, because it is, and because he’s curious how Steve will react. 

Steve blinks, expression split between a flattered smile and skeptically raised eyebrow. “Thanks? Um.” He shakes his head as if shaking off Eddie’s comment, putting his customer service smile back on gesturing towards the selection of ice cream. “So, what can I get for you today?”  

Eddie shrugs. “What do you recommend to cure a shitty mood?” 

“Well, something chocolate usually works,” Steve answers, “but it depends on what's got you down.” 

“I didn't graduate,” Eddie says, which should be common knowledge by now. “Again. So I’m not really feeling the summer excitement like everyone else.” 

“Ah, right.” Steve nods with a slightly awkward, sympathetic smile. “Definitely chocolate then,” he decides, grabbing a scooper and flipping it in his hand as he slides over to the tubs of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rocky Road?” 

Eddie smiles a little. “It's my favorite.” 

Steve gets to scooping, quiet for a minute and then he says, “I didn't get into college.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not a single one. Not even community college. That's why I'm here. So, you know—I get it.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie appreciates the attempt at solidarity, he really does, but, “At least you graduated.” 

“Yeah…” Steve sheepishly breaks eye contact as he sprays whipped cream onto the ice cream he's scooped. “Are you gonna try again?” 

“I’m not sure yet. I have until the end of the month to decide,” Eddie says, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

Steve hands him a sundae with three scoops but only charges him for one, a kindness Eddie isn't quite sure how to respond to, so he doesn't—just pays and finds a booth to sit and eat at. 

He picks somewhere where he can keep Steve in his eyeline, still amused by those sailor shorts and intrigued by the odd little conversation they just had. Steve Harrington is nothing like Eddie expected, nothing like he seemed to be in high school, and the more Eddie watches him, the clearer that becomes. 

Steve’s off his game, keeps trying and failing to flirt with girls who come up to the counter. Whatever smooth charm he was once purported to have in those King Steve days of yore is nowhere in sight now and instead he seems to wear an ill-fitting mask of false confidence, blustering to some poor girl about postponing college in favor of getting real life work experience as if it was his own wise choice to scoop ice cream in a sailor outfit, but his eyes betray a look just as trapped and heavy as Eddie’s been feeling lately. Maybe there is solidarity to be found here after all. 

The girl leaves with her ice cream and Steve looks up to catch Eddie watching him, a startling, unintentional moment of direct eye contact. Steve gives a tiny smile and a small shrug—in embarrassment maybe, or just simple acknowledgement—but Eddie doesn’t see it long enough to interpret it, already looking away and snapping his attention back to the slowly melting sundae in front of him. He eats his ice cream and doesn’t look over again, allowing Steve the dignity of striking out with the next girl unwitnessed. It’s cruel to visibly revel in another’s failure, and while there are many people Eddie would love to be cruel to today, Steve isn’t one of them. 

So Eddie watches everyone else instead. As the natural curative powers of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows work their magic on his bad mood, he alleviates his bitterness further and entertains himself by imagining great, fantastical harm befalling anyone he sees whom he finds irritating. Snickering mean girls are cursed by wizards; obnoxious jocks are eaten by dragons; celebrating seniors are torn apart by hoards of goblins. 

“I think you should try again.”

Eddie blinks out of his daydream of a particularly vicious dragon to see Steve pulling up a chair, those stupid shorts riding up his thighs obscenely as he sits. Not that Eddie’s looking—he’s not (he is). He blinks again, pulls his gaze back to Steve’s face. “What?” 

“High school, graduating,” Steve says, “I think you should try again.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says with a scoff of a laugh, trying to sound light because he’s really not sure why Steve cares. “Going back for a third senior year is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

“Not as pathetic as giving up,” Steve tells him. “And you never struck me as the type.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you took that much notice of me, Harrington.” 

“Kinda hard not to when you were stomping on top of cafeteria tables every other day, Munson,” Steve points out, like duh. 

“Touché,” Eddie mutters. 

“You’ve got grit, man, is what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues. “You know—you’re bold, you’re tough, you don’t back down. You parade on top of lunch tables and rail against the stereotypes put on you, and that doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let anyone, not even himself, tell him he can’t. So what’s one more senior year? What’s one more try to finally graduate and stick it to everyone who never thought you could? If anyone can do it this time, it’s you.” 

He says all this in what Eddie can only assume to be his best ‘team captain’ voice, an expert tone of firm encouragement and optimistic passion that Eddie can vividly imagine Steve (tiny basketball shorts included) having used in locker room speeches to rally the spirits and self-confidence of his teammates before they took to the field—or court, or whatever. The Hawkins High basketball team never won much in Steve’s time, but Eddie bets they had great morale. 

“Right, yeah,” he says, attempting to remain guardedly nonchalant even as his chest glows warm with Steve’s unexpected praise. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Steve nods, smiles. “Of course.” And that could’ve been the end of it, but Steve stays seated, taps his fingers against the table, and surprises Eddie again by saying, “And, hey, um, you run that Dungeons and Dragons club at school, right? Hell-something?” 

“Hellfire, yeah,” Eddie confirms, adding Steve Harrington knows what D&D is? to the ever-growing list of things that have bewildered and intrigued him about Steve today. “Why?”

“There’s a couple of kids I kind of babysit, they’re gonna be freshmen next year and they’re really into that nerd stuff—like, total geeks,” Steve says. Easy targets, he means. He shrugs. “So, you know, if you did decide to stick around another year, it’d be nice for them to have someone to look out for ‘em.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. Now this all makes a little more sense. He points his spoon at Steve. “There it is, the ulterior motive.” Steve doesn’t care about him; he hasn’t been trying to talk him into a third senior year for Eddie’s sake, but for the sake of a bunch of nerdy kids he knows. Which, actually, is still kind of sweet. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Put that accusing spoon down, Munson, there’s no ulterior motive. I meant what I said before, too. I want you to try again for you, because you really are tough and I really do think you can do it. But also because there are some kids who might need you. Both of those things can be true.”

Eddie puts his accusing spoon down and uses it to take another bite of his soupy ice cream instead. “I guess.” 

“And, who knows, maybe I want it for me too,” Steve adds flippantly, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious or if this is just a cheeky hypothetical to further his point. “You know, I drive those kids around a lot, I’ll probably be picking them up from those Hellfire meetings. Maybe I want to see more of you. Maybe all three of those things can be true.” 

Hypothetical or not, Eddie can’t hold back his oddly endeared smile anymore. “Alright,” he concedes, “you’ve made your point.” 

Steve grins back. “I’ve gotta get back to work,” he says, finally standing up. He drops a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder as he passes by, a brief, lingering squeeze. “Just think about it.” 

Eddie glances at his shoulder as if half expecting the touch to have sunk into his skin and left some sort of imprint. It hadn’t, of course. He scrapes up the last of his sundae and quickly stands before Steve can get too far. “Hey, Steve?” 

Steve pauses and turns around. 

“I think you should try again too.” 

“What, with college and stuff? Yeah, I know, I’ll probably reapply next year.” 

“Well, yeah, good, that too,” Eddie says, “but I meant— I saw you strike out with that girl earlier; I think you should try again. You’ve got a lot going for you, really, and I, uh, I think a lot more people would see that if you didn’t put up some weird facade of over-the-top confidence. So- yeah, I think you should try again, but be honest, be yourself, you know, without all that bluster.”

Steve smiles, a slow, bemused sort of smile that borders on a smirk, as his head tilts and his eyes glance Eddie over. “I just did,” he says, and then he’s turning away again. “I’ll see you around, Eddie.” 

It takes a couple seconds of buffering time for Eddie to process exactly what Steve meant by that, and by then Steve’s already gone, back to work and busy. “Yeah, you will,” Eddie mutters in delayed, unnecessary response, grinning to himself as he throws away his empty sundae cup and walks out of there in far better spirits than he’d entered with. 

He still doesn’t know yet if he’ll be going back to Hawkins High for another try at senior year, but he does know that he’ll definitely be coming back here, to Scoops Ahoy, for another try at Steve Harrington.

[cinder-stella]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐭!

multiverse fluff, slice of life, comedy

<MDNI>toji,satoru,kento,choso,sukuna<MDNI>

Across countless timelines, you utter the same words, “We’re just getting one thing.”

Only one thing at home depot. Seems simple enough, right? Just in and out. No distractions.

In every timeline, the man beside you says, “Yeah, sure. Just one thing.”

That's a lie. They all lie.

──✿──

TOJI

Mission: Find a socket wrench.

You step inside Home Depot with Toji, hoping to buy a basic wrench. But then you blink and he’s gone. No explanation. No warning. Just the faint remnants of cologne that he sprayed on quickly before leaving the house.

You find him twenty minutes later in the Hunting & Outdoor section, crouching like a cryptid—his limbs too long and bulky to squat neatly. His shirt’s askew, hair tousled and he’s holding a roll of duct tape as if it’s speaking directly to him.

“This is the good kind,” he says without looking at you. “Industrial strength. Can restrain a grown man. Even hold a bumper on.”

"...We’re here for a wrench, Toji."

He ignores you and holds up a crowbar, testing the weight in his hand. “This one’s balanced. Nice grip. Could kill a guy.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Definitely not alarming.”

You trail him as he tosses it into the cart alongside zip ties, work gloves and a beef jerky bag he’s already torn open and started eating. An employee clocks it from the corner of the aisle, starts to say something but then decides he values his life too much.

Toji pauses in front of a grill, stares at it like he’s yearning. “For the kid,” he mutters, tossing it in. “He’s gotta eat.”

You stare at the mountain of vaguely criminal hardware and protein snacks in the cart and run a hand down your face. “We came for a wrench. One.”

Toji shrugs. “And now we have a tactical advantage.”

You should’ve just ordered it online. “Alright, big guy. You’re paying.”

Toji swivels around with an eyebrow raised.

SATORU

Mission: Buy a shower head.

He walks in like he owns the place. As if the automatic doors opened just for him. Tall, smug, sunglasses indoors (as usual), and dressed like he’s on a luxurious trip instead of a store for plumbing fixtures.

“Now, this is a man’s store,” he announces, immediately drawing attention. “I love it.”

You sigh. “Satoru, please. Just one thing. We’re not here to mess around.”

He nods solemnly. “Of course. One thing. I’m laser focused.”

He is not.

Within five minutes, he’s critiquing paint swatches aloud like he’s on Project Runway. “This one says ‘murder in a pastel kitchen.’ This one screams ‘lower tax bracket.’ This one? Oh yeah, this one’s sexy. Like me.”

He strolls through the aisles with cocky grace, picking up tools and using them completely wrong on purpose.

He holds up two caulking guns like they’re pistols. “I could dual wield these,” he muses, making the sound and movements that actual guns make.

“Satoru.” You roll your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you mutter to a nearby employee who seems just as annoyed.

At one point, he picks up a wood stain sample and says, “This one’s called ‘shit-brown in London.’ This one’s ‘porta potty walnut.’”

Eventually, you don’t know how, but he ends up wearing a tool belt and holding a pack of nails like he just came back from his blue collar job.

“How ya’ like me now?” he smirks and strikes a pose that looks eerily similar to Woody from Toy story.

“Not a lot,” you sigh.

In the end, you, in fact, don’t leave with a showerhead. but instead a novelty “#1 DIY DAD” mug and several useless gadgets.

“We should go to Lowe’s next.”

KENTO

Mission: Replace the leaky faucet.

Nanami enters Home Depot like he’s walking into a board meeting. Button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves, clipboard app open on his phone, and that furrow in his eyebrow that meant business.

“This should take no more than twenty minutes,” he says. “I’ve reviewed the layout online, and I know the exact model we need.”

On a completely sexual note, you loved seeing Kento in his sexy manly element. You fight the urge to bite your index finger and giggle like a school girl. “Ay, ay, captain.”

Ten minutes in, it seems like Kento hit a wall at high speed. He stands in the plumbing aisle staring at the different faucet models. The one he came for? Out of stock. The aisle signage? Mislabeled. The finishes? All brushed nickel when he clearly wanted chrome.

“Of course,” he mutters through clenched teeth. ““Every fixture here looks like it belongs in a chain restaurant bathroom from 2006.”

“What’s so wrong with brushed nickel? It’s a softer look,” you try input in a cheery tone.

He deadpans.

When an employee walks by and chirps, “Need help finding something?” Kento just breathes in slowly, as if it’s the poor employee's fault.

Eventually, you find him organizing a shelf that wasn’t crooked until he looked at it. He’s muttering about SKU numbers and poor inventory management like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Babe. Honey. Sweetheart. We can just call a plumber,” you offer, gently.

He turns to you, jaw tight, voice level. “We are not letting a complete stranger touch our pipes. I’ll fix it myself or die trying.”

It’s kinda sexy…seeing him all worked up. Anyways, in the end you leave with a completely different faucet along with a pack of precision screwdrivers of course. Kento softly massages his temples in the driver’s seat.

You give him a kiss on the cheek. “You did great, champ.”

He doesn’t respond. But he does hold your hand the whole drive home.

CHOSO

Mission: Get one (1) bag of soil.

You tell Choso it’s just a quick stop. Grab soil, maybe a new pot. That’s it.

He nods solemnly. “Yeah. Got it.”

Well…Within five minutes of entering the garden section, he’s gone quiet. You briefly look around, thinking he’s wandered off but he was just kneeling by the succulents like they’ve been waiting for him.

He gently strokes a Mexican snowball. “This one’s thirsty,” he murmurs.

“Don’t they…store water?” you whisper.

“Thirsty emotionally.”

You try to stay focused. But every time you turn around, there’s a new plant in the cart. A string of pearls. Then a tiny bonsai. Then a pothos you’re pretty sure was dying until he whispered to it.

He picks up a discounted cactus—on its tag it reads, ‘Final Sale.’

Choso reads it, horrified. “They’re giving him away like he doesn’t matter.”

“He’ll be just fine. They’re very resilient, y'know.”

He stares right through you. Then he gently placed the cactus into the cart.

Somehow, you also now have three ceramic mushrooms, a gnome with moss on his hat, and a biodegradable watering can Choso swore would help the plants to grow.

“I don't think we have space for all this…” you huff.

He looks at you, completely serious. “I’ll make space.”

You did end up getting the soil. But also seven plants, a huge frog statue named Gorb and a bag of organic fertilizer.

At checkout, he pats the cart lovingly. “We’re a family now.”

RYOMEN

Mission: Buy a new toilet seat.

You should’ve gone alone.

You said it three times in the car. “We’re going in, we’re getting the toilet seat you broke, and we’re leaving.”

Ryomen nodded, “Sure, sure.”

Now he’s walking three steps ahead of you, dragging his hand along the displays like he’s inspecting the quality of weapons.

You try to steer him to the plumbing aisle but he keeps veering left. Obviously towards the chainsaws and other dangerous looking machinery.

That’s when it happens.

He makes eye contact with a kid. Maybe seven—rounds the corner with his mom’s cart. Toolbelt on and light-up Spider-Man sneakers.

Ryomen locks eyes with him. The kid looks back, unblinking.

There was mutual, immediate hatred.

You don’t know why and you don't ask. But you feel the air shift, the lights dim and somewhere, a wolf howls.

You whisper, “Please don’t start beef with a literal child.”

They pass each other. Ryomen bumps the cart just slightly.

The kid bumps it back harder.

“Ryomen,” you warn.

“He started it,” he growls back.

Eventually, you drag him to plumbing. He picks the most unnecessary toilet seat imaginable—heated, LED lights, Bluetooth connectivity, massage settings.

“Heated seats,” he says, tossing it in the cart. “I deserve luxury.”

You don’t even bother. You got what you came for.

Later, as you check out, you glance back towards the lumber aisle.

The kid is still there. Just staring.

Ryomen flips him off, ensuring that his mother was right there to see.

“Oh my god.” You grab his arm and quickly head to the front.

So, you did leave with the toilet seat and somehow an additional motion-sensor soap dispenser that Ryomen liked the sound of. Oh yeah, and an unspoken rivalry that will haunt one suburban child for the rest of his life.

Ryomen hums in the passenger seat. “I’ll see him again,” he says.

You don’t ask what that means.

──✿──

Somewhere in the multiverse, five versions of you all sigh at the same time.

You each mutter, with different levels of exhaustion, disbelief, and affection. “Next time…I’m going alone.”

But you surely won’t.

Because chaos aside, you do really love them.

…And to be fair you never really wanted just one thing.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

a/n: i rly enjoy this format. also taking a break from smut for a bit. lmk how u guys like it!

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

i feel like i got severance'd when i started liking looney tunes and anytime i stop being obsessed w it for a while thats just like. a different guy. hm i was really obsessed w dragon ball in january and drew fanart and was planning on watching every piece of dragon ball media ever.... #dont remember #dont care. who was that guy. this has been going on for years and it really shouldnt surprise me at this point and on some level it doesnt even really bother me but it somehow shocks me every single time.

[whoslaurapalmer]

i should go to bed it is Time to go to bed and yet. i am looking around the house going what else can i put in a box before i go to bed

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight

[virtuousvigil]

me: god i just need you to let me get this chapter to 8k words i know i can do it please i actually got kudos and hits and subs and i don't wanna keep them waiting forever for chapter 2, just let me have this so i can post it i'm already a week behind please please please please

god: fine. here's 13k+ words. you still haven't finished the chapter tho. barely moved the plot even. and you have to beta read and edit it yourself now. you're welcome.

me:

[h1biscusgal]

Void/ shifting for the lazy ass mfs, a "too easy" sleep challenge for 7 days.

Hey y'all, are you the type to call your yourself lazy? Can't wait to enter? Don't wanna try and just wanna sleep and enter? Think it's easier for you to be the careless mf and enter tonight? Here's a sleep method that literally can make you wake up in the void regardless of what the fuck is happening.

I call it, the "too easy" challenge bc mf the effort is not even there, like I'm not gonna even tell you to lay still or yada yada, I entered the void through it some years ago when I was in my shifting phase and didn't know it was the void, and it's my fav method so far, and y'all, you'll seriously shift or enter the void during those 7 days bc y'know how powerful this shit is???

Now I've seen a lotta people whine and say they lay back, try for it, and "don't enter" which is obviously your assumptions that you can't enter is in the way, so I thought, how about letting them know they can skip this part and just sleep and wake up there? Fun eh?

If anyone remembers, this is actually something a lot of shifters used to do back then, but the toxic shifttokers would be like "NO YOU CANTTT, YOU GOTTA PUT EFFORT TO SHIFTTT" nah fuck you, then how come some ppl shifted through it, like be fr and how "effortless" it was. 🤨

What will you need?/

ONE affirmation of choice:

I always wake up in the void state aware.

The void is too easy to wake up in.

Why do I always wake up in the void aware?

No matter what I do, I still wake up in the void aware.

I just gotta sleep and I'll wake up in the void aware everytime.

I always wake up in my home. (Aka DR).

I always shift in my sleep.

I can always shift by sleeping.

Sleeping helps me shift anywhere I want.

Shifting is too easy for me, I can do it in my sleep (fav).

A subliminal you like:

Can be anything, choose something you like that is either for shifting or the void state, doesn't even matter which or what, just choose something that you love and stick to ONLY ONE.

Void subs = 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Shifting subs = 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Absolute suggestibility booster:

Yes, credits to "absolute power subliminals" for making this goldmine but oml, it's fucking good, either way, this is before you loop the sub we chose overnight, BUT REMEMBER LISTEN TO IT ONLY ONCE BEFORE LOOPING IN THE SUB!!! It helps to open the subconscious for the affirmations. 1

And lastly, assumption:

that you can do it during those 7 days, bc mf you definitely can tf you mean you're trying this with hope...

Let's get into it 🤭.

For the affs, repeat it as though you're REMINDING yourself something, not trying to convince yourself something, you get me? During the days and the nights and literally through anything, just affirm without needing anything, like, your wish if you wanna do robotic affirming or feeling with it while affirming, just remind yourself your goal, Go about your day repeating ONE affirmation, and this can be anything, the reason I'm saying one is bc you don't need a bunch, just one, choose one from here based on what your goal is, shifting or the void?, the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep repeat it whenever you like.

Now, this is optional, but if you like, you can loop the desired subliminal you chose during the the day, it's as you wish if you want to.

Now, sleep comes around, right? Listen to the suggestibility subliminal I provided there only once, simply once, now grab yo favorite earphones or whatever and loop the SUBLIMINAL overnight.

Don't think about it, literally don't, don't say "will this work or whatever" nope, trust and know, loop the sub in the background while you sleep, and in that moment, repeat this specific affirmation.

Subconscious mind, I command you to wake me up in (desired reality/ the void).

That's literally all....

LMK AND I AM SO SURE Y'ALL CAN DO IT, PAIR IT UP WITH HYPNAGOGIA BEFORE BED AND THIS CAN MAKE YOU WAKE UP WITH 10000 X MORE CHANCE, GOOD LUCK.

Xoxo, Coco.

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

[sugarwarachan]

addicted to you

summary: Kirishima Eijiro's pretty positive he’s going to hell. You can’t listen to your buddy’s girlfriend cum that many times and not be on a one-way ticket to the fiery pits of doom. When he's at the end of his rope, one night might change the dynamic of his relationship with you. pairing: bakugou x reader x kirishima wc: 1.6k content warnings: smut mdni, threesome dynamics, fem!reader, dirty talk, degradation, voyeurism, oral, m!receiving, kirishima's raging size kink

Plap plap plap -

"Oh god, Kats..."

It should be fucking illegal for walls to be this thin, Kirishima thinks, staring up at his ceiling, willing his dick to soften. This is the fifth night in a row that he’s heard your guts getting rearranged by his best friend, and it’s starting to take a toll on the pro hero.

“Yeah, baby? Too much for ya?”

A soft groan emits from Kirishima’s throat at the high-pitched whine you make in response.

It’s not gentlemanly of him at all, but he pictures how gorgeous your face must look right now, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled up in your head—

"Not enough," he hears you shoot back.

He slams the pillow over his face and rolls onto his belly, rutting his dick across the mattress in one long drag.

Fuck.

When he first heard you two have sex, he really tried to do the respectable thing and not listen, he swears. When noise-canceling headphones didn't cut it, he went on long walks the minute you and Bakugou disappeared behind closed doors. It’s made for some very awkward late-night convenience store runs.

He lifts the pillow from his face. No noises sound from next door. He sighs. Time to address the raging cockstand in his pants, then.

The fantasy he conjures is familiar, well-worn. He starts in the middle this time, at the part where you’re already gagging on his dick, eyes welling with tears as be bullies his cock down your throat.

Kirishima grabs the lube from his nightstand and coats his palm. His hips buck into his hand as he works himself up and down, idly wondering how much of him you'd be able to take. He hates it, but the thought of your face scrunching up as you struggle to fit him all the way in shreds his sanity to ribbons.

"Kiri?" your voice sounds through the door while his hand is mid-stroke on his cock.

It’s like he summoned you.

"Yeah?" Even that minor syllable sounds like he’s fucking drugged.

"Can I come in please?"

His eyes bug out of his head. Are you fucking serious?

"Just a minute!" he shouts, shucking up his sweatpants and toweling off the mess between his thighs.

He hears Bakugou’s voice next. "Just let us in, idiot, she’s gotta ask you something."

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit—

He’s gonna die tonight. You’re probably outside thinking he’s a digusting pervert, in here fucking jerking off to you—what was he thinking?

Apparently not even the panic can make his dick cooperate though. He tucks it into the waistband of his pants and prays for a swift end.

When he opens the door, he expects to dodge a punch. But you’re standing there in a see-through red teddy, and all semblance of thought goes out the window.

“Did you finally hear me this time, Kiri?”

Huh?

He’s pretty sure he just splutters. Bakugou barks out a laugh behind you. "Told you this dummy was in denial, pretty girl."

His brain stumbles. "You wanted me to hear?"

You let out a husky giggle that goes straight to his groin. If possible, he gets harder.

"I like how you watch me, Kiri," you admit, eyes darting to his lips. His mouth goes dry. "I keep thinking about how you’d touch me."

He balls his hands into fists at his side to keep from hauling you onto his bed. "This is something you two have talked about?"

Bakugou has the audacity to look annoyed. "Doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure it out. You’re always starin’ at her. Besides," he runs a hand straight down your back; you shiver and lean back into him. "Can’t deny this sweet thing much."

The good thing about being a pro hero is that you learn to adapt to situations quickly. Kirishima's brain is spinning with this new information, but he’s reacting before he realizes it, hand reaching out for your waist.

Your nipples tighten—he wants his tongue on them, sucking through the lace. He looks to Bakugou, but the man’s just sauntering into the room, settling into the desk chair with his legs kicked out, gray sweatpants tented.

“Go on, then.” He palms his cock. “Make her feel good like you’ve been wanting.”

Kirishima doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks you up and arranges you both on the bed, your thighs draped over his hips. You’re soaking wet; he can feel the slick dripping from your pussy fall on his stomach.

He’s so hard it hurts.

You’re not much better off, whimpering and rutting in his lap like a bitch in heat.

"Touch me, Kiri, please," you say, nosing at his neck and sucking on his pulse point. "Need your big hands on me."

God, you even beg cute.

His hands span up your back, pressing your tits into his chest and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You groan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Wild little thing, aren’t you, baby?" Kirishima chuckles when you glare at him. "No judgment here, I fucking love it. Been listenin' to you long enough to have an idea of how you like it."

He looks over at Bakugou. "You just gonna watch?"

"Gotta make sure you do it right, Shitty-hair," he grits out, fist moving up and down. “Ya already need me to step in?”

Kirishima laughs under his breath. "Fuck you too, asshole." He cradles your face in one hand, tilting your lips up to his. "Come here, princess, let me see how hard I can make you cum, huh? Harder than he does?"

One breath against your clit and you’d probably scream for him right now. He can't help but puff out his chest a little at the thought.

Clothing comes off in a flurry. Every inch of skin exposed is a fucking godsend, more for him to touch, to caress.

When his cock bobs in between your bodies, he swears your mouth goes slack.

"Oh, Kiri," you breathe out, wrapping your hands around him. "You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty dick.” He chokes and rolls his hips into your fist. "You’re big, too. I don’t know if you’ll fit all the way."

He grunts. "Fuck baby, you can’t say shit like that to me, drives me fuckin’ crazy—"

The smile you give him is sinful. "I know." You shut him up by undulating your hips, sliding your pussy folds along the head of his cock.

"She's a little brat, Kiri, don't be afraid to put her in her place," Kirishima hears Bakugou say in the background. His voice is strained, husky. Both of you moan at the sound.

"Is that right, princess?" He nips at your mouth. "You think I'll give you whatever you want?"

You nod, the sweetest whine falling from your lips as he starts to inch his dick inside your quivering hole. You're so tight it's like your pussy can't decide if it wants to suck him in or spit it out.

"Stay fucking still," he growls, hold fast and hard on your hips. You squeal at his tone, gasping as he stretches you open, working the tip in and out.

Your hands scrabble at the sheets, his forearms, anything. He just holds you in place as your cunt gets sloppier and sloppier, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

"Kiri please just fuck me. Please, I've been thinking about it for weeks now—"

Bakugou kneels on the side of the mattress.

"You're mouthy tonight, baby. All because you're showing off for him?" He taps the side of your mouth. "Let's put that mouth to better use, yeah?"

If Kirishima wasn't about to bust his load, he sure as fuck is now, watching you greedily suck his best friend's dick as he works his into your sopping wet core.

When he finally bottoms out, the sound you make is pornographic, throat stuffed up with dick, humming out your pleasure...

"God that's so fucking hot, baby, look at you." He sets a rough, steady pace. Your tits bounce as your throat works to take Bakugou. Drool trickles down your chin; he wipes it away and squeezes your neck. It's driving him crazy, watching your tongue and lips work in tandem. "Takin' dick so well, there's a good girl."

Bakugou has a tight grip on the headboard, veins straining in his neck.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm close. Pinch her clit, Eiji, that'll make her cum quick. Get her there for me, let me see her fuckin' scream."

Kirishima rolls your bud between his fingers, and sure enough, your pussy starts clamping down on him. His rhythm gets erractic, wild. All he can think about is the sticky wet rush of slick between your legs, your channel milking his cock like you'd been waiting for weeks for it—

Bakugou slides out of your mouth with an obscene pop, spitting into his palm. "Dirty little slut, love getting used, don't ya?"

Kirishima keeps working your clit, dick jumping inside you. "There's our pretty girl, doing so well. Where do you want me to cum, honey? Can I cum here?"

He presses down on your tummy and pinches your clit at the same time. Slick gushes out of you.

"Cum in her, Kiri," he hears Bakugou bark out, hand speeding up. "I'll clean it up later, just wanna see you both cum with your dick in her."

It's embarassing, but that's really all he needs to hear before he's coming the hardest he ever has, cock twitching and pumping seed into you as Bakugou spends onto your tits.

Your own orgasm takes you over, bowing your back off the bed, mouth hanging open as incoherent babble falls from your lips. Kirishima fucks you through it, each small tremor of your subsequent orgasms like jolts of lightning.

He's pretty sure he knows the answer when he asks, "We get to do that again, right?"

You look at Bakugou, who just smirks. "Won't get rid of us that easily."

taglist: @luleck, @yesshayhere @grim-reapers-wife @dai-png @burgvndy

[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

[buckyseternaldoll]

all mine, baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You crossed a line to finish the mission. Bucky saw it. Now he’s going to remind you who that pussy belongs to—with his mouth, his cock, and his name on your lips.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v (doggy + missionary), oral (f receiving & m receiving), facial + cumplay, overstimulation, marking, possessive!bucky, jealousy sex, creampie, shower aftercare, dominance (non-degrading), soft switch tension

Word Count: 5.9k

Author's Note: Hope you'll love my take on Bucky's more dominant side too. Thanks for reading 💜

“Just get the intel,” Bucky muttered, catching your wrist before you could step out of the SUV.

His grip wasn’t hard—but it stopped you. That said everything.

You turned, your eyes dropping to the flesh fingers wrapped around your wrist, then rising to meet his face. His jaw flexed. Tension rolled off him, held back behind stubble and armor and a soldier’s discipline he wore like a second skin. But it was more than that.

He knew how this worked. You both did. Sometimes missions blurred into seduction. Sometimes flirtation was the weapon.

Still—he breathed out, voice dropping. “I know what this is. I know you’ve gotta flirt. Play the part. That’s fine.”

You held his gaze, silent.

“But I’m gonna be in that room too,” he added, quieter now, almost like it hurt to say. “Watching him look at you. Listening to every word you say in my goddamn ear. And I can take a lot, but I’m still a man, alright?”

His thumb brushed across your pulse—gentle now. “Just don’t overdo it. Don’t give him more than what’s needed. Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

The last part nearly broke in his throat. It wasn’t anger. It was something else. Something hot and human, coated in restraint.

You softened.

“I know,” you said, quieter. “It’s just a means to an end, Bucky. You have my word. I’ll do just enough.”

His eyes searched yours like he needed to be sure. Needed it anchored.

You gave him a small nod.

But deep inside, you knew.

These missions never stuck to plan. Sometimes the target needed a little push. Sometimes—when the drug took too long, when the man was strong, when timing burned too fast—you had to exaggerate. Make it look real.

And maybe, just maybe…

tonight would cross that line.

—

The club slammed into your senses—bass pounding through the floor, lights slicing in deep violet and strobe white. The air smelled like sweat, spilled liquor, and desperate heat. You walked in wrapped in that second-skin black silk, your dress clinging to every curve like it had been poured on. Short. Low-cut. Slick with sin.

You didn’t head to the target right away. You let yourself exist first—moving through the room like your heels wrote every beat of the music. You knew the asset was watching. You felt his eyes from the second you crossed the threshold.

Two tables behind, you knew Bucky was watching, too. Close enough to cover you. Far enough to let you work. His voice echoed in your head even now: “Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

You swallowed it down. Focused.

The asset looked exactly as briefed—ex-military bulk softened by money and whiskey. Sharp eyes. Thick hands. Smiling like he already owned the room.

His men came to you, one leaning in just enough to graze your hip. “He’d like to meet you.”

You smiled. Innocent. Deadly. “That’s sweet. But I like to make the first move.”

You crossed the space, hips swaying. His gaze never left your legs.

In your hand: a glass of vodka, clear as a lie. Laced. Fast-acting. Measured.

You slid into the booth beside him, placing the drink between you.

“Didn’t think a man like you would have to send others to flirt for him,” you said, voice like warm smoke.

He chuckled, slow. “I like efficiency.”

You stirred the vodka with your finger—smooth, teasing—then pulled it back and offered the glass with a smirk. “So do I.”

He took it. Drank. Eyes never leaving the curve of your mouth.

You leaned in, just close enough for your perfume to do the talking. “This kind of attention you always get, or am I just special?”

He let his gaze drop, soaking in the cleavage framed perfectly by the dress. “You’re not like the girls I usually see here.”

“I’m not a girl,” you murmured. “And you’re not just some guy, either.”

You let it linger in the air. Heavy. Coded.

He shifted closer. “You speak in riddles?”

“I speak in trades,” you said, voice low. “You look like a man who deals in things that shouldn’t be touched.”

He smiled, drunk on you—but not drunk enough. The serum should’ve hit harder by now. Should’ve softened his eyes, loosened his tongue. But he was sharp. Solid. The clock was ticking.

You glanced toward Bucky’s table.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your skin burned under the weight of his stare.

You knew what you were about to do would hurt him.

But this wasn’t a game anymore.

So you swung a leg over the asset’s lap and settled down, smooth and slow. The hem of your dress barely covered your ass now, riding up just enough to reveal the snug stretch of your tactical shorts—black, skin-tight, regulation-issue but cut scandalously high for mobility. His eyes dipped lower, breath catching as the illusion unraveled.

Your shorts pressed flush against the bulge already forming beneath him, the fabric thin but secure—barrier, not invitation. His breath hitched. His hands landed at your waist, eager and clumsy, fingertips brushing the edge of nylon instead of skin. You let your hips roll once, slow, deliberate—not to tease, but to extract. Mechanical. Controlled. Just enough friction to fry his brain and loosen his tongue.

“What are you guarding so tight?” you whispered in his ear. “Where does it sleep? Who tucks it in?”

He groaned, breath hitching. “Red Hook… basement level… old biotech clinic—front’s shut down. Back entrance behind the deli. Third keypad to the left… code’s three-nine-alpha…”

You tilted your head to let him nibble your earlobe while he spoke, your hands running lazily over his chest. You hated it. Hated every second. But your face didn’t show it.

Not until his words slurred. His grip slackened. And his head dropped back.

Out cold.

The drink finally worked.

You climbed off slowly, fixing your dress with careful fingers.

And when you stood?

You didn’t need to look.

You felt Bucky’s stare drilling into your spine. Hot. Furious. Silent.

You’d done what you promised.

Just enough.

Barely.

But the line had been razor-thin.

And the aftermath?

It was coming for you.

—

Bucky didn’t say a word when you stepped away from the asset.

Didn’t look at you.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t even breathe your direction.

He just turned. Shoulders drawn tight. Vibranium fist clenched. He moved fast, controlled, vanishing through the back exit of the club like he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you one second longer.

The comm in your ear clicked off.

That silence hit harder than any slap.

You stood there for a breath—dress still slightly hiked, heart hammering against your ribs—before forcing your legs to move. Every step down the hallway felt heavier. Guilt wrapped around your spine like ice. You hadn’t wanted to go that far. But you’d known the second the serum lagged that it was either that grind… or let the op slip through your fingers.

You pushed through the alley door into the night.

The air outside was sharp and sour—wet asphalt, exhaust, the dull hum of street noise. The black SUV waited by the curb, engine already running. Bucky sat behind the wheel, face cast in the glow of the dash lights. Vibranium hand flexed once on the wheel. Then again.

You approached carefully, like he might shatter if you spoke too soon.

You slid into the passenger seat. Closed the door softly.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak.

Just stared straight ahead, jaw locked, teeth clenched so tight it looked painful. The city passed in silence as he pulled out onto the road, hands steady, eyes burning holes in the traffic.

You glanced down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. “I had to get him talking before the serum kicked in,” you said quietly. “He was resisting it harder than expected.”

Still nothing.

“Bucky…”

He exhaled—through his nose. Sharp. Barely contained.

“I know why you did it.”

His voice came out flat. Controlled.

You turned toward him, catching the hard line of his jaw, the way that vein in his neck was still ticking.

“I just—he was slipping under, and I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d lose him. I wasn’t enjoying it—”

“But you fucking ground your hips on him,” Bucky snapped, eyes finally cutting to you. His voice didn’t rise, but it cracked, broken glass under velvet. “You pressed your body against another man’s cock like it wasn’t mine you’re supposed to be riding.”

Your breath hitched. Shame curled in your stomach like fire.

“I didn’t want to,” you said. “It was only ever for you.”

He looked away again, jaw flexing hard.

“I get it,” he said, after a moment. “I do.”

But it didn’t sound like understanding.

It sounded like restraint.

He said nothing else.

Just kept driving.

Until his right hand—the flesh one—left the gear shift and slid onto your thigh. Slowly. Hot.

You blinked, heart skipping. His palm moved up, lifting your dress inch by inch until the tactical shorts underneath came into view—thin, black, still dry against your skin. A reminder: that entire act, that entire grind? It meant nothing. No arousal. No pleasure. Just strategy.

But when his fingers slid under the waistband?

When his knuckles brushed your heat?

That’s when your breath hitched.

Because you started getting wet then—only then. Your body responding to him, and no one else.

He paused for half a second. Felt the shift. The slow bloom of warmth between your thighs.

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice low, dark, possessive. “You’re only getting wet now, sweetheart. Not for him. Not up there in his fucking lap.”

You whimpered, your thighs tensing, hips twitching toward his touch.

“This?” His fingers pushed deeper. “This is mine. No one gets this but me.”

“Only you,” you breathed, voice barely holding. “Only you, Buck.”

His fingers pumped slow at first—two… then three. His thumb flicked your clit in lazy circles while the pads of his fingers curled up, hitting that spot that made your mouth fall open in a gasp.

You moaned. Soft. Stifled.

But not enough.

“Say my name,” he growled. “Say it like it fucking means something.”

You tried. Choked on it.

He fucked his fingers in deeper.

“Say it.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, the sound breaking free as your head tipped back. “Bucky—please—”

He swerved hard into a side street. Then another. Pulled into an alley dark as sin, hidden behind crates and dumpsters and silence. He slammed the car into park. Killed the lights.

Turned toward you with that fire in his eyes.

—

“Back seat,” he ordered. “Shorts off. Now.”

You didn’t question it.

Didn’t ask.

You scrambled over the center console, breath caught in your chest, heat pooling between your thighs. The dress was already bunched around your waist, riding high. You leaned back against the cold window, knees bent on the seat, and finally hooked your fingers under the edge of your tactical shorts—still clinging to your thighs, still damp with your own guilt.

You peeled your shorts down, slow but shaky, skin prickling as you dragged them past your knees and tossed them aside. The leather was cold beneath you, but your body burned hot. You shifted, leaned back against the SUV window, legs parting instinctively in the tight space.

Through the tinted glass, you saw Bucky climb out of the front seat, jaw tight, eyes stormy.

He slammed the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame—then opened the rear passenger side.

And when he stepped in, he filled the entire space.

Broad shoulders ducked low, head nearly brushing the ceiling, body moving with purpose as he sank into the backseat with you. The air between you thickened instantly—hot, electric, inevitable.

He was everywhere. The space felt smaller with him inside it—broad shoulders brushing the roof, body folding awkwardly in the tight quarters, but he made it work. He always did. And now, he was on his knees between your thighs, crouched over you, arms braced on either side like a man caging what’s his.

“No more pretending,” he rasped, breath thick, eyes locked on your dripping heat.

He gripped your thighs, calloused fingers digging in, spreading you wide open.

“No more acting.”

Then his breath hit your folds. Hot. Possessive.

“And no one,” he growled, voice dark and deadly, “will ever make you come the way I do.”

Then he buried his face in your pussy like it was his fucking prize.

Not soft.

Not slow.

But god, not careless either.

He licked you like he needed it to breathe—tongue flat and strong, dragging up your slit and latching onto your clit like he was starving for it. He sucked hard. Claimed it. The sound of it—wet, lewd, hungry—filled the cramped SUV, echoing off the windows.

You moaned, legs already trembling, head thudding softly against the glass.

He groaned into you—tongue flicking, circling, devouring—like he knew exactly how your body worked and wanted to remind you who trained it. His nose brushed your mound, his chin soaked with you, his mouth relentless.

It wasn’t just need.

It was marking.

Like he was writing his name in your cunt with every lick, letting the whole damn city know whose you were.

You squirmed, overwhelmed, but he locked your hips in place.

“Stay still,” he warned, voice raw against your skin. “Take it. You owe me this.”

You gasped, back arching, nails digging into his scalp.

“James—fuck—”

“Say it louder,” he growled, licking harder now. “I want it echoing in your fucking skull the next time you let someone else touch what’s mine.”

“Bucky,” you choked out. “Bucky, please—I’m—”

Your voice shattered as the orgasm slammed through you—hot, fast, brutal. You came on his mouth with your thighs trembling and his name torn from your throat like it was ripped from the center of you.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as you cried out, shaking, spent—he kept going.

He licked you through it, slow and thorough. Cleaning you up. Tasting you like you were the only thing that could calm the fire still burning in his chest. His mouth dragged along your folds like he needed more. Like he’d never get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, chin soaked, eyes burning.

He leaned up, voice rough and quiet.

“Mine.”

Then he backed out of the seat and got behind the wheel again—still hard, still silent, cock straining against his pants as he shifted back into drive.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t have to.

You were panting in the passenger seat, legs still spread, cunt still aching from his mouth.

And the safehouse?

Ten minutes away.

You weren’t going to walk out of that room.

You were going to crawl.

—

Bucky killed the engine like it had offended him. His hands were still tight on the wheel. His cock was straining, painful in his pants, his breath ragged from holding back ever since he licked you raw in the backseat.

He got out first—door slamming shut behind him—then moved to the rear.

The moment the back door opened, you blinked up at him, legs still parted slightly, the hem of your black dress bunched indecently high on your hips. Your tactical shorts were somewhere on the floorboard. Forgotten.

His jaw ticked hard.

Without a word, he reached in—gripped your waist, fingers biting into your skin—and pulled you out like you weighed nothing. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

You could feel his cock through the rough fabric of his pants—thick, hot, pressed right between your thighs.

Your lips crashed into his before either of you could think.

It was rough. All tongue and teeth. No rhythm. Just claiming. His vibranium hand gripped your waist to keep you balanced, fingers pressing through the dress. His flesh hand slipped low—cupping your bare ass under the hem, gripping, kneading.

You moaned against his mouth, and he answered with a groan that rumbled from deep in his chest.

He carried you like that—mouth on yours, kissing like he was branding you—toward the front door of the safehouse. His back hit the wall as he fumbled for the keypad, keying in the code with fast, practiced taps. The lock clicked.

The door opened.

He stepped inside, still holding you up, the door swinging shut behind with a deep slam that vibrated through the floor.

You didn’t stop kissing.

You couldn’t stop.

He walked you deeper inside, mouth never leaving yours, breath hot, cock twitching against the heat of you. Each step toward the bedroom felt like another second he was barely keeping it together.

By the time he reached the doorway, you were gasping into his mouth—desperate, wrecked, clinging.

He broke the kiss with a heavy breath. Set you down slowly, like he was restraining the urge to throw you on the bed and rip the rest of your clothes off in one go.

His eyes dropped, dragging down your body.

Then he spoke—voice low, rough, possessive.

“Strip. All of it.”

You didn’t hesitate. Hands went to the hem of your dress, still clinging to your skin—wrinkled from the SUV, soaked with heat and sweat. The black silk slipped up your body in one smooth pull, dragging across your hips, your waist, your breasts.

The backless cut slid over your shoulders like a final sigh before you tossed it aside.

No bra. Just bare skin. Breasts flushed and rising with your breath. Nipples tight. Still sensitive from the way you’d been edged on the drive here.

Bucky’s jaw flexed. His eyes dropped—drank in everything.

He knew. He’d seen the way the fucker had looked at you. Had seen his eyes drop to your cleavage over and over again. Had heard the bastard groan when your pussy rubbed against his lap.

And now here you were—naked in front of him.

And he was the only one who got to touch.

As you stood there naked, his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. He popped them open one by one—quick, clean. Then peeled it off and let it drop to the floor behind him.

His pants?

He unbuttoned them. That was it. He met your gaze as he pushed the waistband down just an inch—enough to reveal the shadow of V-lines and the thick bulge still fighting for release.

He stepped closer, low voice sharp and steady:

“You started this.”

His gaze dropped to your still-wet cunt.

“Now you’re gonna take everything I’ve got.”

—

Bucky’s pants were already unbuttoned, low on his hips, the thick shape of him straining against black boxer briefs. He looked down at you, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and hungry.

“On your knees,” he rasped. “You wanna make it up to me, sweetheart? Start there.”

You dropped instantly—knees hitting the hardwood, palms sliding up his thighs.

He hissed through his teeth when you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down just enough.

His cock sprang free.

Hard. Thick. Flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking. Your mouth watered.

He watched you watch him. Smirked like he was reading your mind.

“Like what you see?” he murmured. “Is this what you were thinking about while grinding on that fucker’s lap?”

You shook your head, breath shallow, voice barely a whisper. “Only ever think about yours.”

He stepped closer, cock inches from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Only want your cock,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Always.”

“Yeah?” He reached down, wrapped his metal hand around the base, gave it one slow stroke. “You want it in that pretty mouth?”

You didn’t answer. You just opened your mouth and took him.

The first inch made his hips stutter. The next made him groan.

“Fuuuck, baby…”

You slid your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks as you sank lower—taking more, deeper, until your nose brushed his pelvis and spit started to drip down your chin. You bobbed your head with purpose, working him like you’d done this a hundred times—like his cock was the only thing you were meant to swallow.

He hissed, one hand gripping your hair, the other braced against the wall behind him.

“God damn—you look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth.” His voice was gravel now. “So fuckin’ perfect… every inch of it.”

You moaned around him—on purpose—tongue curling just right, letting the sound vibrate through his shaft.

His hips jerked forward and he groaned. Deep. Raw.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he growled. “You like the taste of my cock? Like how it fills that needy little throat?”

You moaned again, this time louder, eyes fluttering shut as you sucked harder—lips tight around him, spit pooling at the corners.

“Look at you,” he panted. “So desperate to please me. All that shit back there, and now you’re here… gagging for it.”

You swallowed around him once. Then again.

He let out a broken, wrecked sound that made your thighs clench.

“My cock,” he muttered, voice gone low and fucked-out. “Always gonna be yours, baby. No one else gets it. No one else deserves it.”

—

Your throat was wrecked from the effort—slick with spit, lips swollen around his cock as you sucked him deeper, faster, like you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.

Bucky’s hips twitched, breath hissing through his teeth, every muscle in his thighs taut.

“Fuck—don’t stop, baby. Don’t you fuckin’ stop—”

You moaned around him again, greedy and soft, and that was it.

His grip in your hair tightened—his thighs locked—and then his cock pulsed once, twice, and he let go with a deep, broken groan.

Hot, thick ropes of cum painted your face.

Across your cheek. Your lips. Your chin. A drip landed at the corner of your mouth, warm and heavy. He held your head still, letting it happen. Letting you take it.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he panted. “Just like that.”

You stayed there, kneeling, breath shallow and mouth parted—cum dripping down your skin, cooling in the air. Dazed. Ruined.

But he wasn’t done admiring you.

He reached down, cupped your jaw in both hands—flesh and vibranium—guiding you up, slow, until you were standing again, swaying slightly on your feet. His thumbs dragged through the mess he left, smearing it across your flushed cheeks, his eyes devouring every inch.

Then he leaned in.

And licked it off your skin.

His tongue dragged up your cheek—slow, filthy—then circled the corner of your mouth. He moaned low, like the taste of his own cum on your skin satisfied something animal in him.

“Mine,” he growled, voice dark and reverent. “You wear it so fuckin’ well.”

You whimpered, eyes half-lidded as his tongue lapped once more—this time over your bottom lip.

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor.

You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, arms clutching his shoulders. His cock, still hard and leaking, pressed between your soaked folds—barely touching, just there, heavy and teasing as he walked you across the room toward the bed.

You felt it—every step—the way your slick coated his length, the head of him bumping your clit, sliding through your folds as he carried you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, smirking against your neck. “You’re dripping for me only, aren’t you?”

His flesh hand gripped your ass tight, fingers spreading across the soft skin like he owned it.

“You dirty little slut,” he growled—voice smug, filthy, hungry. “All this mess, and you’re still so fucking wet for me.”

You moaned against his throat, clinging to him tighter.

“You think sucking me off makes it even?” he breathed. “Nah. You’re not off the hook, sweetheart. Not ‘til I’ve fucked that grind out of your memory.”

He reached the bed.

Dropped you onto the mattress with a low grunt, his chest heaving.

—

You looked up just in time to see him wrap one hand around his cock—thick, flushed, still slick with your spit and the mess between your thighs. He stroked himself once, slow, his jaw clenching tight as his hand glided over the length.

Your slick made every sound wetter, filthier. And he watched you like you were prey.

“Turn around,” he said—voice low, gravel-wrapped filth. “Back to me.”

You obeyed instantly.

Rolled over, lifted your hips, and grabbed the nearest pillow—propping yourself up just right. Your chest sank into the sheets as your ass rose high, knees spread wide to accommodate for his size, your folds glistening and parted, waiting for him.

You heard it. That sound. That moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “So perfect. So fucking obedient for me.”

You arched deeper, giving him more. Offering yourself the way he liked—completely. Without hesitation.

He stepped between your legs and ran the thick head of his cock through your folds—gathering slick, bumping your clit once, twice, making you whimper into the sheets.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, voice low and tight. “Dripping all over me.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow.

Deep.

Thick.

The stretch made your mouth fall open, eyes squeezed shut as he filled you with one steady thrust—your cunt sucking him in, clenching around every inch.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips. “You were made for this cock.”

You whimpered, body tensing, back arching deeper.

“Yeah… that’s it, baby,” he murmured, rocking in just a little more. “Feel that? Feel how tight you are around me? Fuckin’ gripping me.”

He bottomed out, hips pressed against your ass, and let out a low, broken moan.

“Shit. So fucking good. This pussy—this cunt—was made to take me.”

Then he started moving.

Thrusting hard. Controlled. Not rough—but not gentle either. A rhythm built for branding, for claiming, every movement steady and deliberate. His cock slammed into you with that perfect drag—thick and hot, sliding through soaked walls that welcomed every inch like it belonged there.

You moaned into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling as he fucked you deeper.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Ass up, knees wide, taking every fucking inch like a good little slut.”

You whimpered—because it wrecked you when he said it like that. Not to degrade, but to own. To punish you in pleasure.

“My good girl,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Clenching like you need it.”

Each thrust slammed your hips forward, his grip unrelenting, cock buried in you over and over again, the sound of skin on skin filthy and perfect.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

—

You were moaning into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked, thighs trembling under the force of him.

But his hands didn’t slow.

If anything, they tightened on your hips.

“Not yet,” he growled. “Not the fucking time, baby.”

His hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back—not too rough, just firm, in charge—until your spine arched and your mouth fell open in a cry.

Then he slammed into you harder. Deeper.

You could barely breathe. His cock pounded into you from behind, thick and relentless, dragging over every perfect spot inside you. Your slick made it loud, each thrust a wet slap that echoed through the room.

You sobbed, close, body twitching.

“Please, Bucky—I can’t—”

He yanked your hair again—harder this time—until you were upright, your back flush to his chest, ass pressed against his hips. You whimpered, the new angle hitting you even deeper, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm crashed through you with violent, blinding heat.

You squirted, soaking his cock, the sheets, everything.

And Bucky? Fucking smirked.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, cock twitching inside you. “Look at that mess, baby. Look at what you gave me. No one’s ever made you come like that.”

You were shaking, limp in his arms—but he didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop.

He kept going—fucking you through the aftershocks, through the overstimulation, through the trembling cries that spilled from your mouth as your pussy clenched again and again.

“Bucky—James please—too much—”

Your voice broke, hoarse, desperate, head falling back onto his shoulder.

But he just moaned into your ear, voice filthy and breathless.

“No, baby. You don’t get to tap out yet.”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he drove into you again, rougher now, cock dragging through your soaked walls like he was trying to ruin them.

“This’s what happens,” he growled, “when you grind your pretty little pussy on another man’s lap.”

You sobbed again, your cunt fluttering around him uncontrollably.

“You let him feel it,” he panted, hips slamming up into you. “Now I get to remind it who the fuck it belongs to.”

You whimpered, hands slipping off your thighs, too weak to hold yourself up.

He caught you, arm locked under your chest, still fucking into you like it was the only language he spoke.

“This pussy,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous, “is mine. Say it.”

—

Your voice broke again—“Bucky—too much—please—”

And this time, instead of pleading the word, you meant it.

You reached back, tapping his thigh gently, hips squirming away as your overstimulated cunt fluttered helplessly around him. Your hand slid to his, guiding it away, your body trembling in the cradle of his chest.

He got the message.

He slowed.

Breathed heavy against your back… and finally let you go.

He pulled out with a low, drawn-out groan—his cock slick, flushed, twitching from the effort not to come right there. He sat back on his knees, then dropped off the bed, standing at the foot now, watching you like something sacred.

You moved slow. Gently flipped onto your back, thighs still shaking. You folded your knees up, spread them apart, presenting yourself with your head tipped to the side, hair messy against the sheets. Your fingers slipped between your folds, teasing yourself—wet, messy, flushed from being pounded raw. You looked at him through heavy, lidded eyes.

“My pretty little pussy’s only for you, baby.”

His mouth parted.

His body twitched.

“Fuuucking Christ,” he muttered, voice half-broken, hand running down his face. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

He climbed back onto the bed—over you now—knees braced to either side of your hips, cock bobbing near your entrance but not touching yet. He leaned in and kissed you—really kissed you. Slow. Deep. Tongue sliding against yours with a reverence that made your chest ache.

He pulled back just enough to pant against your lips. “I fucking love you,” he moaned. “Every part of you. Every inch. You know that, right?”

You nodded, dazed, breathless. “I know. I love you too.”

He kissed you again—one hand cradling your face, the other made of vibranium, cold but careful as it slid down your chest. He cupped your breast, thumb teasing the peak, fingers squeezing gently. Your nipple twitched under the metal and he smirked against your mouth.

“So sensitive,” he whispered.

Then he slid down your body, vibranium fingers trailing from your breast to your slick heat. He circled your clit gently, slow and patient now—just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. You were so wet still. So open.

One vibranium finger slipped in.

You gasped.

He groaned.

“Still clenching,” he murmured. “Still so fucking tight for me.”

He thrust it slowly once, twice, and then pulled it out—watching your walls twitch around the loss.

Then he grabbed his cock—thick, veined, soaked—and lined himself up again. He braced one hand on the mattress, the other at your thigh, and pushed back inside—slow and deep, his moan shaking through your chest.

Not rough this time.

Not punishing.

But no less intense.

He fucked you with love now—hips rolling into yours, cock dragging over every sensitive spot like he knew the shape of you from the inside out.

Every thrust said: you’re mine. I love you. You’re safe.

And your pussy soaked it in like it never wanted anything else.

—

Bucky’s thrusts were slow and deep now, rolling through you like waves—his hands sliding under your thighs to press your legs higher, folding you up just the way he knew drove you wild.

“Hold them here,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent as he guided your knees up toward your chest. “Let me in deeper, baby.”

You obeyed, trembling slightly as your knees framed your chest, and he slid in all the way—his cock dragging through your dripping, overstimulated walls with a rhythm that felt like he was fucking straight into your soul.

He leaned down, pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, your collarbone—then sucked, just enough to leave hickeys blooming across your skin.

Marks.

Proof.

His.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses. “Love your body. Love this pussy. Love you.”

His thrusts deepened, hips rocking harder now—controlled but urgent.

“You love me too, right?” he whispered near your ear, voice quieter now. “You only act like that with me, yeah? Only mine, baby?”

You nodded, breath catching, hands gripping his shoulders. “Only you, Bucky. Always you.”

That broke him.

“Fuck,” he groaned—just as your orgasm slammed through you again.

You clenched around him, crying out his name, and he came with you—cock pulsing deep inside as he filled you with heat, hips jerking forward in short, frantic bucks. His moans were wrecked, low and filthy against your neck.

Even after he emptied everything into you, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

He shifted, carefully—sliding one arm under your back, the other under your thigh—until he could lay beside you in that tight fit of tangled limbs. His cock still inside, your bodies joined. Your walls fluttered around him in soft, pulsing squeezes, but they were easing now, slowing. Content.

You exhaled, eyes closed, lips parted.

Done.

So full of him.

So full of love.

He left soft, fluttery kisses on your cheek. Then a plush one on your lips.

You smiled against his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “We gotta clean you up. We still need to shower.”

You hummed, too tired to lift your head. “You carry me. I can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckled. “I got you.”

—

The water was warm, steam curling around your bodies. Bucky stood behind you, gently massaging shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, rinsing you like you were made of something breakable. His cock had softened, finally, resting against your lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your wet shoulder. “If I was too rough. If I hurt you.”

You shook your head lightly, water cascading down your back. “I’d do the same if you were the one grinding on another woman.”

He stilled behind you.

You added, voice soft but dark, “Actually… I’d probably do worse. Maybe a little dick-chopping.”

Silence.

Then—“Jesus fuck,” Bucky muttered, stepping back half a step. “You’re not joking.”

You turned your head slightly, smirking. “I don’t joke about that kind of thing.”

He grabbed your shoulders gently to turn you around. The shampoo dripped down your temples, eyes squinted closed as you faced him.

He cradled your cheeks in his palms, kissed your nose once, then said with absolute sincerity:

“I swear on my long-ass life… I will never, ever test that.”

You both laughed—soft and tired—your foreheads resting against each other under the water.

Still full of heat.

Still full of love.

Still his.

[sadiesdoll]

BEEN TOO LONG.

pregnant!reader x sevika. | sevika makes you feel good after making u wait so long. ♡ (mdni ♡)

contains: soft!dom sevika, thigh riding, gentle praise kink, crying during sex, mentions of body image issues.

a/n: this could be read as a part 3 for sevika with a breeding kink. ♡ | 2 | but it’s not an official continuation.

Enjoy ♡

You hesitate in front of her. One knee on the couch cushion. One trembling hand braced against her chest.

You're already flushed from the heat of her gaze-hooded, half-lidded, lazily focused on you like she's watching something sacred.

"You sure?" you whisper, not even meeting her eyes. Your fingers are curled in the fabric of her tank top like it's your lifeline.

She nods once. "Only if you want it, mama."

That name—mama—it makes your thighs clench. You've hated your body these past few months. You've hated feeling bloated, heavy, alien in your own skin. But when she says it, it sounds like reverence. Like worship.

She helps you straddle her, one massive hand guiding your hips down until your soaked panties kiss the hard muscle of her thigh.

She doesn't press. Doesn't grind you down.

Just holds you there, warm and grounded, her other hand resting under your belly to steady the weight you've been carrying alone.

"I got you," she murmurs, low and calm, like the ocean at midnight. "Take your time."

You start slow. So slow. Rocking your hips in tiny, tentative motions.

It's not like before—you're softer, everything's more sensitive. Even the drag of her sweatpants against your panties has you gasping. It's not even friction—it's just... presence. Pressure. A reminder that someone sees you. Still wants you.

Your hands grip her shoulders, trembling.

Her voice is low and steady. "That's it, baby. Go nice and easy. Doesn't have to be pretty."

You shiver.

Your breath catches on a particularly good pass of her thigh against your clit, and you let out a soft, broken whine.

"Shit," Sevika whispers. "Make that sound again."

You do. Louder this time. Grinding a little harder now, the motions deeper, slower. The need building so gradually it aches.

Her hands never leave your body. One holding your hips in place. One splayed over your belly, thumb tracing slow circles while she kisses your jaw.

"You're doin' so good for me," she murmurs.

"Look at you. Didn't even know how bad you needed this, huh?"

You shake your head, eyes wet. "I missed this. Missed you."

Sevika leans in, her forehead pressed against yours, the tiniest smile playing on her lips.

"You didn't lose me," she says. "You never lost me, sweetheart."

Your hips stutter. You're close, but not in a rushing way—in that slow, soul-deep ache kind of way. You're so overwhelmed you don't even notice the tears until Sevika brushes them away with her knuckles.

"You gonna cum for me like this?" she whispers. "Just from ridin' my thigh? Look how good you're makin' yourself feel."

Your moans grow wetter, messier— punctuated by choked breaths and tiny gasps. Your hips are grinding in tighter circles now, Sevika flexing her thigh ever so slightly to meet you halfway.

"Come on, pretty thing," she murmurs.

"Take your time. I'll hold you through it."

You bury your face in her neck, gripping her tighter, thighs trembling.

You whisper it, barely audible through a cracked sob of a moan.

"Sev... it's been so long... I didn't know I needed this so bad. I missed feeling good.”

She hums softly and shifts just enough to wrap her arm tighter around your waist, cradling you like she's done this a hundred times.

"I know, baby," she murmurs, her lips brushing your hair. "I know. You've been holdin' it all in, huh?"

“Mhm.” 

You nod frantically against her skin, grinding down again with a tiny whimper you try to muffle in her neck.

Her hand slides up your spine, fingers soothing as she cups the back of your head.

"You're okay," she says. "You don't gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Let yourself feel it. You deserve this."

You let out another shaky gasp, hips rolling deeper now, and she lets you ride it—lets you chase what you've needed for months.

Her voice stays low and steady, grounding you through the flood.

"Let me take care of you, mama," she whispers. "I got you."

And then—

It hits you slow. Like honey. Like a wave you didn't see coming until you were already swallowed by it. Your hips seize up. Your breath catches. You grind through it, slow and needy, riding it out until you collapse against her chest with a soft cry, soaked through, body trembling from the release.

Sevika doesn't say a word. Just wraps her arms around you, holding you like she's afraid you'll float away. One hand under your belly. The other stroking your spine.

"You did perfect," she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So fuckin' proud of you."

You fall asleep like that. In her lap. Skin flushed. Panties soaked. Her arms around you. Her voice in your ear. And a warmth in your chest that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—you're still the same you she fell in love with.

this is so soft I might cry

criticism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki katsuki katsuki but you haven't told each other "i love you" yet. he's like in his third year and he's interning at endeavour's agency again. you're interning somewhere else, unfortunately for him. he gets antsy when you're not around, gets overstimulated just a bit more quickly. so whenever he gets back to the agency to go to bed he makes a quick call and he prays to god you're still awake, and when you are he mutes his mic so you don't hear the big sigh of relief he lets out.

he's asking you about your day first always, so he has your voice to hear to calm him down before he rants about his bullshit day. he grumbles about how you giggle about his experience. you defend yourself by saying he's just so dramatic when he tells stories. he scoffs, but chuckles just a bit when you copy his way of speaking.

it's just supposed to be a quick call, but katsuki wishes you could call all night. or, he'll do you one even better, he wishes you could just be here with him. where you're supposed to be.

so when he has to hang up, his shoulders hunch a little bit 'cus he can already feel his ears burning and he lowers his voice just a bit more cus you're the only one that he wants to hear his next words.

" all right, i gotta go."

"mmaaaaaww..." you whine over the phone, he feels an affectionate smirk pull at his face and he snorts "yeahh," he teases. "you free tomorrow ?"

you hum, thinking for a bit "i should be. 'round nine maybe ?"

"good, i'll call you." he says. "kay, can't wait." you giggle excitedly. "goodnight, suki. sweet dreams, okay ?"

there it is. his heart beats harder in his chest, he readjusts in his chair and he sighs. good night, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you he wants to say. his face burns and he's sure to others he looks pissed as fuck, but it's only because he's trying to keep his blush down.

"yeah, yeah.." he gulps, ducking his head down so he's sure you and only you hears him "miss you."

it's soft, the way he says it. gruff and unfamiliar but honest. you offer him a sweet little giggle he's sure he'll think about before falling asleep, try to image your face and what you looked like to help sleep come to him easier.

"i miss you too, sooo much.." you swooned, voice sweet and shaky from the smile pulling at your face that he can almost see. "but i'll see you again soon, okay ?"

he grumbles under his breath in agreement. " yeah sure, whatever. gimme a kiss."

"ooh ? now you want my through-the-phone-kisses ?" you tease, voice playful. he can almost see how proud you are and it makes him roll his eyes.

a simple "shut up," is all he can think up, he repeats himself "gimme a kiss." he demands, scowl fixed into an almost pout.

and you do, you make it extra long for him and with a sweet little "mmuuah !" and a final good night and wishes of sweet dreams and good rest, you hang up. katsuki stays with his phone by his ear for a moment longer before he decides to get up and get ready for bed.

i love you, he wants to call back and tell you he loves you.

but you need rest, and so does he. so he'll tell you that tomorrow.

dreamy sigh,,, katsuki katsuki katsuki

[kitkatscabinet]

ME, MY GIRLFRIEND AND MY GIRLFRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND BEST FRIEND

Summary: You and your bestie are a package deal; you thought he knew that by now.

Pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x fem! reader. Feat. best friend Donna, Kori, Stephanie and Diana.

DICK GRAYSON

It was one of those rare quiet nights. No alarms blaring, no villains plotting, no Bat-signals shining in the sky. Just Dick sprawled across the couch, half-watching a documentary and waiting for you to come back from the kitchen with popcorn.

You returned, phone pressed to your ear, clearly in the middle of a conversation with someone. You handed him the bowl before plodding back into the kitchen to get some drinks.

Dick watched you go with a smile. You were glowing—laughing at whatever was being said on the other end of the line, looking carefree and happy. He couldn’t help but admire you. You were everything good in his life wrapped up in one person. And tonight, he felt especially lucky to have you.

You were FaceTiming someone. Based on the way you were laughing and swapping stories from a wild night out, he assumed it was one of the girls, probably Donna or Kory.

You disappear from his line of sight, and he turns his focus back to the TV. Until you appear behind him, holding out the bottle of soda, and then he hears it.

"I love you!"

He looked up. You were smiling, voice soft and sincere. His heart stopped at the words, nearly bursting in delight. You'd said it, you'd finally said the three words he so longed to hear.

He spins around, popcorn bowl flying as he locks his arms around your waist over the back of the couch and all but vibrates in excitement, shouting, "I love you too babe!"

Only to falter when you wriggle loose, shooting him an incredulous look as you hold your phone up near your mouth.

"Dick, what the hell? I'm on the phone." You scold him.

"Wha? Who are you professing your love to?" He squawks in outrage.

"Um, Donna?" You raise a brow, as if to say, duh.

"Donna?" He reels back with a whine, hand over his heart in offence that's only half fake.

"Oh my God, you're such a baby." You sigh, "Donna, I gotta go." Donna let out an amused laugh before you hung up, throwing your phone on the couch.

"Get up loser." You roll your eyes.

"Why? Just go and be with Donna."

"For the love of fuck." you huffed, "I love you, Dick. But if you're gonna be annoying about it then maybe I will go and —"

Dick suddenly lunges for you once more, burying his face in your stomach and whining like a petulant child. "You love me more than Donna, right?"

"...Sure, baby." You threw up a mental prayer, hoping Donna would forgive you.

JASON TODD

"Babe? You home?"

"On the couch, Jay." You call back, making him falter a little. You always ran to greet him when he got home, no matter what you were doing.

You don't sound injured or distressed, but Jason can't help the anxiety that rises in his chest as he stalks through the apartment. Only to freeze in betrayal at the sight of Starfire sitting on your lap, her arms wrapped around your neck as the two of you giggle together over some inside joke.

"Are you... are you cuddling my girlfriend?" He looked offended, glaring at where Kori was snuggling into your neck.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch Jason." You rolled your eyes, "Besides, you literally made out with Roy the other day?"

"For the mission!" Jason sputtered, cheeks as red as his helmet.

"Whatever you wanna tell yourself hon." You hummed.

Jason dramatically drops his helmet on the table and crosses his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Great. Just great. What’s next? A wedding invitation?"

Kori shrugs. "You would be welcome to attend."

Jason’s brain momentarily short-circuited before he sputtered. "…That was a joke, Kori."

You snort. "Don’t explode, Jay. We’re best friends. This is just Kori being affectionate. You know how she is."

Jason squinted suspiciously, pointing an accusatory finger. "I don’t sit on Roy’s lap. Not like that."

"Okay," you deadpanned, "but you could, you just don't."

Jason narrowed his eyes, walking slowly toward the couch, still pouting. "I feel like I’ve walked into a really weird romcom. Or a very specific fanfiction."

Kori simply smiled at Jason, not bothering to move. "Do not worry, Jason. You are still her chosen snuggle companion for the nightly hours."

"Damn right I am."

That night, as you lay in bed, Jason's arms wrapped tightly around you, on the verge of falling asleep, he suddenly asked. "You love me more than her, right, babe?"

You blink sleepily. "Hmm? Babe, I live with you."

"That’s not a no."

TIM DRAKE

Tim’s curled up on the couch in full comfort mode: hoodie, blanket, snacks, and a fond little smile on his face as he taps the FaceTime icon next to his girlfriend’s name.

It rings once. Twice. Then the screen opens to reveal not you, his beloved girlfriend, but Stephanie Brown.

In what appears to be a changing room, with a shit eating grin on her face.

"Hey, Loverboy."

Tim chokes on a gummy bear. "Why are you answering?!"

She grins, swinging the camera around to show you, standing in front of a mirror, wearing an absolutely illegal red lace number.

You gasp. "STEPHANIE!"

"You said you wanted his opinion!" She cackles.

"I meant after I bought it! It's supposed to be a surprise!"

Tim sputters, "I can check the fit! That’s literally my job!"

You tried not to laugh. "Babe, please stop behaving like you’re in an interview."

"But, I’m qualified! More than her! That should be me!" He says, indignant.

Steph winks. "Clearly not, if you’re stuck watching from home."

You grin, unable to stop yourself from throwing fuel on the fire. "It’s true. It’s a bestie thing. Steph’s like my other half."

"I thought I was your other half." Tim's eye was twitching.

"You thought wrong!" Steph mocked, wrapping her arms around you and cupping one of your boobs with her free hand as Tim screeched bloody murder over the phone.

"Those are mine! Mine!"

"Not anymore. Bye loser." Steph cackled before abruptly hanging up the phone, promptly declining every one of Tim's spam calls as you watched on with a wince.

"Steph, when I said I wanted to blow his mind, this is not what I meant."

BRUCE WAYNE

Bruce was exhausted, his bruises had bruises and muscles he wasn't previously aware of ached. It had been the 'week from hell', as Dick had moaned, with a large-scale Arkham breakout not even the worst thing that had happened.

His only solace had been knowing you'd be waiting for him in bed that night, soft and warm, your very presence enough to soothe him as you cuddled into his chest.

The batsuit lay scattered across the ground, he'd apologise to Alfred for the mess later, if he remembered, right now all he wanted was to pull you against his bare chest and bury his face in your neck for the foreseeable future.

He'd gotten back far later than expected, and though the bedroom door was open, your back was to him, snuggled under the covers having fallen asleep waiting for him.

Carefully pulling the covers back, he slid in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist with a contented sigh. Only to freeze at the feel of another body next to you. He's not immediately alarmed, assuming it's just Damian, only to nearly fall out of the bed at the sight of Diana.

"Hmm, Bruce?" You groaned, rolling to face him with a sleepy smile.

"Honey. There's an Amazon in our bed." He sighs.

"We're having a sleepover." You mumble, as if that was enough of an explanation.

"Whyyy?" He whines, too exhausted to be embarrassed about his childish behaviour.

"Cause cuddles."

"I give you cuddles!"

"Not Amazonian cuddles." You mumble under your breath.

"Are you saying she's better than me?" Bruce was outraged.

"It's not a competition." Before Bruce can counter, your door creaks open again, revealing an excited looking Clark dressed in pyjamas.

"No." He growls, making you, Clark and Diana all whine.

"Bruce, you know Clark gets fomo!"