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kentocidal · 7 months

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FILE NAME: SHARING IS CARING!.TXT

USERS FOUND: stepbro!eijirou kirishima x fem!afab!reader x best friend! bakugou

WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED! DO NOT OPEN! stepcest, threesum, oral (m! and f! receiving), corruption, dubcon, piv, unprotected, dirty talk, coercion sort of, scummy!kiri, ask to tag

NOTES ABOUT THE VIRUS: your stebrother kirishima promised his best friend a taste of the forbidden fruit.

INTERNAL MESSAGE: i don't even care if this flops im posting it for me. happy first kinktober fic! visit the masterlist here!

NEW NOTIFICATIONS! @kaedescara @yaekiss @pvbbyb0y @voidshoutsback @4izawas (want to be added? send me an ask off anon!)

“are you absolutely sure this is gonna go over well, red?”

kirishima huffed out a laugh at his friend’s question, glancing over at him from the driver’s seat of his car as he drove the both of them back to his house. “yeah dude! it’s gonna be great. she’s really sweet, y’know. i’ve already told you everything about her. she’ll be fine.”

bakugou shifted slightly in the passenger seat, jutting out his bottom lip and turning his head to look out the passenger window. the familiar suburban landscape opened up more around them as they turned onto a familiar street, one that they always walked up and down as teens growing up.

it was bakugou’s first time back on kirishima’s street in a long, long time. it wasn’t kirishima’s first, though.

kirishima’s mother had remarried another man after he had moved out of the house, and with him came the introduction of probably the most stunning girls he’d ever seen in his entire life. ‘she’s like an angel,’ he’d mumble over to bakugou across a table in the dining hall, showing him a candid of you in sweatpants and a tight tank top on his mom’s couch, ‘she just lets you do anything to her, man. it’s like a built-in girlfriend. she’s always like, ohhh nii-san…’

bakugou had been apprehensive about the whole situation. he’d known that kirishima had… a thing for that cringe roleplay stepsister porn, but the fact that he was going through with it now that it was a reality had originally made him a bit concerned.

it had taken a lot of convincing for him to agree to come home with kiri for a weekend for … a relaxing getaway, as kirishima had put it.

kiri made the turn into his small driveway and picked up his phone, tapping quickly at the screen. “lettin’ her know we’re here…” he muttered under his breath before the little whoosh sound of the message sending rang through the car.

bakugou took a deep breath, feeling out of his element. he felt like he was walking into a temptation set up by the devil.

kiri whistled to himself as he got out of the car and wandered to the trunk, popping it open to grab their backpacks. they were only spending the night, not expected to be there past sunday, so they had chosen to pack light.

bakugou gathered himself and stepped out of the car, pushing the door shut a little too hard when the front door of the house smacked open suddenly.

and there you were, in tiny sleep shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top, house shoes still on as you grinned and hurried down the stoop to your stepbrother. “eiji-nii! you made it!”

bakugou felt like his mouth was full of cotton as you hurried into kirishima’s arms, nuzzling your face into his chest and kicking a foot up, giggling into him. you were… you were going to rot his brain out. you with those thick thighs, soft-looking skin, clothes tight to your body and the curves of your ass poking out of the bottom of your sleep shorts.

kirishima wrapped his thick arms around your frame and held you tight, pressing his face to your hair and breathing deep, as if he hadn’t just seen you this time last week. “hey, careful! almost knocked me over.” he laughed into you before letting you go to take your shoulders, pushing you back to get a good look at you. “beautiful as always.”

bakugou felt out of place, for the first time in his life, watching his best friend observe his little stepsister, a girl who fell into his lap that he got to stick his dick in. it should be wrong.

kirishima looked over you to bakugou, those crimson eyes of his meeting burning carmine, shark teeth on display. “you remember how i told you my friend was coming over?”

“hm?” you turned and looked over your shoulder, all wide eyes and plush, wet lips that made a knot form in bakugou’s throat. he instinctively clicked his tongue, averting his gaze while kiri squeezed your shoulders.

“i know you remember that i told you he was staying with us this weekend. hope you still don’t mind. you don’t, right?”

you looked up at your stepbrother and pouted, face feeling hot from embarrassment, you had been so excited about your stepbrother coming home that you had forgotten about your guest. you pulled away from kiri to turn towards bakugou, sticking out a hand in greeting. “nice to meet you, sorry for being so rude, i just got excited.”

bakugou looked down at you with a mixed sort of facial expression. it read like he was angry, but he was more frustrated with his own feelings as he grabbed your hand in his to shake it once. (your skin was so soft, you smelled like coconut, you probably just applied lotion, what would your hand look like wrapped around his-)

“nice t’ meet ya too.”

—

kiri was sat on one end of the couch, bakugou on the other, beers in hand as you hummed to yourself while cooking dinner. you had offered, against bakugou’s protesting, and insisted that you needed to be a good host for your brother’s best friend while he stayed in your home. so he had allowed it, staring at you through the entryway into the kitchen from his spot on the couch while he watched the way your shorts bunched further around your thighs, long legs exposed.

kirishima chuckled, startling him out of his trance. “you enjoyin’ the view, bro?”

“this is insane,” bakugou choked out, shifting to face a little more towards kirishima. “this is- this isn’t right. you’re a freak.”

“and yet, you still came.” he shrugged, swirling the beer by the neck of the bottle before taking a swig. “she’s fine with it. she came onto me.”

“i still don’t believe you.”

“dude! i swear! that’s what happened! i was gonna try to be normal about this, yknow. but she wanted me so bad.”

bakugou scrunched his mouth up and sat back on the couch. kirishima was fucking his stepsister who he claims came onto him. kirishima was fucking his stepsister, and he was going to fuck her next.

“dinner’s ready!” you called out, smiling at the pair of them, and kiri grinned oh so innocently up at you as he stood. “you’re such a doll. thanks, sis.” he patted your head as he walked past you, and you just beamed at him.

bakugou could tell you were trying to act like you weren’t sleeping with your stepbrother in front of guests. he could see how you were holding off, sitting at the opposite ends of tables or rooms, fussing with your clothing a little more than someone who was completely comfortable in their skin.

dinner was… interesting. there was a sort of heat in the room that no one chose to acknowledge. you asked bakugou about his classes, smiling so prettily when he gruffly explained what his major was, what he wanted to do after graduation. kiri cracked jokes as always, talking around mouthfuls of food as if he had never learned manners.

things took a shift after you and kirishima did the dishes.

kiri had suggested a movie, except the movie was never picked.

you suggested snacks, too, but the popcorn was never made.

bakugou felt like he had blinked, and suddenly he was on one end of the couch while kirishima was again sat on the other, back to the armrest, one leg kicked up and stretched out on the couch cushions.

you had been pulled into kirishima’s lap after trying to reach over him for a blanket. that had been the catalyst. your back was to kiri’s chest, and his hands had slipped their way up under your tiny tank top to cup your tits with a low groan. “missed you, nii-chan.”

“eiji-nii, what are you-”

“shh, he wants to see. i told him all about us, and i let him know that we were good at sharing.” he mumbled against your ear, his wide forearms starting to bunch the fabric of your tank top further and further up.

your eyes, nervous and embarrassed, were locked dead on bakugou’s, knees knocked together, tits about to be revealed and spill from kirishima’s hands.

kiri was groping his little stepsister in front of his best friend, and he was getting hard.

bakugou felt his nostrils flare as the cogs started to turn in your pretty little head. and then, finally, what he assumed was the real you started to poke through the cracks of your innocent facade.

“is he gonna watch us, eiji-nii?”

“i want him to join. he’s my best friend ever! you think you can help him out? make him feel just as good as you make me feel?”

“only if he wants to…” you murmured and started to chew on your lip, brows furrowed in concern.

the weight of both his best friend and his best friend’s little sister sat heavily on bakugou’s shoulders for just a moment. he could say no. he could get up and call a car right now to take him home. he could call kirishima’s mother, tell her about what her son and precious stepdaughter have been doing behind their backs. it wasn’t right. it was filthy, it could ruin them-

kirishima gripped the front of your tiny tank and tore the fabric off of you, causing you to squeal in surprise and flinch at the sheer show of strength. your tits, soft and pillowy, nipples hard from the groping, fully on display in front of him.

katsuki bakugou had morals, yes. but katsuki bakugou was also merely a man.

“i wanna fuck you, sweetheart.”

kirishima grinned. “told you bro. best pussy you’ll ever get.” kiri turned his attention back down to you, sliding a massive hand down your front to cup your pussy through your sleep shorts. “you’re not even wearing panties, spread your legs, show kats how wet you’ve been for us.”

you, with your head already swimming from the attention, dropped your knees and spread your legs, revealing the damp patch in the crotch of your shorts. bakugou practically choked. if he had just reached over at the dinner table, he could’ve felt your pretty pussy much earlier.

“now then, nii-chan, i want you to treat kats like he’s your big brother too. make him feel really special.”

“red, don’t-”

“trust me.” kirishima’s eyes cut back up to bakugou’s, and bakugou felt something in him falter. he always viewed himself as the leader of their small friend group while growing up, always taking charge in risky situations. but here, on this couch, in a house he practically grew up in, bakugou felt small next to his best friend, who seemed far too in his element to be normal.

you, lips wet and eyes glassy, nodded anyways and looked up at bakugou with a soft smile. “katsuki-nii.”

“oh, fuck.” bakugou breathed out, shifting closer to you on the couch. “let me see you, take those shorts off-”

kirishima helped you lift your hips up for bakugou to get your shorts down and off of your hips, and he practically started drooling at the sight. you, gorgeous you, your pussy drooling and almost clenching around nothing, puffy clit aching between glistening folds.

kiri hummed in the back of his throat, dipping his hand back down and swiping two thick fingers through your lips, making you gasp and shudder. he brought his fingers up to his own mouth with a dirty grin. “she tastes good, bro. you should try it.”

bakugou’s gaze flickered between you and kirishima, before ultimately landing on you. you smiled at him, spreading your legs impossibly wider, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek. “katsuki-nii, please, want you to-”

you didn’t have to say anything else to convince bakugou to drop to his stomach and press his mouth to your sopping cunt, lapping over you with wide strokes of his tongue and groaning into your pussy.

you moaned, a hand flying to his hair while the other braced itself on kirishima’s thigh. you tossed your head back onto kirishima’s shoulder, already trying to rock your hips up to meet bakugou’s tongue halfway.

kirishima’s hands found their way to bakugou’s hair and to your mouth. two of his fingers dipped into your mouth, encouraging you to suck on them, which you gladly obliged, swirling your tongue around the digits and pretending like it was your big brother’s cock.

bakugou felt his hair get yanked, and he hissed before looking up and meeting kirishima’s dark gaze.

“get a good taste, man. you’re gonna fuck her mouth after. don’t let her cum.”

you whined desperately in the back of your throat in protest, but kiri only pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth to make you gag and gurgle around them. bakugou hummed against your clit, sucking your puffy nub into his mouth to really make you leak.

you squirmed in kirishima’s lap, clutching bakugou’s blonde locks as his tongue expertly swirled around your clit and his fingers prodded at your entrance, two of them slipping into your hole without much resistance. you bucked your hips, clenching down hard around his fingers as he crooked them upwards towards the spongey spot inside of you, and bakugou had an inkling of a feeling that he wouldn’t get his treat if he didn’t listen to kirishima.

he felt the way your breathing suddenly changed, and sat up, fingers and the bottom half of his face soaked with your juices.

kirishima pulled his fingers from your mouth, and you cried out in frustration. “katsuki-nii, please! so close, please-”

“don’t you wanna cum on this cock, princess?” kirishima sat up a little more and grabbed his hard cock through his sweats, making bakugou let out a breathy chuckle.

“he’s right, baby. you know the rules. you only get to cum on your big brother’s cock.”

you felt the coil in your tummy start to loosen as kirishima stood and maneuvered out from under you, pushing you back against the armrest. bakugou took the free moment to crawl over you and smash his lips to yours, letting you get a good taste of yourself while on bakugou’s lips.

you heard kirishima remove his sweatpants off to the side, listening to the familiar sound of him spitting onto his palm to start stroking himself to the sight of you being manhandled by someone else.

“kats,” kiri grumbled, and bakugou sat up while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “yeah, yeah, ‘m goin’.”

“nii-chan, put your head over the back, yeah? gonna suck katsuki-nii’s cock just like you suck mine.” kiri crawled over you and grabbed your throat to guide your head back. you swallowed and nodded, obeying immediately with a small yes, eiji-nii that made a spike of heat go down bakugou’s spine.

bakugou dropped his sweats and boxers to the floor, stepping out of them to finally give himself a few precursory pumps as you laid back fully on the couch, your head hanging off upside-down on the armrest. you licked your lips as kirishima guided your legs around his waist.

bakugou took a good look at the situation he found himself in. his best friend was hovering over his stepsister, fat cock prodding her entrance, no condom in sight. he swallowed thickly at the little sounds you started to make as he guided his cock through your wet folds, slicking his cock up with your juices. he caught himself staring at kirishima’s back before looking back down to your parted lips and where you started to drool all over your cheeks, and he couldn’t hold of much longer.

“open wide, princess,” he murmured, a hand reaching to grab your throat. you opened your mouth as far as it would go, and bakugou made himself a home in the wet cavity of your mouth.

he groaned, loud and low, his free hand reaching down to flick one of your nipples and grope your breast.

kirishima’s eyes glanced up as he listened to how you gurgled around the thick, foreign cock in your mouth, trying to adjust to the position and the new intrusion.

then he smiled, because he knew he was going to just knock the air out of your lungs. he pressed the fat tip of his cock to your weeping hole, and slammed himself home.

you gagged hard around bakugou’s cock, jerking and moaning out, legs locking instinctually around his waist.

“oh, baby, ‘m sorry. just couldn’t wait anymore, my li’l sister’s pussy was just too pretty for me. you can handle it, you always take it.” kiri grinned up at bakugou, at how his face was scrunched up and contorted with pleasure from how your throat was spasming around his cock.

kirishima started a rough pace, barely giving you room to catch your breath as you did your best to breathe through your nose, bakugou was quick to follow, sinking inch after inch further into your throat with huffs of yeah, that’s it, good fucking girl, taking your brother’s cock, i can feel where ‘m at in your throat.

kirishima reached down to grab your hands and pin them by your head, keeping you fully pinned as the tip of his cock slammed up against your cervix over and over. he was deep, filling you in the best way possible, while his best friend’s fat balls smacked against your face as you sucked his cock.

you felt lost, fully debauched, becoming pliant and fully receptive to their wills. you were a toy, and you loved how it felt on your skin.

bakugou moaned as he felt how deep he was fucking your throat, thrusting harder against you and feeling his legs start to shake. “can’t- ‘m gonna cum-”

“told you she- ah- was good,” kiri groaned as he leaned down to bite into the skin of your shoulder, making you whine and gag again around bakugou’s cock.

you squirmed and thrashed with each hard thrust from kirishima, the force of his hips making you bob harder up and down on bakugou’s cock. you felt stuffed, your legs felt on fire, but you were right on the edge.

bakugou shuddered before whining, sinking his cock deep into your throat to spill his hot load in a place you wouldn’t be able to spit from. you moaned around his length as you felt him cum down your throat, warm spurts and twitching cock making your head spin.

kirishima slowed his thrusts, rocking his hips against you as bakugou took his time riding out his high before stepping back and pulling his cock from your throat.

you wheezed, coughing before absolutely making sure you swallowed every last drop, opening your mouth again and sticking out your tongue to show bakugou that it was all gone.

kiri grinned and chuckled in order to get your attention again. “what a good little girl, swallowing all your brother’s cum. think you can take my load, too?” “please! please, nii-san, please give it to me, make me cum-” you whined loudly as you got the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling your big brother in close to you, his massive form towering over you as he practically bent you in half to get deeper.

“i will, i’ll give it to you. shh…” kiri almost sounded affectionate, fucking you so hard the couch started to creak. “fucking- cum for me, cum on my cock, lemme feel you-”

a few swipes of his thumb on your clit sent you finally over the edge, squirting on him and feeling yourself grip down on his cock. he groaned into your shoulder as he came right after you, tumbling into his high and hearing the squelching sounds of his load filling your tight pussy.

he rode out both of your orgasms before finally settling down on top of you, peppering your face with kisses as you shook. then he looked up to where bakugou was sat on a loveseat, dazed, watching from afar.

kiri shifted and opened up a space next to the both of you, and you smiled over at him. “come here, katsuki-nii.”

bakugou swallowed before walking right into the demon’s trap.

#eijirou kirishima x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugou x reader #stepcest cw #tw stepcest #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #ask to tag.txt #kirishima.txt #bakugou.txt #dark.txt #dark content #KINKTOBER.EXE #VIRUS.EXE

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.

And Steve Harrington was old, old money.

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured.

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you.

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more.

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs.

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask.

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each.

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them.

In cash, of course.

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring.

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands.

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave.

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him.

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends.

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before.

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week.

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes.

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift.

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away.

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had.

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington.

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth.

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink.

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming.

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget.

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter.

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves.

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you.

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner.

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring.

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression.

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug.

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices.

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach.

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard.

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling.

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.”

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier.

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them.

You’d seen it all.

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight.

It didn’t.

You sat down.

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked.

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak.

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here.

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public.

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand.

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon.

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over.

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring.

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job.

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass.

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control.

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice.

“No, thank you,” you murmured.

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either.

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy.

Monaco. France. Spain.

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want.

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this.

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised.

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering.

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go.

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.”

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it.

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned.

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone.

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington.

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners.

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand.

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used.

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone.

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia.

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday.

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country.

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see.

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich.

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water.

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco.

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you.

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green.

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed.

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb.

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t.

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled.

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming.

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had.

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to.

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it.

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing.

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again.

You got in the cart.

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake.

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered.

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really.

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead.

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk.

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say.

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up.

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in.

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin.

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit.

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected.

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock.

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento.

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too.

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like.

Pointless.

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk.

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer.

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.”

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth.

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to.

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat.

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good.

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other.

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began.

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand.

A Macallan, no ice.

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner.

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes.

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve.

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt.

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed.

Home time. Maybe.

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to.

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding.

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready.

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit.

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf.

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse.

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book.

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway.

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first.

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak.

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion.

“Drink?” Steve asked.

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you.

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid.

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet.

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with.

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his.

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp.

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold.

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you.

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss.

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet.

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter.

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed.

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip.

It was obscene.

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked.

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken.

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more.

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight?

You.

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights.

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed.

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers.

A silent, ‘give them to me.’

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you.

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?”

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered.

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch.

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted.

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful.

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry.

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out.

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out.

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered.

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard.

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you.

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear.

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down.

PART TWO

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2K notes · View notes

imbored1201 · 5 months

Note

Can I send a request of barca teen reader who is very mischievous and tries to prank everybody

Piggy

Barcelona Femeni x Teen reader

A/N: I though of a situation of pranking someone then causing trouble with another situation👍

Word Count: 1,344

"Give me that." Ingrid snatched away the sharpie you had. "Hey! I'm using that for my notes.

"A sharpie for your notes, really?" She put her hands on her hips and gave you a mom look. You were sitting in the trunk of her car doing the remainder of your 'school work'. At least that's what you told her you were going to do.

"Yes, people do that; you haven't been to school in like 15 years, so you wouldn't know," you shrugged. Ingrid shook her head. "You always complain about the smell of sharpies, and you’re calling me old; this is such an old prank.

She was talking about the sign you had; 'kick me' it read, and it was supposed to go on Patri's back. "So, it will still be funny to see.

You took the paper back, applied tape to it, and shoved all your material back into your bag. "Don't be a snitch," you told Ingrid, and skipped away.

————

"Hey, Patri," you said joyfully as you hit her back, applying the note. "You're happier than usual," she said suspiciously. "Of course I am; I'm officially on Christmas break." She smiled at that; now you were off the radar.

—————

"Ay!" You turned as you heard Patri yell, seeing Claudia there giggling as Patri held her butt. "You said to do it." Patri looked confused at what Claudia said but just went on with training.

It kept happening as training went on. Aitana, Ona, Lucy, Salma, Oshoala, Mapi, Jana, Cata, and Gemma all kicked her.

Ingrid would just shake her head at you when you walked or ran past her. All the older girls, too, knew you were the reason for that sign on Patri's back. Everyone did, but they decided to ignore it and let you have your fun.

It was a harmless prank anyway.

—————

"Okay, what the heck is going on?!" Patri demanded as she entered the locker room after a long training session. You held a smile as everyone turned to her, confused. You looked down as Alexia gave you a look, and you were surprised she didn't say anything about it.

You were already changed and only waiting on Alexia; you were the first one in the locker room, knowing you would have to make a quick escape.

"Why is everyone kicking me today?" Everyone shrugged at Patri's question; she scowled and got changed.

You stared at her as she took off her shirt. You quickly grabbed your bag, grabbed Alexia's hand, and dragged her outside.

"Y/N!" You heard Patri yell, and you bolted. Alexia sighed as she ran with you, already used to this.

It happened every training, and she just went along with it now since it put you in a good mood instead of a crappy teenager attitude.

—————

"Are you ready?" Alexia knocked on your door, "wait, I'm packing." "For what? It's just a gathering." You rolled your eyes as you fed Piggy and put her into your bag, leaving it a little bit open.

"Okay, I'm ready." Alexia gave you a look; she knew you were up to something. "Why are you taking a bag?" "I always carry a bag with me," you said.

The team was having a little gathering to celebrate the last game of 2023.

"We're already late because of you; I told you to be ready by 4; it's already 6," she scolded. "I fell asleep; Lucy says I need my rest to grow," you tried defending. "Get in the car."

—————

When you got to Frido's place, you rushed to find Patri and sat next to her. She gave you a little glare and went back to watching the movie Frido had put on. Everyone else was too busy drinking and talking outside or in the kitchen about the upcoming games.

"Patri," she turned to you, "yes." "Can you help me prank Aitana and Ona?" She smiled a bit; she was happy it wasn't her again.

"What's your idea?" You grabbed your backpack and took out the tiny box. A tiny box that had a tiny spider. The "tiny spider" was a tarantula.

"How the hell do you have that?!" She said in shock, and you shushed her. "Her name is Piggy, and I got her yesterday." Patri looked terrified as she scooted over a little bit.

"Does Alexia know?" You shook your head. "I need to tell her because I need to get Piggy a home." "Then how did you get her?" "Mapi took me; I told her I was getting fish food, and she didn't question why I had a box or if I even had a fish." Patri shook her head.

"You have to promise me you won't prank me anymore for a month," she said, holding out her pinky, and you took the deal.

Patri went up to Aitana and Ona, who were in conversation and drinking together in the kitchen. She grabbed them by their shoulders and dragged them outside.

You followed but got run over by Lucy. You dropped the box, and Piggy automatically crawled away, sick of being in that tiny box. "Jeez, sorry kid." Lucy helped you up. You looked around on the floor, and your heart dropped when you realized you couldn't find Piggy.

"Lucy, Piggy is gone," you said in a panic. "Who's Piggy?" She questioned, but you guys heard a scream. A loud, loud scream. "Shit," you cursed as you ran to the kitchen.

"No!" You yelled, seeing Frido holding a shoe in her hand, ready to destroy Piggy. "Piggy!" You yelled as you ran and picked her up.

"Why do you have a tarantula!?" Keira yelled as she stood on the counter. "I adopted her," you told them, and they both looked at you in shock.

"Alexia let you get a spider?!" Lucy said surprised. Alexia walked in; her eyes widening when she saw what you were holding.

"Where- how did you. You're returning that." She let out a sigh as she shook her head and walked away. "Great, I'm in trouble now. Good going, Lucy," you said, sticking out your tongue at her.

You walked outside, looking sad. "What's wrong, Amiga?" Patri asked, confused. "Alexia said I have to return Piggy." Aitana's jaw dropped as she saw what you had in your hand.

"Nope," she simply said as she went back inside, dragging Ona with her. Patri looked at you and patted your shoulder in sympathy, but quickly backed away when you lifted Piggy up to her.

You had a plan, though, and you knew Alexia would let you keep Piggy.

—————

For having to return your pet Tarantula you were already attached to, you were quite happy. Alexia was just glad you weren't going to throw a tantrum about it.

She was leaving to pick Olga up from the airport, and you were waiting to put on your class act. "I'll be back in a bit; please don't break anything." You nodded, and she left.

You sat patiently by the door, working up your tears. You rushed to your feet once it opened. Alexia walking in first with Olga's luggage. Then Olga walked in.

"Olga!" You cried out, running straight into her arms. Alexia looked confused on why you were crying. "What happened?" She asked, confused.

"Olga, I got a pet Tarantula, and Alexia is trying to make me take her back," you cried, and Olga glared at Alexia. "Bebe, you can't have a tarantula," Alexia tried explaining.

"Yes, I can! I bought her, and I love her, so she's mine," Alexia groaned as Olga smacked her on the shoulder.

"Okay, you can keep her, but she's your responsibility, and I want you to keep her far away from me." You nodded.

"Okay, now that's sorted, let's go out to eat, yeah?" Olga said as she wiped your tears. You nodded happily and skipped off to your room.

You grinned as you texted Patri the good news and got ready. With the look Olga kept giving Alexia, you knew Alexia was sleeping on the couch tonight.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #patri guijarro #ingrid engen #ona batlle

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writerslittlelibrary · 5 months

Text

We can be your family

masterlist part 2

summary: having been in the foster system all your life, you don't expect much when your case worker tells you you're being moved again. what happens when the car suddenly stops in the most expensive neighborhood in all of New York…

pairing: Natasha x teen reader, Maria x teen reader, Blackhill

warnings: mentions of abusive foster families, vague mention of sexual assault

genre: fluff

words: 3542

a/n: this one was voted for the most, and I'm so happy it was. I was super excited to write this and I love the idea of foster parents Blackhill so much, I think they're adorable. I hope you like it and please let me know what you think and whether you'd want more foster family Blackhill :)

maybe I’ll make this a two parter or a series, seeing as I found this already pretty long but I do want to write more about it

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It was late when the car came to a stop. It had been two days ago when you were told you were going to have a new foster family. You had been moving around all your life, having been left at the door of a police station merely days after you were born. You had never met your parents, and you were put into the foster system almost immediately.

No one had ever adopted you, which unfortunately for you meant that you were still going from foster family to foster family, sometimes even group homes when there were no foster families available.

In your life, you had learned it was best never to connect with your foster families. Usually, it didn't take very long until you were off to the next one anyway.

And so, two days ago when the service worker called, you had started mentally preparing for the next mess you were going to be thrown into. You had learned that most foster families were only in it for the money, and that was often very noticable, ever after the first day you'd be there. Often, they didn't care much for you, which was fine. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. It was the times they did care for you when you had to be careful.

When they did care, they'd usually have a long list of ridiculous rules, all of which you had to follow. When you failed to follow their ridiculous rules, there'd usually be some type of insane punishment, which more often than not ended up with you hurt, usually because you'd take a beating.

You were a little nervous to meet a new foster family, worried they'd be another collection of horrible people that called themselves a family, yet, you weren't quite fond of the family you were with now, so you didn't care much.

For now, you'd simply hold on to the hope that this new foster family would be better than the old one.

When your case worker came, you'd already packed. Seeing as you had never owned a lot of objects, you were done rather quickly. All your stuff easily fit in one trash bag, your valuable objects, such as your beloved stuffed bunny and your favorite book were all put in your school bag.

When you had gotten into the car, you definitely didn't expect much, but when the car drove through one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York, you were definitely surprised that that is where the car stopped.

Either your case worker was gonna leave you at the dumpster, or your new foster family is rich rich.

Alice opened the door for you with a smile, and she got your (trash) bag from the trunk. You held onto your school bag tightly as Alice walked inside the huge apartment building, you following closely behind. When you were both inside, Alice walked to the large reception desk at the left side of the lobby. A man dressed in a neat suit sat behind it.

You had never ever been in an apartment complex fancy or rich enough to have a security guard in the lobby.

You were standing next to Alice as she told the security guard you were there for a Miss Romanoff and a Miss Hill. You were looking around the large and beautiful (and extremely fancy) lobby, too busy to even notice Alice mention two women.

The man typed some numbers on some device, then pointed Alice towards the elevator. Alice walked towards it, and you followed suit, too nervous to even spare a glance towards the security guard.

Even the elevator looked fancy, and to say you were surprised when Alice pressed the penthouse button would be an understatement.

When the elevator made it all the way to the top, Alice let you walk out first. There was only one door in front of the elevator, and you figured the penthouse was the only residence on the floor. You turned to Alice, who stood there waiting for you to knock on the door. You took a deep breath and took a few steps forward, pressing the fancy looking doorbell. How rich were these people if they even had a fancy looking doorbell?

The door opened soon enough, a brunette standing in the door frame with a smile on her face. She looked nice, but in your many years of experience you had learned that looks could be very deceiving.

“You must be y/n,” she said as she looked at you, and you were too nervous to do anything but nod. She gave you a kind smile before shifting her gaze to Alice, glancing at the trash bag with concern. Alice took a step forward, extending her hand to the woman.

“You must be Miss Hill. I'm Alice, we spoke on the phone,” she mentioned as she shook the hand of Miss Hill. “I am indeed, I'm so glad you could make it.”

Miss Hill stepped aside, allowing you to look into the penthouse.

“Please come in, my girlfriend will join us shortly,” she said, and you took small steps into the apartment. Girlfriend? You could've known. She looked too well dressed to be straight…

Alice followed you inside, and stood awkwardly in the little hallway as Miss Hill closed the door. She walked in front of you and went to the right, walking into an expensive looking kitchen. It had a kitchen island, and around it were a few high stools.

“You can sit down right here if you want. Would you like anything to drink?” Miss Hill asked, and you just shook your head. She then turned to Alice, who also shook her head with a smile. “No thank you, I'll be going shortly,” she stated as she set the trash bag next to the kitchen island, reaching into her own shoulder bag for a few papers.

She pulled out a map with documents, just as another woman joined you. “Oh, Miss Romanoff, so glad I got to see you too,” Alice stated as Miss Romanoff walked towards her, shaking her hand with a small but pleasant smile.

Miss Romanoff went to stand next to Miss Hill, both standing across from you as Alice handed the map to Miss Romanoff.

“Here are the last documents, and I will be going then. If you have any questions don't hesitate to let me know, my number is somewhere in there. Of course there will be some surprise inspections, and if you would like to get rid of the child please contact the number at the bottom,” Alice stated, and you grimaced at the words she used.

Natasha was uncomfortable with the use of words as well, but you missed the worried glance she sent you and she took the documents from Alice.

You just kept your gaze on your hands, picking at the skin around your fingers as Miss Hill walked Alice out. When she returned, she took a seat, Miss Romanoff now sitting as well.

“So, y/n, I am Natasha, and this here is my girlfriend Maria. It is so nice to meet you,” Natasha smiled, but you kept your gaze on your hands. When Natasha noticed you weren't going to reply, she continued speaking. “I know this must be very scary for you, but I just want you to know it's a little scary for us as well. This is our first time fostering anyone, so if we make any mistakes you just let us know okay?” Natasha asked, and you just nodded your head.

“So where are all your bags? Is someone bringing them over later or?...” Maria asked, and you glanced at her slightly before pointing towards the trash bag. “Those are my clothes…” you said in a quiet voice, and it took everything in Natasha to not say how ridiculous that was.

“Okay, we'll just have to get you a proper bag then, huh?” Maria said kindly, before standing up. “Would you like to see your room?” Maria then asked, and you nodded as you stood up too, going to grab the trash bag. “It's okay, I got it,” Natasha mentioned as she bent down, picking it up. “It's just this way,” Maria said as she led you through a hallway.

She opened a door that carried an empty name plate, pushing it open and standing aside.

“We didn't really know what you liked, but we tried our best. If you would like to change anything, maybe paint a wall or get some decorations you just let us know okay?” Natasha said, and you nodded as you put your school bag down by the bed, sitting on it.

“All this is for me?” you asked as you looked around the room, taking in all the objects already in it. The desk and cabinets were empty, so were the walls, but the room was massive.

Natasha nodded with a smile, walking into the room and turning to the door on the right. She opened it and stepped aside. “This is your bathroom, and right there is the closet,” she said as she pointed to another door next to the bathroom.

“I have my own bathroom?” you questioned in disbelief, and Natasha nodded with a smile.

“There is another closet right here,” she said as she opened another door, a small, undeep closet revealing itself. At the door hung a mat with little pockets, all filled with different snacks and treats.

“We didn't really know what you liked, so we just bought a little bit of everything. These are all yours and you can eat them whenever you like. If anything ever runs out or if you would like some other snack or treats, just let us know and we can get it for you,” she explained, and you nodded with a small smile as you stared at all the treats and snacks.

You had never really gotten any treats or snacks, and you didn't exactly have your own money to buy it.

Maria stayed at the door, wanting to give you your space while getting used to the new environment. “We'll just go and get started with dinner, so we'll leave you to settle in a little bit. Is there anything specific you'd like to eat? We can always order something, I'm never one to skip a good take-out meal,” Maria smiled, and Natasha walked to her side.

You shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

“We could order pizza? Or maybe sushi? Anything is okay,” Natasha pushed when she realized you weren't going to say anything yourself.

“Pizza?” you asked quietly, and Natasha smiled and nodded. “Pizza it is. Do you want a specific one?” Natasha asked as she pulled out her phone, and you shook your head softly.

“Just a margarita pizza please?” you asked, and Natasha nodded.

“We'll just be in the kitchen if you need us,” Maria told you, and she and Natasha left the room, closing the door behind them.

You dumped your clothes on the bed, throwing the trash bag aside and going through them. Most of them were old and worn, but they still fit so no one ever decided you needed new clothes. After you folded them all neatly you walked to the closet, surprised at how big it was. Your clothes didn't even fill 10% of the closet, and you wondered if rich people really needed that many clothes.

Natasha and Maria seemed like really nice people, and even though you'd never admit it, you were excited you got to be with them.

Of course you'd never trust some so fast, but until now they seemed nice and decent. The closet full of snacks definitely made you like them a little more, but you were still hesitant. You'd been in other families where they seemed nice at first, but the moment you'd make a mistake they'd beat you. You shuddered at the thoughts, grabbing a little bag of your favorite candy you found in the closet.

You sat on the bed and took out your stuffed bunny, sitting against the headboard and holding the bunny close.

You were scared and intimidated at this new place, but you were also happy you weren't at the other home anymore. Until now, this place seemed like a much better home to be.

-------------------------------------------------------------

After dinner, where you had mainly kept quiet and tried to avoid the questions they asked you, you went to your room and went straight into your bed.

You didn't sleep the entire night. You didn't know these people, and you were afraid they'd come into your room and hurt you. That happened once, in a foster family you had about a year ago. The foster father had gone into your room and he had touched you, hurting you more than you ever thought was possible.

Since that foster home, you'd always stay awake the first night, wanting to be ready if one of the foster parents did come into your room.

Of course, tonight, nothing happened. Natasha and Maria had gone to bed shortly after you had, and the entire apartment was quiet. When the sun rose the next morning, you knew you had to ask either Natasha or Maria for some electronic device.

You didn't have a phone or computer, but you were homeschooled and followed an online program. With all the moving around and switching homes, it was always difficult to find a high school you could consistently go to. And so, you had gotten an online course and some data to login. However, you'd need an electronic device for that, and you didn't have that.

When you walked into the kitchen around 8 am, Natasha and Maria were already awake. Maria was sitting at the kitchen counter, doing something on her laptop as she ate some toasts. Natasha was scrambling some eggs at the stove.

When Maria noticed you, she smiled and closed her laptop. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?” she asked and you shrugged. “Fine,” you said even though you knew damn well you hadn't slept at all.

“How do you like your eggs?” Natasha then asked, turning to you shortly before focusing on the eggs in the pan again.

“Scrambled is good,” you said as you sat down at the counter as well, preparing yourself to ask your question. After you took a deep breath and Natasha put some toast with eggs in front of you, you looked up, not really facing anyone but the counter top.

“So I was wondering…” you started carefully, and both Maria and Natasha looked at you as they waited for you to continue.

“I am doing online school, and I was just wondering if there is maybe an electronic device I could use? I don't have a phone or anything, but I do kinda need it…” you finished, your eyes darting around to Natasha, Maria and then back to the counter top again.

“Of course. We can do some shopping today, to get you some essentials,” Maria said as she got up, opening the fridge and grabbing some orange juice.

Your eyes widened slightly. They couldn't possibly mean they'd buy you a phone, could they?

-------------------------------------------------------------

After breakfast you, Maria and Natasha had gotten into their car. Their very expensive, very beautiful car. Natasha drove as Maria sat next to her. After about half an hour's drive, you arrived at a mall, and Maria opened the door for you. You thanked her and got out, following Natasha and Maria as they walked inside.

Once inside, the first place they headed for was an apple store. You were shocked to say the least, really hoping they weren't going to spend so much money on you.

When you entered the store, a worker came towards you three, asking if you needed help. Natasha said yes and asked him for the best phone they offered.

The worker led you there, and Natasha thanked him as she picked it up, examining it. You stared at the phone wide-eyed, but more so at the price. That phone was higher than 1.500 euros, and you didn't believe they'd actually buy that for you.

“Well, it looks great, what color would you like?” Natasha smiled as she went to pick up a box from the shelf.

You shook your head in shock, not believing they'd buy something like that for you. “I meant… like a device you have… that I could use… I didn't mean…” you stuttered out, and Natasha smiled as Maria laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Listen, sweetie, we just wanna get you everything you need. I promise you that we want to do this, okay? And you don't have to feel guilty that we're spending money on you, because we want to,” she told you.

Natasha looked at you too, smiling reassuringly. “We have plenty of money, and we can buy this for you easily. I promise you,” she explained.

“Okay…” you said quietly, still a bit unsure.

Natasha smiled and walked towards the phone cases, Maria, with her hand still on your shoulder followed her. “You can pick out any case you like,” Natasha explained, and you nodded as you picked out a clear case. Natasha smiled as she took it from you, putting it in her basket. Why did she need a basket?

After picking out the phone case, Natasha walked towards the ipads, looking over them and settling on the most expensive one, convinced that that would be the best.

You were about to protest, but before you could even open your mouth, Natasha turned to you. “You can't possibly do online school on a phone now, can you?”

“I really don't want you to spend so much money on me…” you told her, and she smiled at you before picking up the same color ipad the phone was. Then she turned to you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“We want to get you whatever you need, and the money is not an issue for us, I promise you. Please let us get you what you need,” Natasha told you, and you simply nodded.

Natasha smiled and made you pick out a case, putting a keyboard case in her basket as well, claiming it was so you could use the ipad for school. You insisted you didn't need it, but Natasha just said they'd buy it just in case then.

After the most expensive trip to a store you had ever taken, resulting in an iphone, an ipad and airpods you really didn't expect them asking if you were okay to go to another store.

You said you were fine, and so you walked into another store where Natasha and Maria got you all kinds of things. All things for your bedroom, either to decorate or use. They had told you to pick out whatever you wanted, and after a lot of reassurance you had picked out several books, notebooks, some pens, markers and pencils, and some other stuff you liked.

They also let you pick out new covers for your bed, and after you told them you were fine with the cover that was on now, they told you that was one of their covers so you could pick some new ones out.

The cover currently on your bed was a new one Natasha and Maria had bought especially for your arrival, but you didn't need to know that. They wanted you to pick something you liked, and soon enough you left the store with some pillows, stuffed animals and new covers.

Everytime you came out of a store, you three had to take a trip to the car to dump the stuff you bought before you could continue your shopping spree, but at the end of the day you really had fun.

You felt a little bad that they spent so much money on you, but with their constant reassurance that they wanted to do it and that they had plenty of money, you felt a little better about it.

After you had gotten back home, Natasha and Maria both helped you put all your new stuff away, and you think you thanked them at least a thousand times for everything they bought you. After everything was put away, you went to the kitchen, sitting on the stool as the apple store bag was still on the counter.

Maria started dinner as Natasha sat down with you.

You opened the bag and took out the iphone first, opening it carefully and setting it up. Natasha helped unpack the case and handed it to you when you had set the iphone up.

You couldn't help but smile at your very first phone. You weren't old or anything, but you were definitely at an age where it was odd you still didn't have a phone. When you unpacked the ipad it was the same. You unpacked it and set it up, while Natasha took the cases out of the packaging and handed them to you.

After everything was taken care of, you thanked them once again, and they once again told you it was their absolute pleasure.

Maybe this foster home would be different…

(if you’d like to be on a permanent tag list, so you’d be tagged on every fic I post, please let me know:))

784 notes · View notes

seravphs · 1 year

Text

棠 —

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo has something to tell you. Megumi is unfortunately still a member of the male species. Tsumiki just wants to watch the sunset.

wc — 1.5k

cw — interlude between tried to live in a softer way and stockholm (coming soon), 棠 means "wild plums", Megumi’s a good boy but he’s still a boy (gross), part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together, I lowkey forgot Tsumiki existed when I first started writing Teen Dad! Gojo so now I have to retcon her in

Megumi’s mouth is smeared with purple pulp.

“You better have washed that,” you warn him as you carefully cut Tsumiki’s fruit for her. Your knives drip juice onto the ground, requiring careful attention to make sure the sugar won’t rust them.

Some cursed weapons are durable, outlasting generation after generation of the sorcerers that wielded them. Yours are more delicate. Like flowers, they require great care.

Tsumiki takes the slice you hand her with gratitude and pops it into her mouth with a little shiver of happiness. Her fingertips are turning purple to match Megumi’s lips. You pour a little water from your bottle over them, and place another slice into her mouth yourself.

“A little dirt is good for him,” Gojo calls from where he’s wedged halfway inside the trunk, fighting for the folding chairs he threw in haphazardly. Now they’re stuck. You told him they would be, and he hadn’t listened.

You make an unconvinced noise in the back of your throat, pursing your lips. He can’t see you, of course.

“Germs are gonna make his immune system stronger. Eat up, Megumi!”

Megumi wrinkles his nose and unhappily swallows his bite. The next time Tsumiki hands him a slice of her (washed) plums, he takes it. Nothing ever works as well on him like Gojo and inadvertent reverse psychology.

After another minute of letting Gojo struggle to prove a point, you reach over and tug on a latch. The chair Gojo is struggling with snaps shut so you can effortlessly pull it out of the trunk. Gojo smiles sheepishly.

“What did we learn from this?”

“Wife is always right?” He says cheekily.

“Can I help?” Tsumiki pops up underneath your elbow.

“It’s okay,” Gojo ruffles her hair. “We got it.”

He pushes you gently away when you try to take a chair, carrying three singlehandedly to the spot where Megumi and Tsumiki are waiting with the picnic basket. You know he wants you to gush over him, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You purposefully turn away to start setting out the food, only for him to saunter over as soon as Tsumiki and Megumi are sitting in their newly placed chairs.

“Did you see that?”

“You are the strongest, Satoru.” This is easy work for him.

“Okay, but it’s still cool, right?”

Sometimes you want to ignore him and sometimes you want to give in. Gojo, like Megumi is predictable. He needs the carrot and the stick.

“Yeah,” you smile. “It was cool. You know what would be cooler?”

He’s setting out the dishes before you even have to ask.

You’re not fooled even though Gojo’s acting completely normal. As lighthearted and nonchalant as he is, anyone who didn’t know better would think there’s nothing in the world that could phase him, but you do know better.

He’s not the type to share his issues, especially not when he thinks he can solve them on his own, which is what you think is going on here. It’s fine.

You don’t press. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

“Someone’s coming,” Megumi announces.

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

He looks away, eyes shifty.

“You know you’re not supposed to be summoning your dogs in public!” You scold him.

Technically, he’s not supposed to know anything about his technique yet. Young sorcerers aren’t allowed to use their technique if they’re not enrolled at Jujutsu High. Of course, it’s different for clans, especially big clans. None of the elders who sit on the council are going to punish one of their own for getting ahead of the game. In fact, they’re quite willing to turn a blind eye to anything that makes their clan more powerful, even if it means starting their young off early. Too early, in your opinion.

Gojo disagrees with this judgement, as he disagrees with everything the elders say. He’s been training Megumi in secret, slowly getting him used to the Ten Shadows. The dogs, which Megumi’s manifested since he was young, were the first to become tamed. They’re the easiest for him to control, so he looses them more often than he should. Regardless of what Gojo thinks, it’s simply not safe. You don’t want to give the Zenins any reason to take Megumi and Tsumiki.

Megumi calls his shikigami back. They evaporate into shadow just as an old couple hobble up the dirt path.

“Oy, granny!” Gojo calls, ignoring you as you smack his arm. “You need a hand?”

“I’m okay,” she calls back. “Don’t worry about me! Just taking my daily walk.”

Gojo gives you an aghast look.

“Why are they hiking up here? One of them is going to break a leg,” he hisses.

“Are you sure?” You ask them hesitantly.

“My, aren’t you sweet! I’m alright, hon. The fresh air will do these old bones some good.”

Beside her, her husband nods in agreement. He seems like the silent type to her extrovert.

“What’re you two doing up here?” She says, picking her way over.

Tsumiki holds up her plate. “Picnicking!”

“How cute,” the old woman coos as she pinches her cheek.

“And you! Why, I could just eat you up,” she tells Megumi, who looks mildly alarmed, not at her words, but at her attention. He squirms in his seat.

“Your little brother?” The couple smiles as you stiffen. It’s not their fault. They have no idea.

“My son,” Gojo says, his own smile turning unpleasant.

“Oh!” She seems to sense she’s made a mistake of some sort, taking her husband’s arm once more. “I’m sorry, you seemed so young. Well, I’m sure you want to get back to your picnic without these old folk. Be careful not to stay out too late! I hear there’s a storm brewing.”

Her husband helps her carefully over the grass back on to the dirt path. She turns back to wave, just once.

“That wasn’t nice,” you say, watching them leave. “They didn’t know.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Look!” Tsumiki jostles Megumi, who’s still focused on his food instead of the sky. “The sun is setting!”

Gojo picked a good spot. No trees obstruct your view of a sky stretching as far as the eye can see. As someone who’s lived in the city for so long, it’s almost a miracle to witness.

The sky is awash in floral hues. Burnt orange, ashy lavender, and muted links spread throughout the clouds. You’re smiling, awestruck at the sight, when you hear a click. You turn back just in time to see Gojo shove his phone in his pocket.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Nope! Why don’t you sit tight while I repack everything?”

Even when you try to help, Gojo pushes you back in your chair. His little helpers dash back and forth from the makeshift campsite to the car until everything is safely packed away.

When you finally get up and brush your lap off, Gojo offers you his arm.

You laugh at him. “Come on, I don’t need that.”

He pushes his arm in your direction again, insistent. He’s being such a baby today, but you can’t help spoiling him. You take it as he escorts you to the car and opens the door for you with a flourish.

The kids don’t want to go home, but Gojo distracts them with promises of McDonald’s on the long, winding trip down the mountain. Megumi’s at that age where he knew better than to trust the strange white haired sixteen year old who offered to take him in but still gullible enough not to understand there are no McDonald’s on mountains.

He and Tsumiki fall asleep in the back seat as the rain patters rhythmically on the windows. All around you, the earth is lush and verdant. You’re in Eden before the fall. It’s hard to stay mad when the forest is putting on such a show for you outside. The earth is blooming, beckoning.

Gojo rolls down the sun roof so the warmth of weak sun beams shines into the car. If you look up, the rain beads on the glass like crystals on a backdrop of dove grey storm clouds.

It’s still raining when you get home.

Gojo carries Megumi and Tsumiki inside, one in each arm. It’s a testament to their sleepiness that neither protest. You drop a kiss on each cherubic little cheek as you tuck them into bed, pressing the covers down around them.

Gojo’s waiting in the kitchen when you quietly close their bedroom door.

“I have something to tell you,” he says almost half-heartedly, looking out the window. “But you have to promise not to be mad.”

You knew it.

Whatever it is, you’re sure you can take it. You and Gojo have been through the worst of everything together, from a bullet in the shoulder to whiney, feverish children. There’s nothing you can’t handle to keep your little family together.

“The Zenins want to take Megumi away,” he blurts out.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t what you were expecting, but it’s fine. You can make it work.

“They’re coming tomorrow.”

You’re going to kill him.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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mizuseyebrows · 3 months

Text

the boy and the imp —teen!mizu x f!reader

warnings: not proofread, violence, intense fight, blood, period misogyny, swearing/cursing. he/him pronouns for mizu (reader's pov), she/her pronouns for mizu (mizu's pov)

includes: bratty, arrogant fem!/afab! reader. grumpy, arrogant teen!mizu. they're around 13-15 word count: 4.8k

summary: you and mizu meet during a tsuyu's night, the rainy season. your personalities clash as you continue to provoke mizu. what started with a teasing tug-of-war ended in an intense fight.

here's part 2

梅雨 || Rainy season

“Focus, focus. Remember how that man did it.” Mizu whispered to herself, closed her eyes, and swung her katana to try to slash the bamboo tree. She trains alone to become strong and be able to fulfill her desire for revenge against those four white men—those four possible fathers.

She was neglected, mistreated, and harassed by Kohama's villagers because of her mixed blood. Now she lives with Master Eiji, the finest blacksmith in the zone, maybe in Japan. Many men had come to ask for a sword made by a great master. He was the only person who completely accepted her. Well, him. She couldn’t say if it was because he thought she was a boy or because he just needed some help. Be that as it may, she was grateful to count with that grumpy blind man.

Although it is not like it mattered whether Eiji ‘saw’ her as a girl or a boy, Mizu never knew how to be a girl. The only thing that was certain was that she had to pass as a boy to survive. That was the only way to not get murdered. That was the only way she could ensure her and her mother’s safety. But it’s not like that had a good ending for her only relative.

“I hate everything!” She shouted, and then, with rage, slashed the bamboo and panted heavily. “I’m just a monster,” she whispered, closing her eyes with grief.

Everything about her was a problem. From her breasts starting to grow to her devilish blue eyes. Her icy, unnatural, and unpleasant blue eyes.

She hated them.

However, without knowing it, someone was intrigued by her eyes and her training.

You were accompanying your father, who wanted to buy a sword from the great Master Eiji. However, you had to wait outside while the two adults talked about men’s things. It did not attract your attention to hear the same stories of fights and combats your father had; you could even recite them from memory as if you had been present.

While exploring the surroundings, far from the town, you peeked at Mizu training in the gyoka’s courtyard. It caught your attention. You could tell the ‘boy’ was someone who was just starting his training by the way he moved.

With a soft smile, you hid behind a tree to continue snooping on the training.

As soon as the boy opened his eyes, he looked at another bamboo. He shook his head and swung the katana back and forth to practice. His stance was somewhat correct, his concentration was good, and his speed and agility were acceptable. Additionally, you noticed that he was wearing weights on his wrists and ankles. Seems like he took training seriously.

“But I can do better,” he whispered. As he moved from side to side, he hit the trunk with the katana, causing the blade to get trapped.

It was risky, but you enjoyed playing with the boys’ patience, and you couldn’t help but feel the tickle of a teasing comment on the tip of your tongue.

“Do you train yourself, or do someone teach you?” You asked with a giggle, still hidden.

The giggles caught his attention. He turned fast to check where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it had come from the forest, and now he was looking into the trees. His eyes reminded you of what a winter sunrise looked like, with the different shades of blue in the sky reflecting on the frozen lakes.

“Who’s there?” He snapped at the voice. He hadn’t seen you hiding in the shadows yet. “What do you want?” The boy had a raspy voice, taking out the katana from the bamboo trunk to point it towards the forest.

“Don’t worry. I was passing by and saw you having difficulties.” You answered without coming out of your hiding spot yet.

“What makes you think I’m having trouble?” He objected while gripping the hilt of the sword.

You just poked your head out, a haughty smile not leaving your face. “Your technique is not very clean.”

It’s disastrous, actually, you think

“Plus, you looked angry at something; even the katana was embedded in the bamboo.” You shrug and point to the logs the boy tried to cut.

“That’s a womanly observation; are you a lady?” He asked with an annoyed smile. He wasn’t willing to let a girl interfere with his training. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Of course you would take my remark as an offense. I didn’t know that you had a very fragile ego and that you couldn’t accept criticism. Boys are all the same, huh?”

“I’m not here for your opinion,” he said, smirking. “You’re really irritating, but I want to see who you are, unless you’re scared of showing up.” He teased, pointing at the forest.

You came out from behind the tree. You were wearing a red hakama and a white uwagi. Daily clothing of a samurai. Your appearance made him narrow his eyes with cold anger.

“Yes, I should be afraid of you. You can scratch me with your toy sword.” You walked toward the courtyard fence and leaned on it.

Your sarcasm triggered his rage. “You have quite a mouth for someone who doesn’t even know me. Are you always this annoying?”

You bit your lower lip as you smiled, teasing the boy in front of you with your gaze. It was cute to see him trying to be intimidating with his frown hidden behind his bangs. He didn’t even have a good posture to attack you.

“You don’t like it when a girl doesn’t bow down to a boy? Does your pride feel threatened?” You pouted mockingly, speaking in a higher tone, as if you were talking to a hurt child.

When you received no response, you let out an airy chuckle and began to walk away from the yard. What a big loser you had found yourself.

“Are you running away or trying to prove that you have more courage than me?” He tried to appear calm and collected. “Why don’t you stay? Are you the type of girl who runs when she senses danger?” He provoked you again with a smirk.

You stopped and looked at him over your shoulder with a pleased smile. So he had good comebacks.

“If you reacted violently when you noticed my presence, what could await me when I touched your fragile little man’s ego?” You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the fence again nonchalantly.

“Didn’t you say it would just scratch you? I thought I heard that, though maybe I just imagined it.” He responded in the same tone as you; it seemed like he was starting to gain trust.

“Good one. I must give you a point for that.”

“Thank you. Although I feel like a loser for putting myself on your level,"

You smiled mischievously. The way he was talking to you now impressed you. “What level? The level of someone who knows how to properly use a katana?”

The boy’s confident expression immediately faded, and he returned to his previous angry one. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

You shrugged and looked away. It felt like the challenge was over, and now you were starting to get bored. You hoped your father would not take much longer.

“Hey, what makes you have that attitude and confidence in yourself?” He buried the katana in the ground to support it. "Is it because you’re spoiled, or are you just a bitch?”

“What did you just call me?” You felt an eye twitch when you heard that word.

“Oh, you didn’t like it? It’s just that you act quite like a bitch, and I’m genuinely curious to know if you are or if you’re just a mama’s girl.” Now he was the one feigning a soft tone, with a very condescending attitude.

“Huh, so you enjoy insulting girls.” You chuckled and jumped over the fence to get closer to him, intimidating. “Well, this bitch can kick your ass in seconds; I can even kill you. If I were you I would think very carefully before calling me a ‘bitch’ again."

“Why? Do you think you’re better than me? What do you know besides makeup and dresses? Just because you see your dad training and fighting, do you believe you have some knowledge of swordsmanship? If you think you’re better than a man, you’re dead wrong.”

“Boy, your inferiority complex is quite lovely. Do you feel that you are not strong enough to be a man? Who hurt you so much?”

You know that when a boy resorts to putting a girl down, it’s because there is something that threatens his poor, almost nonexistent, pride.

“Who do you think you are to mock me?” He was breathing hard and trying to stop himself from attacking you. You were getting under his skin. “I’m not having an inferiority complex,” he replied with a sharp tone of anger. “You’re just too much of an insolent girl. Maybe I’ll have to teach you to respect me.”

He grabbed your wrist and started twisting it violently. You frowned at this, and quickly gripped his forearm tightly and firmly.

“Let go of me, and I won’t hurt you.” You assured him in a calm tone.

“Oh yeah?” He laughed, as a dangerous threat. “You’d hurt me? Do you even know how to fight and kill?” he asked with a smirk.

You sighed and gripped his forearm tighter. Then spread your legs a little, and before he could react, you had managed to throw him to the ground, climb on his back and twisted his arm.

“You have to improve your balance. It’s easy to knock you down.” You laughed softly, burying your knee in his back.

He was taken by surprise when you, who he thought was a delicate brat, threw him down and pinned him to the ground. The boy winced with pain as he felt his chest pressed against the ground.

“Let me go!” He tried to get away, but then stopped, knowing he couldn’t win in this situation, so his best option was to pretend he had lost. “You have an impressive strength for a girl," he growled with his husky voice getting lower. “Or is it just luck?”

“Or maybe I learned to protect myself from guys like you.” You leaned against him, whispering in his ear. Which made you settle more against his body. "Although you saw me fighting as a woman, I must kill you before you rat me out to the authorities or ruin my father’s chance to get a good sword.”

“You think you can kill me?” He tried to seem collected while teasing you.

“Just tell me when and where. I’ll hurt your little mama’s boy ego even more.” You scoffed once more and forcefully let go of him, standing up again to fix your clothes.

He was still on the ground, and he glared at you with anger, his hand shaking and his ears buzzing. He was breathing hard, and he couldn’t hold the rage in his chest anymore. All he wanted to do was punish you for your insolence.

Finally, he stood up and brushed his clothes. “I’ll show you how a real man can make a girl like you regret being insolent to him.”

He growled and quickly ran toward you to tackle you. He secured your legs with his as he grabbed your wrists tightly.

“I have enough problems, and right now, you’re my biggest problem!” His anger was uncontrollable. "You know nothing about men, so why do you open your mouth?” His grip tightened, causing an intense pain.

“Maybe because I have a father and a brother? Let me go now!” You tried to set yourself free from his grip. You raised your head to hit him on the forehead with yours, which made him move away to caress himself there.

You stood up and approached him to take him by the shoulders and kick him hard in the stomach with your knee, managing to knock the air out of him.

As he writhed on the ground in pain, you walked over to the katana and pulled it out of the ground to walk toward him again, pointing it at him. He looked at you with fear and was surprised by your skills.

"Give me… my katana…" He coughed, trying to breathe.

“Ow, you look so adorable,” you laughed mockingly, walking in circles around him. “You really are weak for a boy my age…”

“I said, Give me my katana.” He repeated this with a serious and firm tone.

“Come on, man! Fight me.” You threw the katana to the ground. “No boy has ever tried to spar me. Don’t disappoint me.”

He could see the mockery in your eyes, and it irritated him. “So you’re saying you like picking up fights with boys?” He asked with a cold stare.

"Hah…I might as well give you the satisfaction of getting beaten.” He said it in a cold state and picked up the katana from the floor after getting up.

You looked for something to defend yourself with, and grabbed a wet wooden bar from the ground. “How are you so sure you’ll beat me? Did your little man’s ego tell you that?” You taunted the boy, circling him again, wielding the bar in your hand.

“Why don’t you come here and find out who the real man is?” He asked with a sarcastic tone. He was looking straight at you, his eyes not moving.

“I assure you, there is no real man in front of me; I only see a little boy who can’t stand criticism.” You laughed loudly and ran toward him. You hit his wrist with the wooden bar and kicked him hard to the side, then took distance.

The blow to his wrist made him drop the katana. There was no way he could hold on with so much soreness. Your kick on his side caused him to coughed, but he blinked away the pain. “Is that all you can do?” he asked in rage. “You’re weak; you’re not even a real challenge.”

You threw the wooden bar and waved with your hands for him to come over. “Come, let’s fight without swords. Show me how much strength you have without your toy katana.”

Your arrogance was too much; he couldn’t take it anymore. With an angry shout and full of rage, he ran toward you without any fear, after throwing the sword away. "Is that what you want, you fucking brat? No weapons? Fine!” He screamed and raised his fists.

With excitement you ran towards him. As soon as you were close, you landed a blow on his stomach, but before he fell, you grabbed him by his shoulders.

“You call me weak again, and I’ll kill you, you bastard.” For the first time you were not laughing, now you looked upset and serious.

“You stupid bitch…" He spat with his bottom lip trembling from anger and pain in his stomach. As soon as he had a chance to free himself, he launched a knee strike at your stomach.

You groaned in pain and moved away to hug your stomach. You looked up at him from your spot, feeling your anger rising within. “What did you call me again, asshole?”

He looked at your enraged looks, and he smiled. His own arrogance returned. “A bitch,” he said, and then laughed. “Can’t you take it? You’re the one who wanted to fight without weapons, and this is what you get.”

You growled furiously and sprinted toward him, managing to tackle him to the ground. You climbed on top of him and started punching him in the face. “Never call me a bitch again!”

Your fists pounded his face non-stop. Every punch was landing on target; he was getting dizzy. You were strong and skilled. Through his pain, he cursed you and then shouted in a loud voice, “Get off me, you bitch!”

“Force me! Fight like a man.” You tightened your hands on Mizu’s shirt to lift his head from the ground. “Hit me if you dare."

“You’re crazy," he mumbled through his bloody lips. With that word, he launched an elbow strike at your chin.

You brought one of your hands to your face, feeling your mouth was beginning to bleed. You looked with bloodshot eyes at him, and again, you began to hit him everywhere. At the same time, you also received punches from the boy under you.

He was not going to lose. He tried an uppercut on your stomach, but at the last moment, you avoided the blow and landed a knee on his nose. "You…" he muttered angrily, his face contorting from pain.

You moved away from him, to take a breath. Your entire face was beaten and covered in blood, just like his. The breathing was heavy, and you had to shake your head from time to time to avoid falling unconscious. "I'm going to… kill you." You managed to say it between deep, fatigued breaths.

Mizu’s whole body hurt, and she was sure you both had huge, horrible bruises on your skin. She coughed, and blood was dripping from her lips. She was breathing fast and couldn’t even think clearly because of the intense and sharp pain.

With an angry expression on her bloodied face, she glared at you. “I would never lose to you… never!” she said in a loud and menacing tone.

“Wanna bet?” You spat blood to the ground, glaring angrily at her.

But before you could run again, a hand grabbed your wrist violently. It was your father, an imposing and terrifying samurai. He looked angry.

“What do you think you’re doing, little one? Do you want to ruin my business with Eiji or what?” He growled angrily, tightening his grip on his daughter’s wrist and hurting her.

You shook your head repeatedly, trying to free yourself. “No, no, sorry, sorry.”

Mizu’s anger turned into surprise when she saw the man grabbing your wrist. She didn’t expect that at all. The man was intimidating; his grip was so tight that it must have hurt you.

With all the anger inside her boiling, she took the chance to get a break from the fight and jumped to her feet. “Let her go.” She shouted in a furious and threatening tone.

You were a pain in the ass, but she wouldn’t let someone stronger than you hurt you like that. Only you two could hit each other because you were on the same level, so she thought.

“You better stay out of this, kid. This is a father-daughter thing.” The man looked at Mizu and then at his daughter, still upset. “Walk. We’re leaving.”

You nodded softly and jumped over the fence to approach your father. “Bye…you.” You realized you didn’t even know the name of the person you had been sparring with. “Thanks for the fight.”

That surprised Mizu. She didn’t expect you to walk away without protesting. She expected you to be more like before and fight your dad over this.

She watched you going through the forest and then nodded to herself. “Bye...” She picked up her katana and went back to Master Eiji’s.

Mizu was nervous about possible reprimands from Eiji, but the man just remained silent. Dead silent. He only spoke to her when he needed firewood, when he needed her to keep the fire going, or when they needed to eat. She knew he was aware of the fight, and perhaps the lesson he wanted to teach her was hidden in his quietude.

But not only was her head plagued with thoughts about Eiji, your memory was also floating around. She wondered if your father had hurt you, punished you or hit you. He looked furious when he found you fighting. She had to admit that she was a little worried about your well-being.

The days passed, turning into three weeks. The blows to both of your bodies hurt horribly, and you two could hardly do physical activities without ending up complaining. Mizu always tried to keep her moans of pain to herself so as not to make Eiji angrier. Although all she wanted to do was hiss because of the stings that moving her limbs caused her.

However, one night, that samurai returned to look for the katana he ordered. And there you were. Accompanying your father again, your face was full of bruises and some cuts. You looked at her with a serious frown while sitting on the ground, unable to help but grimace in pain.

Mizu was standing next to the swordsmith, studying your looks. She watched you with inquisitiveness. You looked equally terrible; your body was covered in bruises, and your skin was practically pink and purplish just like hers, but you still had some grace surrounding you. You looked like a worthy daughter of a samurai.

“My little imp likes to say a few words to your kōhai, Master Eiji.” Your father said this after clearing his throat and kneeling in front of the old man.

You sighed heavily, staring at Mizu. “I’m sorry for provoking you and starting the fight. I just wanted to brag about the training I’ve been receiving from my father, plus I have a terrible temper, and I will work on it to avoid future altercations."

Mizu only raised an eyebrow, looking at you in disbelief; although she wanted to let out a smirk. She felt quite satisfied to see you finally apologize.

“And Master Eiji, I also apologize for taunting and hitting your kōhai and apprentice. I didn’t consider that by messing with him, I was doing it to you too.” You performed dogeza for Mizu and the blacksmith, hoping they would see the sincerity in your words.

Mizu couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear now, almost laughing. Seeing you kowtowing only made her feel pleased, showing so much vulnerability… Maybe she will start to like you.

Master Eiji forgave you; he always would, no matter what. Now you were just waiting for Mizu’s response, without separating your forehead from the ground. You knew she was making fun of your position, but you couldn’t break your bow until you received an apology, which made you frown slightly. You didn’t want to continue humiliating yourself in front of that arrogant boy. That arrogant boy with an attractive smirk…

Mizu coughed softly into her fist, trying to hide her laughter. She sniffled a little and smiled in your direction. “No problem; I also provoked you and encouraged the fight.”

Finally, you broke your bow and sat back on your heels without taking away your gaze off her. Mizu kept looking at you with a sly smile, mocking you.

Did he just want to continue playing to provoke each other? Because I’m about to rip that smile away with one punch. You though clenching your fists.

The two adults started talking about the samurai’s new sword, and for once, Mizu wasn’t interested in paying attention to that. She was much more attentive to what your next move would be.

You began to move your lips, saying something without making the slightest sound. “What is your name?” You asked, not wanting your father to see you talking to her.

Mizu narrowed her eyes as she saw the movements of your lips. She tried to figure out what you were saying. She moved her left hand slowly and pointed to her ear. “I can’t hear what you are saying," she muttered quietly.

You rolled your eyes and started to move your hands, attempting to communicate. You pointed to your mouth, then to your father and your ear, and finally shook your fingers. What you wanted to tell Mizu was that you didn’t want your dad to hear you both talking.

She got your message, nodded, and put one hand over her mouth, the other raised showing that she wouldn't say a word. Mizu was now very interested in what you were going to say. This girl is so mysterious.

“Are you grounded?” You moved your lips again, mimicking the words.

“Sort of.” Mizu gestured with a shrug and a sway of her head from side to side, wrinkling her nose with a silent giggle.

You laughed silently, covering your mouth. You looked askance at your father as he stood up to test the weight and flexibility of his new katana. That means you will be gone soon.

You pointed at your own face and then pointed at Mizu. “They hurt?” You asked, referring to the bruises.

Her curiosity turned into surprise as she nodded her head again. She pointed at her own face and then moved her hand to try to mimic how the bruises hurt. You nodded several times as well. Your face also hurts a lot. You now moved your hand over to the rest of your body, and then clenched your eyes and fists, wanting to communicate that it also hurt like hell.

Mizu inclined her head repeatedly to assure you. She rubbed her tummy and winced in pain, closing her eyes. But then she opened them again to see you.

You bit your lower lip and sighed softly. “I’m sorry.” You moved your lips, smiling with sincerity. You were remorseful for hurting her so much.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. She nodded and rubbed her bruises to show you that it was fine. She could tell that your words were sincere. Mizu felt flustered for getting this kind side of you. It was weird. She was sure she hated you minutes ago, but now she feels she took a shine to you.

Your father swung down the katana one more time and bowed before Master Eiji. He sheathed his sword and thanked the blacksmith, then saw you. “Come on, we must continue with the trip.”

The man made a reverence again and walked out of the gyoka, with a straight and intimidating posture.

You stood up quickly, which made your ribs hurt horribly. Despite that, you approached Mizu, looking at her. “What’s your name?” Now you spoke normally, your father was no longer there to reprimand you.

"I'm…I’m Mizu,” she said, looking at you with shock, realizing that neither of you knew each other’s name. She serenely studied your face, mesmerized by the color of your eyes. Despite having bruise marks, your facial features were still graceful. You were a pretty girl, Mizu had to admit.

“Mizu. Cute.” That’s the only answer you gave her before walking towards the door of the house, still holding your ribs, after your father called you again.

Mizu watched you leave, absorbed in that word that played non-stop in her mind. Cute. Something deep inside her told her that it was a sarcastic comment on your part, but the way her heart was beating desperately made her perceive it as a sincere compliment.

Are boys called ‘cute’? Did you know she was a girl? Was she cute? Was that a degrading and debilitating term, or was it a validation of her looks?

Or just her name seems cute to you?

‘Cute’ was a word that made her feel seen and appreciated. Especially coming from someone who irradiated such elegance and grace. You were the daughter of a samurai, probably an important one. Your clothes were obviously made of the best material on the market.

The duality of your appearance made her envious. You could pass for someone fragile and delicate, but underneath that mask was a strong, skilled, and stubborn girl. Besides, that sudden change from arrogant to kind intrigued her, and she had to accept it was very appealing from you.

Plus, you never mentioned her eyes nor her looks. As if she were just another fellow around. Mizu couldn’t determine if she liked that you hadn’t mentioned her mixed-race heritage or the possibility of you seeing her as 'just another boy.'

However, she needed to know what you thought of her. It was a nascent desire that was beginning to confuse her.

By the time she realized she had spent ten minutes watching where you had gone, she realized she didn’t know your name. She couldn’t even ask you your name, and asking Eiji would be a huge embarrassment. She cursed herself for not snapping out of her reverie in time.

“Stupid, Mizu. You hear her calling you ‘cute’ and you become a fool." She scolded herself and wrinkled her nose in bewilderment and anger.

Now she has to wait for you to return to that place or perhaps meet you by chance while traveling. Another fight didn’t seem like such a bad idea, especially if you two would treat each other so well afterward.

tell me if this is worthy of a second part or is it okay as a one shot

#teen mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu x you

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castiwls · 17 days

Text

willow - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'I'm begging for you to take my hand. Wreck my plans, that's my man'

Requested; anon

Notes;tysm for the request <3 the yellow lights mentioned are like the one in the video (anon requested!)

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Sam Winchester was a relatively new addition to your life. It had barely been a month since he and his brother had waltzed right into your life and seemingly derailed it from the almost perfect track it had been on.

In that time you’d found yourself falling fast and hard for the younger of the two. Falling in love was something which seemingly came easy to you, free falling into a relationship was something which gave you a thrill like no other yet this was different. Falling this time didn't mean simply moving your toothbrush into a new bathroom a few streets down, no falling this time was life-altering almost.

But you were more than willing. The idea excited you almost. Getting to experience a whole new world while being around someone who made butterflies swarm in your stomach was something which you only saw in novels you’d read as a teen.

You were under no illusion that hunting was an easy life, both Sam and Dean had been very straight with what you were walking into, especially with them but you were willing. And being here now made the hell that was slowly becoming your reality seem to melt away and become nothing but an afterthought.

The small streets of the town were bustling with people as the two of you slowly weaved your way through. You noticed every so often the way Sam would glance back making sure you were still behind him before quickly turning back whenever you met his gaze. The simple act sent butterflies swarming in your stomach and made you even more curious as to why he had dragged you from your bed at midnight.

Sam would never admit it out loud but you weren’t the only one who’d seemingly fallen hard and fast. The thought of a relationship had never even crossed his mind until you’d appeared in his life and suddenly it was all he could think of.

His life was less than ordinary and part of him had begun to believe that the obstacles that constantly between him and love were simply a sign from above that maybe he wasn’t meant to find a connection like that. But then he’d met you.

“Just up here.” Sam pointed to a small hill not far from where you were both currently standing. You nodded sending him a small smile. As you both continued to walk the crowd of people only seemed to grow larger and larger causing you to reach for his hand on instinct.

He didn’t say anything as he reassuringly squeezed your hand navigating you both through the crowd until they slowly began to disperse the closer and closer you got to the clearing. “Why did you want to come here again?” You asked taking a seat on the grass in front of a large tree.

Sam quickly sat beside you leaning back against the trunk a smile growing on his face as he watched the sky. “I read about a festive they do here around this time of year.” A small glint of excitement appeared in his eyes as he turned his attention to you. “Just watch.” He nodded forward.

“Alright.” You sat forward curious as to what he could have possibly read about. You’d only been in this town for a day and so far you’d seen nothing of a festival, yet the crowds you’d seen said differently.

A comfortable silence fell over you both after a moment. After a moment something in the distance began to glitter against the dark sky. The small yellow light stood alone for a moment, slowly rising into the sky before another light joined it.

A small gasp left your lips as what seemed like hundreds of other yellow lights began to dot the skies over the town. “It’s beautiful.” You turned to him in awe before quickly turning back to watch as the lights drifted across the sky.

Sam smiled his heart fluttering slightly at the look of pure awe etched on your face as you continued to watch the small lights pass by. After a few more moments he felt you relax onto the trunk beside him, your gaze still locked on the sky which was now full of small yellow lights.

Slowly he moved his arm around you, he felt his breath almost stop in his chest as your head dropped to his shoulder with a small contented sigh. At the movement, he felt himself relax as he turned his attention from the sky to you.

The lights were dazzling but he was much more infatuated with the sight in his arms.

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michwritesstuff · 3 months

Text

It’s Not All In Your Head (Teen Wolf: Stiles Stilinski)

I KNOW THIS IS KIND OF A DYING FANDOM SO IF YOU LIKE THIS PLEASE REBLOG/SHARE/LIKE!! IM CURRENTLY REWATCHING SO IM FEELING QUITE INSPIRED BY THESE CHARACTERS!

this was formerly posted on my blog as “Unexpected” with a 1.5k word count, but I wrote it over two years ago and wanted to rewrite some things and add some more plot. So this really is a different story now, deserving of a new title and song that fits the vibe

pairing: female reader (she/her) x Stiles Stilinski

summary: When you find yourself mixed up in the mysterious supernatural world of Beacon Hills, a town you’ve grown up in your whole life, you find an unlikely ally in the form of Stiles Stilinski. The boy you’ve despised and admired for the last half of your life.

notes/warnings: small mentions of familial death, mention of dead body

word count: 3.3k

Getting out of bed this morning was rough.

Head rushing and pounding with the adrenaline from the night before.

It couldn’t be, right?

Everything you experienced last night wasn’t real, or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

You couldn’t explain how you ended up in the woods in the middle of the night.

Hearing voices in your head, it was almost as if you had been summoned there.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

This was the second time in your life that you couldn’t push the voices away.

It had only happened once before this, right before your grandmother passed.

She had been in hospice for the last few months and hadn’t been doing well.

You begged your mom to let you skip school that day to visit her, but she insisted that the last time she had spoken to the nurse, everything was fine.

You got called out of class early that day, your mother rushing you over to the nursing home so that your grandmother would be surrounded by family in her last moments.

Neither of you had brought up how you somehow knew you needed to be there, but the coincidence never left your mind.

Tonight felt like that day from a few months ago.

As you sat at your desk doing homework you could hear distant muffled voices, the words weren’t clear, but they started getting louder.

You huffed, pushing your chair back as you got up.

Walking down the hallway you expected to turn the corner and see your younger brother blasting the tv at the highest volume, but you were met with the deafening silence of the dark and empty living room.

The voices continued as you wandered around the house, growing louder as you followed them outside into the back yard.

You looked back at your house before sneaking out the side gate.

The streets were empty as you walked down the sidewalk, making left and right turns when they felt right.

It wasn’t until you reached the entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve that you snapped back to reality and truly took in your surroundings.

You barely enjoyed running through here when it was cross country season, you certainly wouldn’t have chosen to come here in the middle of the night.

Walking further into the woods, you reached a small clearing.

A large wood trunk sat in the middle of the clearing, a sizeable figure laying on top of it.

As you got closer you began to make out shapes; an arm, a leg, it was a body.

You stopped a few feet short of the stump, your eyes widening in horror as they focused in on the lifeless eyes of the body before you.

It was a dead body.

You couldn’t do anything but scream at the top of your lungs.

The murmured voices quickly stopped and were soon replaced by a different set of voices.

They grew louder as did the footsteps as they approached.

“Y/N!” Scott and Lydia exclaimed at the same time.

You turned around quickly, fear painted on your features as you attempted to speak.

“I—I don’t…”

Lydia stepped forward, wrapping her arm around your shoulder as she walked you away from the body.

“Y/L/N?” you heard another voice arise.

It was the first time you really noticed that he was there.

“Stilinski,” you greeted back.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“You know the usual, finding dead bodies in the woods, you?”

Hearing his scoff, you smirked to yourself, it was so easy to rile him up.

It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to be making jokes, but with Stiles the sarcasm and witty comebacks were hard to swallow back.

It was almost refreshing to be joking with him in that moment.

Whispering among themselves, you stood quietly looking around, of course your attention still drawn to the body splayed on the trunk a few feet behind them.

Their whispering soon came to an end and Lydia and Stiles stepped forward.

Taking your arm again, Lydia turned you around so that you were now walking in the direction that you came from.

“Y/N, did you walk here?” Lydia asked concernedly.

“Yeah, I—” you were about to explain how you felt drawn here.

“…yeah” you answered quietly.

She turned her head to give Scott and Stiles a worried look.

You know what this might have looked like to your classmates.

Standing over a dead body in the middle of the woods, late at night.

“C’mon, Stiles will take us home. It’s probably not the safest idea to be out now.”

“What about Scott?” you asked unsurely.

“Believe me, Scott knows how to handle his own,” Stiles replied while slightly increasing his speed so that he was now walking in front of you and Lydia.

You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but you chose not to ask too many questions.

As you crawled into the back of Stiles’s Jeep you didn’t know what to think.

You were terrified about the discovery you made in the woods and the unexplainable feeling that you had that could have possibly led you there.

Terrified at the thought of your classmates, also walking around the woods at the same time and seemingly not as concerned about a body as you were.

The low hum of the radio filled the awkward silence as they drove you home, only speaking up when you had to direct Stiles.

As he pulled up in front of your driveway, you quickly thanked them and got out, trying your best to get to the front door.

Stiles was quick to shut off the car and follow you.

“Y/LN!” he called.

You brushed it off as if you had not heard him, quickening your steps as you got closer.

“Y/N!” he called again.

You rounded on your feet quickly, Stiles stopping abruptly as he almost ran into you.

“What?” you exhaled tiredly, your eyes watering slightly as they met with his.

“What could you possibly say right now?” you asked.

“I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he spoke up.

“No Stiles, I am not okay. None of this is okay.”

He nodded understandingly.

He reached up slightly, so that his hand was barely hovering above your elbow.

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from his body being so close.

As you glanced down, he quickly dropped his hand back down to his side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stated matter of factly.

You looked back up to give him a small nod.

He waited for you to go inside and only turned to leave when he heard the lock click.

You did not see it, but Lydia gave him a pointed look as he walked back to the car.

“Shut up,” he said as he started the jeep.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lydia smiled back.

That night you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw the lifeless eyes of the body staring back at you.

Before you knew it, sleep had consumed your whole body and your thoughts and fears of the night slowly melted away.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

You quickly awoke to the sound of your alarm clock blaring.

Immediately hitting snooze, you debated skipping school all together.

It’s not like you didn’t like school, it was quite the opposite.

You were doing extremely well in all your classes, involved in every club and team you thought would make your college application stand out, and you had a great group of supportive friends.

Thinking about the possible run in with Scott or Lydia and the inevitable run in with Stiles, since you shared so many classes, was more than your anxiety allowed you to handle.

Grabbing your bag, you headed to the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar and your keys from the counter as you said goodbye to your mom.

Walking to the driver’s door you were startled when a car horn honking caught your attention.

Looking up you were shocked to see Stiles and his infamous jeep, windows down as he blocked your driveway.

“Stilinski, get the hell out of the way. You’re going to make me late for school.”

“Yup, that’s the plan. Get in Y/L/N,” he replied.

Rolling your eyes, you walked over to his car. He nodded at you to get in.

You stood, looking unamused.

He huffed before getting out the driver’s side and walking around the front of the car.

He brushed past you, opening the passenger door, his eyes silently pleading with you to get in.

“Okay, okay!” you exclaimed, climbing into the passenger seat.

The radio was low, and you quietly hummed along as you passed the houses on your street.

After a few wrong turns you had finally turned to Stiles,

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“I thought you were taking me to school,” you huffed, annoyance clear in your voice.

“I never said that, I said I was going to make you late,” Stiles replied, an attitude in his voice similar to yours.

Rolling your eyes, you turned in your seat, resuming the activity of watching the world outside the car window quickly pass.

After about another 10 minutes you had pulled into a driveway of a cute looking house.

“Is this your house?” you asked confused.

“Yeah, now c’mon,” he answered, quickly turning off the car and getting out.

You followed him into the house and to his room.

Your eyes scanned his room, blue walls littered with posters and clothes thrown on the floor with little regard.

Typical, you thought to yourself.

If you looked under the bed you were sure you would probably find playboy magazines covered in some sort of body fluid.

You shivered at the thought.

What was strange was the wall by his desk.

Red yarn creating a maze as it led from one photo to another. Confusing words and maps printed alongside.

You watched as Stiles threw his backpack onto the chair.

“Don’t worry my dad isn’t home, so no one will interrupt us.”

You gave him a surprised and teasing look, insinuating that his words were some sort of innuendo, before he quickly spoke again.

“Jesus Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You chuckled softly, before letting your eyes roam around some more.

“I just meant, there’s some things I need to ask you about, you know, about last night?” he continued.

Stiles noticed you visibly harden at the mention of last night.

He knew why Scott and them were there.

But you?

That was a question still left unanswered.

Taking a seat on his bed, you sighed.

“What were you doing in the woods Y/N?” he asked more directly.

“I honestly don’t know,” you said unconvincingly.

“I mean, I could be asking you the same thing. Your dad’s the Sheriff, right? I wonder what he would have to say about you and your friends hanging around dead bodies in the woods.”

This caught Stiles’s attention.

“Ok, let’s not get crazy. And don’t forget, we found you over the dead body,” he reminded you.

“And what exactly were the three of you doing out there? Taking a late-night stroll in the moonlight,” you remarked accusingly.

“Listen Y/N. This is serious, there’s a lot going on in Beacon Hills. A lot that I can’t really explain right now. So please, let’s try and be honest with one another.”

“I don’t know how to be honest without sounding absolutely crazy,” you confessed.

“I promise you, nothing that you say to me right now will sound crazy. Just try me,” he smiled reassuringly.

He kneeled in front of you, now at eye level as you slowly nodded.

“Well, like you said, there’s a lot that can’t be explained, and I can’t really explain what happened. I was at home all night when I started hearing these voices—I.”

Stiles grabbed your hand as you stuttered, a silent comfort urging you to continue.

“It was like they were calling me. I mean I’ve heard voices before, they’re always different. Most of the time I can convince myself that I’m just imagining things, but this time was different. This time they wouldn’t stop. So, I just walked and walked, and next thing I knew I was in the woods and the voices had stopped. And that’s when I ran into you guys,” you said, finishing your account of events.

Stiles seemed less surprised and confused than you had thought he would.

“Y/N, do you know what this means!” he said, realization settling in his eyes as he started piecing things together.

You got up quickly, dropping his hand as you began pacing his room, the fear and confusion of the night before flooding back.

“No, Stiles, not really. I have no idea what any of this means,” you exclaimed, the fear evident in your voice.

His eyes softened as he took in your state.

“Okay, hey! It’s ok. We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to help you figure this out.”

“Figure out what? Stiles, this really isn’t making sense,” you exclaimed as you stopped pacing to face him.

“You said you’ve heard these voices before, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, once…”

“When?”

“What?” you looked at him confusedly.

“When did you hear these voices?” he pressed.

“Right before my grandmother passed,” you confessed smally.

“This is going to sound insane,” Stiles started.

“More insane than a girl who hears voices?” you interrupted.

“I think I know what’s going on.”

He got up from the bed, motioning for you to follow him to the desk, rifling through papers and a big leather-bound book, before stopping on a page.

Across the top you read Banshee.

You had read about Banshees before when you took a dual enrollment literature and folklore class.

You looked at Stiles with an angry and pointed look.

“Stilinski what the fuck is this?”

He was taken aback by your shift in demeanor.

“Is this funny to you?”

“What? No, Y/N, just list—"

“No, this is just too much. I thought you really cared about how I was feeling and if this is just you and your friend’s idea of a twisted joke, I don’t want any part of this.”

“Y/N I CAN EXPLAIN!” he continued.

You grabbed your stuff and ran out of the room, letting your long strides carry you further and further away from Stiles’s house.

As you walked through the school parking lot, you turned to find that stupid blue jeep following behind you.

Pulling up next to you, Stiles rolled his window down.

“Y/N!”

You stopped abruptly, causing him to slam on the brakes.

“Stiles, leave me alone.”

“Please Y/N, if you won’t talk to me just, please talk to Lydia or Scott. They’ll explain everything.”

You shook your head at him before walking away.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You had gone almost the rest of the day, successfully avoiding Stiles and his friends.

There was a close call at lunch when you saw Scott and Stiles standing on opposite sides of you a few feet away. Your friend was a saving grace as she appeared next to you, demanding to know why you were so late as she yanked you away to a table across the cafeteria.

However, as you sat in AP Government, your luck was wearing thin when Stiles chose to sit right next to you.

You glanced over to him, an annoyed look covering your face. To which he gave a cocky smirk and wave.

You angled yourself slightly so that you were facing away from him while still being able to sit forward in your desk.

As your teacher began the lesson you did your best to ignore Stiles’ constant attempts to get your attention.

From excessively tapping his foot and pencil, nudging the edge of your desk with his shoe, and leaning over the aisle so that he was now in your personal space.

“Y/N, c’mon,” he pleaded quietly.

“I’m trying to learn about our constitutional right to contraceptives, shut up,” you angrily whispered back.

“Y/N—” he continued.

“STILES SHUT UP!” you exclaimed.

Your teacher fell silent as she looked up to see you and Stiles sheepishly sinking into your seats.

“Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. Stilinski, am I interrupting your social time?”

“No, Mrs. Thomson,” you answered embarrassedly.

“Right, well if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to teaching. The two of you can catch up in detention.”

You groaned, turning to look at Stiles who had a satisfying grin on his lips.

After a grueling 40 more minutes, class ended, and you were reminded of your unfair punishment as you watched your classmates pack up around you.

Mrs. Thomson wrote an assignment on the board, before packing her bag to leave.

As she walked out of the class, she gave the both of you a pointed look, a silent threat that you would be in more trouble if you did not actually stay to finish the assignment.

You were surprised to find that Stiles remained silent for the first couple minutes of detention.

He seemed preoccupied with whoever he was texting.

Unfortunately, the silence was short-lived when Lydia, quickly followed by Scott and Kira, walked in.

This wasn’t just any detention; this was an ambush.

“This cannot be happening right now,” you sighed, your hands rubbing your face as Stiles chuckled.

“Brought reinforcements this time,” he joked.

Your eyes quickly darted to his, shutting him up instantly.

“Y/N—” Lydia started.

“Look, I’m not sure how you got involved with these two idiots,” you motioned to Scott and Stiles before continuing.

“But I’m not sure what else to say about last night.”

“We understand that this is confusing,” Kira spoke up.

“I really don’t know what you guys keep referring to.”

“Y/N YOU’RE A BANSHEE,” Lydia spoke next.

Your eyes widened at her statement.

“ARE YOU ALL ON DRUGS?” you exclaimed.

“Like me…you’re a banshee like me,” she finished quietly.

They must be on drugs.

“The supernatural, it exists, we exist…” Scott spoke up, looking around the group as he finished.

“We?” you questioned; confusion clearly etched on your face.

“Banshee” Lydia raised her hand, answering with a sense of confidence as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You turned to Kira, her eyes turning a fiery orange as she answered, “Kitsune, it’s from Ja—”

“Japanese culture, I know,” you quickly finished for her. Your eyes softened as you shifted your focus to Scott.

“Werewolf,” Scott answered, his eyes glowing a bright red as he looked at you.

“Okay…so, what are you, a life-sucking vampire?” you asked, turning to Stiles with a mocking grin.

“I’m—I’m nothing,” Stiles replied.

“So, the body in the woods? They were killed by something supernatural?” you questioned.

They all nodded their heads.

“And I was called to it because, I’m a Banshee?” you tried clarifying.

“Pretty much,” Stiles replied smartly.

“And what are you guys, some sort of super squad?” you joked.

“We help people who can’t help themselves,” Scott answered earnestly.

A moment of silence passed over the group as they allowed you to process all the new information you had learned.

“Can I drive you home?” Stiles asked.

You looked around before nodding, a small grin on your face before you spoke up.

“I would hope so, you kind of kidnapped me this morning.”

He rolled his eyes before letting out a genuine laugh.

“C’mon loser,” he said, as he started getting out of his seat.

“What about detention? You are the reason we got it in the first place?”

“Me? You were the one screaming in the middle of class!”

“Because you were bothering me!”

Lydia, Kira, and Scott looked to one another, silently agreeing to leave the two of you to figure it out.

There was a lot you didn’t know about the supernatural world in Beacon Hills, but what you did know was that you now had a group of people committed to helping you figure it out.

check out the rest of my stuff here

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wh0re43van · 4 months

Text

Jealousy- (Dom!Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Summary: You and Peter are having a nice day at the river when you run into an old ‘friend’.

(This was a request, but I lost it. I believe the request said something like: “Dom Peter Maximoff. That’s the request”)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, throat fucking, slight choking, gagging

A/N- y’all I’ve been having such bad writers block and I just started college again so please bare with me 😭🙏🏻

My body buzzes with warmth as the mid summer sun beams down on me. In the distance there’s a group of young teens giggling and splashing as they take turns jumping off the rope swing into the river, but their joys are muffled by the newest Pink Floyd cassette playing in Peters boombox.

Suddenly, I feel a cold blob of something plop onto my stomach. I gasp, quickly sitting up in confusion. My questions are answered when I see a chuckling Peter standing above me with two overfilled ice cream cones in his hands.

“Oops,” he grins as he sits down on his towel beside me, placing the cone in my hand. Peters solution to the mess on my stomach is to lean down and lick it off. I laugh, attempting to shove him away from me.

“Ew Peter,” I chuckle as he licks up the last of the ice cream.

“Tastes like tanning oil,” he smiles while licking his lips. I just shake my head, looking at my dork of a boyfriend with pure adoration.

The soft breeze blows Peters silver locks around on his head as he lap at his sweet treat. The melted desert drips from his hand onto his toned chest and blue swim trunks.

“Babe, you’re a mess,” I laugh as I try to eat mine as neatly as possible, but the frozen delicacy is no match for the summer heat.

“Hm, guess we’ll just have to clean off in the river,” he smirks as he finishes the last of his cone. With a fwip he’s in the water.

“Hey!” I holler after him with a giggle. I set the ice cream down before standing to my feet.

“Come on y/n you’re so Slow!” Peter shouts over the sound of the rushing water. I wipe my sticky hands on his towel then grab a scrunchie to pull my hair back before our swim.

“Y/n?” I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me. I turn with a puzzled look, my hands behind my head as I braid my hair back. I’m shocked by who I see.

“Oh my god! Elijah? I don’t believe it,” I say in disbelief, staring at the boy I haven’t seen since freshman year. He smiles, seemingly pleased that I take the time glance over his now muscular body.

“I look pretty good, huh?” He laughs confidently. His red swim trunks don’t leave much to the imagination as he does a spin, allowing me to see how mature he’s become. He flexes his dark umber toned arms as he holds his head up with pride. The sun shines down on his hair, each tight raven curl lays neatly beside the other as they hang down in his face.

I gulp, feeling a bit guilty for staring.

“Uh, yeah! You look great, dude,” I laugh awkwardly as I look around for Peter.

“You here by yourself? That’s awfully dang-“ Elijah begins but is quickly cut off by Peter who seems to appear out of thin air.

“Nope,” my boyfriend says with a smug grin as he flings his arm around me, much tighter than normal. If I didn’t know better, id think Peter was jealous. I’ve been dating Peter for almost six years and I’ve never seen him so much as look twice at any guy who flirts with me.

‘Let ‘em,’ he always scoffs. ‘I’m the one who gets to undress you,’ Peter knows that no other guy has a chance with me; he actually finds it quite amusing to see guys get horribly rejected by me. Peter is a very confident guy, but right now his jaw is tensed out of annoyance and he’s gripping onto me as if Elijah might tear me from his grasp at any moment.

“Peter, long time no see,” Elija smiles at an unamused Peter.

“Yeah, last time I saw you, you were trying to sabotage my relationship with Y/n,” Peter says flatly, shrugging his shoulders with his lips pulled into a sarcastic grin.

‘Awkward,’ I cringe internally as I remember the last week we spent with Elijah before he moved away.

The two boys and I were best friends since 6th grade, so when Peter decided he wanted to confess his feeling for me, he spoke about it to Elijah- the best friend who he wasn’t in love with. Elijah came to me the next day, telling me that Peter was going to ask me out as a prank, so I should say no- which made me extremely angry since I’d had a crush on Peter for years.

Long story short: Peter was not going to ask me out as a joke, he was completely serious and Elijah almost ruined his chance with me because he wanted me to himself.

“Oh come on peter, that was like four years ago,” Elijah scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s right. That was teenage drama that I’ve long forgotten about, however this seems to still be a sore spot for Peter who is now scowling at our old friend.

“whatever man just get lost,” Peters voice drops, his tight grip on my shoulder never faltering as his eyes shoot bullets into Elijah. This is a side to peter that I rarely see, and I cant help but notice the butterflies that are starting to flutter in my stomach.

“Woah quicksilver takes an awfully long time to get over his hurt feelings,” Elijah laughs as he keeps his confident stature. Peters eyes narrow and his face becomes flushed with anger. I open my mouth in attempt so deescalate the situation, but I don’t have time. “y/n is over it,” he smirks, winking in my direction. Before I can defend myself, the wind is knocked out of me.

With a fwip, we’re in the shower cabin. The hot damp air in invades my lungs as I try to catch my breath.

“Peter!” I groan as I pull myself out of his arms. He knows I hate when he does that. “What the hell has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you so-“ my complaint is cut short as Peter smashes his lips to mine. His hand grips the back of my head, keeping me as close to him as possible. His other hand trails up my back.

“You’re mine,” Peter growls against my lips as he backs me against the wall. My stomach drops at the possessive tone coming from my boyfriend. I wrap my arms around his neck and manage to pull my lips away from him enough to catch my breath.

“Of course Peter,” I pant as he trails wet kisses up my jawline and down my neck. I sigh in content, leaning my head to give him more access. I want to pull away, but I cant bring myself to do it.

“All of you,” he says in a low tone, his dominant eyes locking with mine as he removes my bikini top in one quick flash. I gasp as his mouth instantly goes to work on my breast.

“Peter not here! What if someone comes in? Or hears us!” I resist verbally but do very little to actually push him off. Instead, I entangle my fingers into his silver hair.

“Good,” is all he mumbles against my breast as he leaves dark hickies on the soft skin. I know this is wrong. I know we shouldn’t be doing this in such a public place, but I’ve never seen this look in Peters eyes before. It’s not often that he takes charge, and the way that he has me pinned against the wall leaves my knees weak in anticipation.

Peters mouth switches to my other breast as he uses his knees to spread my legs. His skilled fingers pull my bikini bottoms to the side and he immediately dips into my heat, moaning at how wet I already am.

“That bastard wishes he could see you like this,” Peter mumbles under his breath as he watches his finger slide in and out of me. I let out a small whimper, biting my lip to stifle the sound as much as possible.

With his other hand, he grabs my face squeezing my cheeks so hard that my lips pucker, before he leans down almost touching his nose to mine.

“I want to hear every sound that comes out of this pretty little mouth,” he growls lowly as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Do you understand?” He pants as he stares in my eyes with an animalistic glint, his fingers still pumping into me.

“Y-yes,” I gulp, letting out a loud moan when his thumb brushes my clit.

“Atta Girl,” Peter smirks before he moves his hands to my thighs, picking me up so I can straddle him with my back against the wall.

After I wrap my legs around his waist, he begins to grind against my bare core. The friction sends a surge of pleasure through my body.

“What Are You waiting for?” I ask breathlessly as Peters eyes scan my body.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands lowly as his hand gently grips my throat. My heart flutters at my boyfriends unusual- and extremely hot- dominant demeaner

“I-I want you to fuck me,” I stutter as I stare down his arm into his dark eyes. The corner of his lips turn up into a smirk before he drops his swimming shorts.

Peter removes his hand from my throat to bring his fingers up to his mouth, wetting them before grazing over my heat. I tense at the contact, letting out a small whimper. My heart pounds in anticipation as he lines himself up with my entrance.

“I want him to hear,” peter growls before he buries himself inside of me in one swift thrust. I cry out at the sudden feeling of him filling me up. Peter moves hips slowly, allowing me to adjust. Soon enough, his hips are rocking against me in a steady motion as his fingers dig into the soft skin on my hips.

“fuck peter,” I whimper out as he grazes my gspot with every stroke. Everything about this situation- the risk of getting caught, peter completely dominating me, the way hes hitting right where I need him- has me more aroused than I’ve ever been.

“Louder,” Peter grunts, staring at me with stern eyes as he brings a thumb to my clit.

“Fuck Peter!” I let out a pathetic shriek as he begins to vibrate his thumb against my sensitive bud. I throw my head back, squeezing my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the immense pleasure flooding through my body.

“Much better,” peter chuckles as he speeds up his hips. Peter looks down at me, biting his bottom lip so hard that I fear he may draw blood. Small grunts and low groans mange to slip out as he pounds into me.

“Im so close baby please don’t stop,” I whine as my fingers grip his hair so tight that my knuckles turn white.

“Say my fucking name and cum for me,” he growls into my ear before biting on my neck, sucking hickies onto the sensitive skin. I cant think well enough to form a response as I clench around him, feeling pure euphoria flood my body.

“Fuck! Yes! Peter oh my god!” I moan loudly, I don’t even know what I’m saying. At this point, Peter has literally fucked me senseless. I’m putty in his hands for him to use in any way he’d like. I lay against the wall, Peter now solely holding me up as I attempt to collect myself. I open my eyes as he slowly pulls out of me, chuckling as he sets me down onto my shaky legs.

“Peter… I-“ I just stare at my boyfriend as my release starts to drip down my thigh. Peter smirks as he pumps his still rock hard cock, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Get down and open up baby,” he says gently with a kiss to my forehead as he pushes on my shoulder. I obey, meeting his gaze as I get to my knees. I know that I’m drunk off lust because any other time I would not have my bare ass so close to the floor of a public showering cabin but with the way Peter’s looking at me, the thought of resisting doesn’t even cross my mind.

With my chest still heaving a bit, I take his length into my hand, stroking it slowly before kitten licking the tip. Peter throws his head back with a grunt as I slide him into my mouth, my tongue tracing up the bottom of him. I wrap my arms around his thighs as I begin to move my head back and forth. Peter smirks, gently pushing some loose strands of hair out of my face.

“That’s it baby. You’re doing so good,” he hums as he begins to move his hips in rhythm to my face. Peter looks angelic as the sheen of sweat across his forehead glistens in the single beam of sun cutting through dimness of the cement room. His toned chest heaves as his dark eyes watch his cock violate my mouth, slipping deeper into my throat with each thrust. Tears begin to form in eyes as he slams into my throat, continuously slipping past my gag reflex

“I’m the only one who gets to use you like this,” Peter growls as his hands grip onto the back of my head. I do my best to nod and mumble a ‘mhm’ as drool begins to escape the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chest as he fucks my throat. My core still aches for him. I’ve had my release already, but the way that he’s speaking to me and using me is something far out of the ordinary for him- I cant get enough. I manage to pull away to gasp for breath as I begin to get light headed.

“Please,” I pant out hoarsely, tears and spit streaming down my face as I desperately kiss all over peters length between breaths. “Cum on my face baby please. Im yours. Please peter,” I beg breathlessly as I massage his balls. Peter lets out a whimper, seemingly more than excited to hear my pleads. His hand grabs onto his length, stroking himself closer to his climax. I sit back on my heels, opening my mouth, holding my tits- now covered in my own saliva from his ruthless face fucking- up, wanting nothing more than for him to cover me in his cum.

“God you’re so fucking sexy,” Peter groans as his hand moves in a blur along his length. He throws his head back and lets out a stream of profanities and groans as he shoots his hot seed allover my face and tits. “Jesus Christ,”’ Peter groans when he looks down to see the mess he’s made of me. I giggle, leaning forward, licking up his cock one last time to make sure I’ve gotten every drop. Peter watches me in awe as he attempts to catch his breath, grabbing my shoulders and gently pulling me to my feet.

“Do you feel better now?” I tease as I scoop some off his cum off my breast, bringing the salty liquid to my mouth. Peter groans at the sight.

“Much better,” he laughs as he reaches for his swim trunks. “You wouldn’t mind walking past Elijah like that would you?” he laughs as he grabs a paper towel by the sink.

“What? Half naked and covered in your cum?” I raise an eyebrow at him as he picks up my bikini top.

“Well, maybe put this on first,” he smirks, handing me the thin material. I laugh as he wipes me off so I can get dressed. The mood is back to its usual easy-going vibe and my calm and collected Peter has returned- but I can assure you that we will be revisiting this side of him quite often

Tags: @pretzel-bunnie @slvt4jamesmarch

#evan peters #evan peters smut #ahs cult #ahs hotel #jimmy darling smut #kai anderson #kit walker smut #ahs asylum #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #quicksilver smut #quicksilver #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff #tate langdon smut #tate langdon #kai anderson smut

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skittlesfics · 2 years

Text

name: cherry pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader word count: 1617 summary: Steve's been thinking about kissing you all day. Technically a part 2 to this drabble. but you can read without content/warnings: kissing, teen boy thoughts, dustin being a little shit, fem/sister reader author’s note: Well I sat down to write Eddie and yet here we are. -

Steve was sure your lips must taste like cherries, or bubblegum, or cherry bubblegum, because his face was bright pink from your kiss and surely something that could make him blush that hard had to taste red. Or pink. He was still undecided. It had to be something sticky sweet, too, because he’d been thinking about it for hours. Maraschino cherry bubblegum, then.

Dustin’s tantrum had lasted all of five minutes, following Steve from the car into the house, ranting outside his bedroom door as Steve changed into his swim trunks, only stopping when they got down to the pool where you distracted him with the promise of ice cream whenever the truck drove by.

He’d left the pair of you with a stern, “Don’t touch my sister, Harrington.” Before joining his friends on the other side of the pool.

You’d laughed, but Steve had just scoffed and claimed the lounge chair next to yours where he could steal glances at you as you sunbathed. Your denim shorts were abandoned by the gate, leaving you in a bright red bikini Steve knew he’d never seen before. He’d remember that on you, the way it contrasted your skin tone.

“You want to really piss him off?”

Steve had spaced out, thinking about the fabric resting atop your chest, and he nearly spilled from his pool lounger when you spoke. You had leaned in, lips quirked up in a wicked smirk, voice low and conspiratorial. You were going to be the death of him. He swallowed.

“What, uh, what did you have in mind?” He did his best to keep his eyes on your face, he really did, but when you leaned down to pick something up from between the two of you, he couldn’t help but glance down with the movement, his eyes greedily tracing the valley of your breasts that he was definitely not supposed to be looking at. He managed to look away before you sat up.

“Catch.”

He nearly dropped the sunscreen you threw at him, fumbling after his initial instinctive catch. He glanced down at his own hands, brow furrowed in confusion, and you laughed as realization dawned on his face. You were trying to kill him, Steve decided. There was no other answer.

“Get my back?” You were already rolling over, folding your arms under your face as you exposed your back to him.

Steve glanced at Dustin, who was already glaring, and then back at you. The bare expanse of skin did look vulnerable in the sun. What kind of friend would he be if he just let you burn?

He ignored Dustin, squirting the sunscreen into the palm of one hand. It was thick and sticky – definitely the extra coverage stuff you had grabbed for your brother – but he still warmed it between both hands before moving to your lounger, carefully spreading it over your lower back.

And if looking at you was difficult, touching you was an entirely different type of sweet torture. He wanted to memorize all of your curves, to explore your reactions to his touch. He wanted so, so much. He grit his teeth, narrowing his eyes to focus on applying the sunscreen so that it wouldn’t burn. How would he ever explain that he had messed up the coverage because he was too busy fantasizing about you and your maraschino lips. That’s what he had settled on, cherry liqueur is what you probably tasted like. He was still blushing.

A second squirt of sunscreen and he had you covered, biting his tongue when he had to slide his hands under the straps of your bikini. Something about the skin there felt intimate, forbidden.

“All done.” He announced, smiling at your back hard enough that you could feel it.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

“Yeah, thanks, Stevie. My turn!” Dustin demanded, appearing out of nowhere to stretch himself across Steve’s abandoned lounger in a mockery of your position.

“Dude.” Steve protested, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of having to touch Dustin.

“What? This perfect, lily white skin won’t protect itself, Harrington. Isn’t that right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your brother’s antics. He certainly had a talent for knocking the romance out of a moment. You pushed yourself up, nudging Steve so that he wouldn’t topple the entire lounger as you shifted your weight.

Steve wanted to complain again, but between the laugh and the smile that lingered on your lips as you reached for the bottle of sunscreen, he knew he had already lost. He huffed and begrudgingly helped you sunscreen your brother’s back.

“You’re on your own for the front.” You announced when the two of you were finished, though you took great pleasure in the anguished faces Steve pulled behind Dustin’s back.

“Yeah, yeah, give me the bottle. If I burn because you two can’t stop making heart eyes at each other, you owe me quarters for the month.” Dustin snatched the sunscreen from Steve and jumped up to head back to his friends.

“Yeah, whatever, twerp.” You flicked his shoulder as he passed you and he stuck his tongue out at you before hurrying away. It was the closest you’d get to acceptance.

Lucas and Mike were arguing about the proper etiquette of a splash fight while Max watched on, unimpressed. She could probably use the sunscreen, too. You were ready to shout to her to use some, but Dustin was already handing it to her after squeezing far too much into his own hand and slathering it on his torso.

You smiled and shook your head, glancing back at Steve who mirrored your expression.

Steve glanced back at you and caught you already smiling fondly up at him in a way that made his chest feel tight all over again. You nudged him with your elbow and he grinned back, rolling his eyes.

“What?” he asked when your smile grew, but you only shook your head.

“Nothing. Let’s get some lemonade for the kids.”

You hooked your arm through his and he followed you dutifully to the kitchen.

The house was much cooler than outside, and Steve could feel the goosebumps raise on your arm as you stepped inside, bare feet pressed against the cold kitchen tiles. This was the other reason, after the pool, that Steve’s house became the de facto hangout spot during the sweltering Hawkins summers.

You pulled Steve through his own kitchen, abandoning him at the island to pull the ever-present pitcher from his fridge. He watched you fondly, his mind whirring with thoughts about the way you knew your way around his house so naturally.

“Hey, Stevie.” He liked the way you said his name. Rarely just Steve, that wasn’t enough for you, but never Steven because that was too much. Just Stevie like you didn’t want to be done saying his name quite yet. Stevie like it was something just for the two of you.

“Yeah?” He tried to sound like he wasn’t absolutely smitten by everything you did as you stacked the outside cups on a serving tray next to the pitcher of lemonade. You glanced up at him through your lashes and if it wasn’t so cold inside, he might have passed out from heatstroke.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Steve forgot how to breathe. You asked like it was a given, something simple, some bygone conclusion that Steve should’ve come to already and maybe he had, because he’d been thinking about kissing you all afternoon.

It took him a moment to get his bearings, almost shaking himself back to reality as he caught sight of you worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and he couldn’t have that, not when that’s where his lips were meant to go.

You smiled at him as he rounded the island to get to you, not nervous – anticipatory – and Steve wondered if you were waiting for this as long as he had been, but he couldn’t ask. Or he didn’t want to ask, not if he was just going to trip over the words anyway.

You seemed to think he was taking too long, reaching for him before he was close and leaning in to press your lips against his, eyes closing prettily before he had even closed the gap. His hands found your waist and part of him just wanted to stay like this forever so that he could remember the look on your face. He didn’t, leaning in to press his lips against yours, body catching ablaze like this was the kiss he had been waiting for all along.

It was hot outside, but that was nothing compared to the fire you started in Steve’s belly when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in deeper, kissing him like you could never have enough. Your lips tasted more like the sip of lemonade you stole than cherries, or gum, or cherry gum, but that didn’t matter when Steve could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, his skin burning where it touched the parts of you that were bear.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Dustin called from the door, arms over his chest. “It’s about time, but that doesn’t mean you can get all handsy.”

He swept into the room as the two of you jumped apart guiltily, grabbing the tray that you had prepared and heading back out without sparing the two of you another glance.

“Hey! Wait—about time?” Steve started to pursue Dustin, but hesitated, brow furrowing in confusion when he realized what the younger boy had said, “I thought you said—“

You laughed and grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back in for another sweet kiss.

#Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington Imagine #Steve Harington Reader Insert #Henderson!Reader #Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader #Stranger Things Imagine #Stranger Things Reader Insert #x Reader #Steve Harrington Fluff #Fluff #Oneshot #1500 - 2000 #In which I make myself laugh

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junosmindpalace · 10 months

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may i request a gojo x reader one shot where y/n is gojo's former student, after she graduated she went out of the country then after 5 yrs she comes back to work at tokyo jujutsu high as a teacher like gojo. y/n used to have a crush on gojo back then (maybe she still does 😋) and now that y/n's back after a long time gojo kinda missed her so they often spend time together. y/n keeps convincing herself it's just some kind of friendly reunion, nothing more but one day during the sister school goodwill event she gets jealous when she sees gojo teasing utahime and interacting with her. gojo wonders what got y/n into a pissy mood and y/n is like "why do you even care? just go back to your flirting session" then that's where gojo finds out she's just jealous. he'll tease her and idk maybe a confession between them will follow? i'm rlly sorry i suck at explaining things but i hope you get most of it and this gets accepted 😭 thanks! 💓

UNKNOWN / NTH

hi anon! thank you for your request and patience! i changed a couple of details in this request and it turned out soo weirdly angst but the main idea is still there! i hope that’s alright!

3.2k words. a little all over the place.

“call me every single day, you hear me? you can’t leave me all alone with this guy.”

shoko doesn’t even look over her shoulder as she jabs her thumb toward the white haired teen standing behind her shoulder, who drops his mouth open in disbelief at her insulting tone. the tension in your chest eased up as you laughed.

“of course.”

leaving your friends so soon after graduating was hard to wrap your head around, even with a car waiting to take you to the airport outside the gates of the jujutsu tech building and the occasion bump into your suitcase as you shifted your weight between your legs.

with the assassination of the star plasma vessel and the suguru incident that made your worlds turn upside down, it seemed reasonable that you’d want to stay; immerse yourself in something familiar. but staying at jujutsu tech--in japan all together--was overwhelming. you needed time to figure and sort yourself out; cope without having to relive painful memories every time you passed where the incidents took place.

leaving the two people who helped you cope during the ordeal with suguru was difficult, but though they too were pained to part from their friend, they also understood the importance of your leave. they weren’t too stressed, though. you’d stay in touch. you promised.

shoko stepped forward to give you one final departing gift, wrapping her arms around your neck as you immediately reciprocated, and in shoko’s arms did you mull over whether this was the right choice for you for the nth time.

a couple moments pass before the two of you pull apart, with shoko whispering a threatening “you better call.” one final time, jabbing an accusing finger at you as if you had already broken your promise, before stepping off to the side to allow satoru to get his own affairs in order. he stepped toward you with a roll of his eyes.

satoru gojo has been an insufferable ass ever since you met him in your first year. to you, he once came off inconsiderate and ill-mannered, and to satoru, you once came off stuck up and uptight. yet somehow the mutual distaste you two had for each other upon first meeting turned into a friendship filled with teasing.

it felt weird leaving satoru behind especially, because somehow along the bumpy road the two of you took to get to where you were now, something yet again shifted in the way you viewed him, a shift you were still unfamiliar with. it felt strange leaving without it figured out. but you’d get a chance to, you hoped. like with everything else in your bizarre life.

your usual banter insued as satoru took hold of the handle on your suitcase, swinging it back and forth before loading it into the open trunk. you threatened satoru to look out for himself and not be too much of a nuisance while you were away as he did so. he clicked his tongue as he brought the trunk down with a thud! and waved off your false threats.

”don't miss me too much, y/n.” he smirked over his shoulder, tinted glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he stepped back up on the sidewalk. cerulean eyes shone under the morning sunlight, fixed on you with an intense gaze in contrast to his easy smile. you looked over your shoulder as you opened the rear car door, mimicking his expression.

”won't be a problem.”

the first couple of months went strong. you upheld your promise of calling shoko frequently, and satoru would often squeeze himself into the frame of shoko’s camera to tease or hurl an insult toward you. she’d shoo him off or laugh along, because she too missed the playful banter you all once immersed yourselves in. and though you were far from the paths you once trekked with your friends, only ghosts of those moments lingering on them now, at least there was no trace of your dying friendship.

more time passed and contact became less frequent. life went on, and keeping in touch as regularly as you once did became increasingly difficult. only on occasion were you able to organize a chat, so much yet so little to be said. each new life event shared left you to ponder over even hours after you had hung up the phone.

and soon enough, a decade had passed. ten years you thought you’d spend in agony over being away from the people and places you considered home flew by considerably fast, and the thought nauseated you slightly as you reminisced on memories from your youth.

the nostalgia of your teenage years lingered like a light fog in your mind, always finding some way to trace even the most mundane of things back to your old friends, especially satoru gojo. even after ten long, busy years, you still found that annoying white haired friend of yours lingering in the back of your mind.

though so much time had passed, you hadn’t gone cold turkey with your communication from your friends; only infrequent. you knew of the important things: the promising new students at jujutsu tech, satoru becoming a teacher, the curse that was rika, the night parade of a hundred demons, toji’s son that satoru was now looking over—suguru’s death. all things recollected to you from your texts with shoko and gojo. though neither of them were quite big on details.

ten years has definitely granted you time to think, to organize, to consider and try new things. you worked through complicated feelings, you met new people, you saw and experienced new things, and certainly had all those things teach you a couple of important lessons.

and ultimately, after over a decade, you made the decision to return to japan as a teacher at jujutsu tech.

around this time, you felt a consistent nagging as if there was still a missing, unsorted piece of your life. you believed that perhaps the decision to return home was spurred by the growing intensity of it. it built up slowly over your less frequent phone calls and text conversations with your old friends and the ever growing amount of changing of their lives back home. though perhaps suguru’s death compelled you to return as well.

you returned the following year after the night parade of a hundred demons. you convinced yourself it would just be a friendly reunion like with the rest of your old friends, but the second you were standing face to face with satoru, your heart said otherwise.

it wasn’t unusual to feel anxious when reuniting with someone, but the painstakingly long pause that followed upon being reunited after so many years made you suppress a shudder. It was hard to believe the man in front of you was the troublemaker you used to go to school with. It was hard to believe he was even real.

you used the silence to get a good look at him, just to make sure it was truly him (and you think satoru was doing the same, regardless of his six eyes.) he had gotten even taller, and he now wore his messy locks of snow white hair up. his uniform was still fitted as it used to be, always just a bit baggier than his tall frame.

but the most prominent difference was his new defining feature, and so you decided to comment on it first. satoru was still in a sort of trance (of shock you guessed; your only indicator were his slightly parted lips) when you broke the ice with a smirk and the words he had parted with you over a decade ago.

"hope you didn’t miss me too much, satoru. what's with the tacky blindfold?”

and the grin that followed on his lips stretched from ear to ear.

satoru your coworker wasn't all that different from satoru your classmate. he was still as childish as ever, irritated by the higher ups and an irritation to all those around him. you found that out rather quickly when reuniting with yaga and nanami. you made a dramatic fuss over how much they both had changed, nanami shyly looking down with a slight frown reminiscent of the signature one he wore when he was younger. you didn’t feel it was appropriate to bring up haibara or suguru at any point.

but your relationship with satoru your coworker was off from your relationship with satoru your classmate. It had been years, and you’ve fallen into your normal rhythm with satoru pretty quickly and easily on the surface. but the passage of time was still evident in your conversations as it was with the changes in your appearances. time matured him (or most likely his ordeals with suguru). even his manner of speaking was so serious sometimes that it caught you off guard. it felt even worse than having him hate you, treating you as if you were a stranger hurting that much more.

so much yet so little had changed. you were taken aback by the amount of maturity in his reasoning for wanting to become a teacher, even if it was so out of place for him, over a catch up brunch. it almost made you feel as if he were a stranger, with a new sense of maturity coupled with his new, more distant look and behaviour.

he’d tease you like he always did, but it didn't have as much bite. he'd show you around tokyo, treating you to desserts and jokingly gifting you funny souvenirs; but because satoru had become so unfamiliar, it didn’t feel as comforting as you thought it would.

and that nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite put your finger on arose again.

you reunited with mei mei and utahime during the sister school goodwill event, with the latter enveloping you in a large hug reminiscent of the ones you received when you left them over a decade ago. they had all stayed relatively close, with utahime becoming a teacher like satoru at the sister school in kyoto.

you were good friends with her, always defending her from satoru’s insults and indulging in her (in your case, faux) hatred toward satoru. you two had also stayed in close contact, appreciating all the emotional support she provided and her updates on the events in her life and the jujutsu world (with complaints about satoru tossed in here and there).

which is why your jealousy was irrational, you thought to yourself as you watched satoru and utahime in the monitoring room. you knew satoru and utahime being the last two people in the world wouldn’t make them fall in love. even if they were, your jealousy was still out of place. if anything, you should feel happy for your two old friends.

but perhaps it had more to do with the distance and familiarity satoru and utahime were able to maintain, even if it was their regular quarreling and distaste for one another. perhaps the way they were able to slip into the routine they’ve kept up for so many years, no matter how ruthless it was, ate at you, reminded you of how different things were between you and satoru. you weren’t two teenagers who’d sometimes catch each other’s stares from across a room. you weren’t attending school together and going on missions.

and the distance was bound to strain your relationship. but you figured that if there was anyone you’d be able to break back into routine with, it was the troublemaker you had known since the two of you were fresh faced students like the ones he now mentors.

it was all those little things stacked atop each other, that casual and distant demeanor satoru treated you with as if you were a stranger, time staring back at you in the mature way he, shoko and utahime carried themselves, and satoru slipping into a routine that you were sure you and him would be able to maintain with someone else, made that whole tower of unease fall apart with that final crack.

he had walked off after you after you had excused yourself from the room, feeling sick the more you thought about the large gap in memories, in time, in knowledge, between you and the others.

“jealous?” he smirked, clearly amused by your sudden outburst (and deeply curious, since it was so out of character for you).

“not a chance.”

not in the way he was suggesting, at least. you waved him off. “go back to your flirting session.”

and Satoru stopped in his tracks, recoiling in disgust over the mere implication. because even he knew that you would never think such a thing of his relationship with utahime, even if he were to one day tell you that something was going on.

perhaps it was the distance, satoru thought to himself sadly. because while to you satoru didn’t seem to be all that affected by your return, he still saw in you that old classmate of his that made his face burn with simply the strength they exhibited, with only a short meeting of gazes from across a room as a teenager, and his heart ached at emotional distance. there was no way that classmate that knew which treats to bribe him with and what games were his favorite would ever assume such a thing about him.

getting through to one another was never easy, both of you equally stubborn in your resolve. and when you throw this terrible distance, these horrible feelings of insecurity and confusion, it made the miscommunication between the two of you that much worse.

but satoru remembers the day you left as if no time had passed at all. he remembers the rising lump in his throat as he watched you say your goodbyes with shoko. he remembers the wave of fear that washed over him as he watched you turn your back from him, reminiscent of the event that took place when his best friend left him for good. he remembers the confession on the tip of his tongue as he looked down at you and into your sharp gleaming eyes, words he’s debated with himself for years over whether or not he was a coward or a hero in not saying.

and right now, as he stares at your confused and hurt expression, your back turned to him yet again, all those feelings wash over him and he feels as if it may be the former, because now he’s let his insecurity hurt you. but he also knows that whether he was a coward or hero then doesn’t matter now. he wouldn’t allow a repeat of what happened all those years ago. he wouldn't let himself hesitate.

he reached to grab your wrist, and you harshly recoiled, shooting him an angry glare from across your shoulder. “what the- hell, satoru? would you just-”

“i wasn’t flirting.”

“whatever. I don’t-”

suguru knew him better than anyone. shoko knows him better than anyone. you know him better than anyone.

“utahime? really? i would think that you know me better than that.”

the pout on his face seeped into his voice, and you further struggled in his grip. “things change with time, satoru. you can’t expect me-”

the distance was fine. satoru could do distance. but it was this misunderstanding that made his stomach churn uncomfortably. it was the fact that he seemed so unknown to you. that you seemed so unknown to him. who knew that such a minor misunderstanding would carry so much emotional baggage, invoke such strong reactions from the two of you?

“can’t use that excuse if i’ve always been in love with you.”

you immediately stopped fidgeting, staring at satoru’s serious expression with wide eyes. his pout settled into a deep frown, and you’re absolutely despising the fact that you can’t see his eyes with that stupid new blindfold. stupid time. stupid change.

“i’m in love with you,” he said again with a shrug. “and that never changed.”

silence. all you could do is continue to stare at him as he held your wrist. but then you inhaled sharply and satoru released his grip. you took another deep breath, and then…

“how the hell am I supposed to know something like that? it’s been over ten years, satoru gojo. everything feels different- you look different!- and you expect me to know you’ve been in love with me for how long?”

you ranted all your anger toward him as you jabbed a finger into his chest, while he continued to stare down at you with a frown and his hands now buried in his pockets. his lack of a reaction only added to your frustration, and you still felt as if you were staring at a stranger.

“take off that damn blindfold.”

his mouth drops into a small o for a moment, before he brings a hand to his face. it feels as if an agonizing amount of time passes as satoru slips the blindfold down from his eyes to hang over his neck. his hair falls into that familiar disheveled heap, and you’re immediately met with a familiar rush of anxiety rushing through your veins as you make eye contact with his blue ones.

big and bright, and staring down at you with so much longing. his hand stays on his blindfold, and the frown stays etched into his face, but you can finally see those eyes. the ones that sent a wave of warmth over you when they connected with yours. the ones you found yourself gazing at as you leaned your head against a desk, admiring them from a sideways angle as they glistened in a ray of sunlight. one’s you knew you could rely on, not because they belonged to the strongest or because of the power they held, but because they belonged to your best friend, to the boy that made your heart stutter.

and you’re too emotional finally seeing your satoru gojo to care about the fact that you were now sobbing into satoru’s chest in relief over something familiar, and you cried even harder when his arms wrapped around your frame, head resting sideways into your hair. and you felt stupid for breaking down over something so childish, so minor.

but maybe some things didn’t change and maybe some change was for the better. because you’ve had over ten years to figure yourself out and so did satoru, and with your decision to return home was your decision to return to satoru synonymous with it.

and you felt satoru finally smile a genuine and childish and familiar sort of smile, into your hair, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about how stupid you felt in that moment.

and that final unsorted piece of your life finally stopped nagging at you, as if satoru had exorcised a curse that lingered on your back these past ten years. those confusing and unidentifiable feelings you felt for satoru way back when. together, you’d be able to rebuild your relationship with satoru into the way it used to be all those years ago, not a single detail unknown, so you could put all those insecurities and fear to rest.

#juno answers!#in honour of jjk s2!#title is a hozier reference but not based entirely on the song </3 #ive edited this a thousand times and im STILL not satisfied. will revisit when i have a clearer mind #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo headcanons #satoru gojo oneshot #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #gojo angst #gojo fluff

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fandoms--fluff · 7 months

Text

Shopping or Babysitting?

Flufftober, October 10th

Female vampire reader x Josie Saltzman x Hope Mikaelon x Lizzie Saltzman

Summary: You guys go shopping and you and Josie end up more like babysitters

Warnings: swearing, other than that just cute and funny and fluffy

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"Why the hell does Alaric need all this shit again?" You groan while pushing a shopping cart around Bells grocery store.

"Something about a fire happening in the kitchen and burning all the food and the counters and cabinets, everything really" Josie answers, feeling the same way as you. She places a carton of blueberries in the cart.

"Ooh, we should get whipped cream" Lizzie says, walking over to the refrigerators. "It's not on the list" Josie calls after her twin.

"Wait, where's Hope?" You look around all the displays from where you're standing. Your eyes land on the auburn headed girl distracted by rearranging an end cap shelf of pancake mixes.

"You know what, how about you grab a box, and Lizzie, you can get one can of whipped cream" you sigh, calling out to them both. Josie looks at you with a confused look on her face.

Hope and lizzie come back with their item and place them in the cart beside eachother.

"Now, if you both don't get distracted and we get the hell out of here quickly, then I'll make vampire pancakes for all of us. Got it?" You explain and look at them as if they're children.

They both excitedly agree right away. "Good idea" Josie whispers to you and you nod your head, agreeing.

"What's next?" Hope asks. Josie looks at the list in her hand "uhhh, tortilla chips. Wow, now that I look at this list, it had the most random order" Josie answers and tilts the list over for you to see. "Huh, it does. Almost as if Jackass just wanted us out of his hair" you say as you turn the cart into the chip isle.

"You know he's my dad, right?" Josie says, trying not to chuckle at how you casually talk about him in such ways. "Oh, I know, but you've got to agree that he's a dick most of the time" you tell her, keeping a close eye on the other two teens in front of you both.

"Hey! Put those down, we're down here for tortilla chips, not any of those" you exclaim, making Josie look at what's in their arms. "How did you guys grab that much so fast?" Josie lightly chuckles. Lizze and Hope have their arms full of different chip bags. They have small pouts on their faces while you make them put the bags back on the shelves.

"Wait, do we still get the pancakes?" Lizzie asks when they walk back over to you and Josie. "On one condition" they both nod. "You each have to have on hand on the cart for the rest of the time we're here" you cross your arms.

"We're not five year olds!" Hope exclaims, Lizzie agreeing with her. "Do you guys want the pancakes? Yes? Then one hand on the buggy at all times" Josie raises an eyebrow.

"Fine" they both mumble, taking a hold of the cart on either side.

You guys walk out to your car with the shopping bags in your arms. Once you place everything in the trunk, Lizze and Hope start to have an argument. Over what? You and Josie have no idea.

"I'm starting to feel like more of a babysitter than a personal shopper now" you sigh. "Glad I'm not the only one" Josie closes the trunk. You open one of the back doors to the car. "Okay you two, shut up and get in or no pancakes and I mean it. And if you're really good during the forty minute drive, then maybe we can watch Harry Potter" you nod for ghem to get it.

"Okay, Mom" lizzie says jokingly, and Hope nods her head. They both climb in the back and start doing up their seat belts when you close the door.

"Remind me to never have kids" you groan. Josie chuckles, "Same here" she says, making you chuckle as well.

You both get in the car, and the drive back was surprisingly peaceful.

Once you get back, you guys bring all the groceries inside and to the slightly charred kitchen. "And you guys paid for it using the card I gave?" Alaric asks, stepping into the kitchen.

"Sure we did" you roll your eyes, sliding things onto a shelf in the fridge. "What did I say about compulsion" he grits his teeth.

"Oh fuck off about that, compulsion is way easier, plus no money was spent, you're saving money" you throw the credit card to him.

"Don't fall into the trap, Dad, we both know you'll lose" Josie says, closing one of the pantry doors. Alaric groans and leaves the four girls alone again.

"Hey! Why did you get to go against the rules and not get in trouble?" Hope asks from where her and lizzie are sitting on one of the counters. "Because I'm older then all of you, and Jackass" you answer them. "...fair enough" Hope mumbles.

"Pancakes?" Lizzie perks up. "Of course, you two weren't horrible, so it wasn't that bad" you get all of the ingredients and materials onto the counter you and Josie are standing at.

"All you guys have to do, is stay there and don't touch or try to help with anything" Josie says, getting a mixing spoon from a drawer. Hope and Lizzie can't cook for the life of them, so it's best to keep them far away as possible whenever you and/or Josie are cooking or baking.

"Alright, here you guys go" You and Josie hand Hope and Lizzie their plates, the opening credits of Harry Potter playing on the screen. "Thanks" they both say, already entranced into the movie.

The pancakes all have a smiley face out of blueberries, and vampire teeth made from the whipped cream. Something you annoyed Damon with until he gave up and then he started annoying Bonnje with eventually in the prison world. (Yes, you teased him endlessly when Bonnie told you about it).

"You know, we're a pretty good team" Josie sits beside you. You wrap am around her shoulders, your plate in your lap. "Hell yeah we are" you kiss her on the cheek, playfully.

"Gross" lizzie icks. "Yeah, we're right here" Hope swallows some pancake.

"Yep, never having kids" you mutter under your breath. Josie hears and chuckles, making you smirk.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.8k] prompts: "this is a one time thing" and a request for some "angsty, heart aching smut." Found family feels, more friends to lovers, soft smut, lovers in denial.

It started the way it always did.

With the crackle of static, a frantic voice from a walkie talkie, the threat of something dangerous, the risk of someone being hurt.

People were woken from bed, shaken from sleep, friends climbing through friends windows, cars idling on the sidewalk, brake lights burning the night air red.

There would be the dull thump of a bat against the trunk, hands helping feet slide down drain pipes, hushed whispers, people dressed in pyjamas trousers and jackets, bare feet shoved into sneakers, too many people in the backseat, silent drives to cracks in the world that held nightmares come to life.

And when it was over, you’d all climb back into the same cars, Steve’s BMW, the wheelers family car that had had its keys stolen too many times.

You’d sit up front with Steve, kids that were too young to be doing this curled in the back, pyjama shorts dirty, knees scraped, heads on shoulders, eyes falling shut.

When everyone was returned safe to their beds, you’d sit in the car with Steve, air crackling, skin buzzing. He’d take you back to his, question silent, answer unspoken and the first time it happened, he’d lifted you onto his kitchen counter, the early morning hardly breaking through the clouds outside and you’d curled your hands into the collar of his shirt, bringing your mouth to his and telling him:

“This is a one time thing.”

It wasn’t.

It happened every time danger hit, a ritual that started with that fucking walkie talkie, ripped from sleep, night ending in Steve’s bed.

The first time was fast, frenzied, panicked. It was a little clumsy and messy, clothes torn off, backs slammed against walls and words whispered a little filthy into each other’s skin ‘cause you both ached with the need to feel something other than fear.

So you let your best friend push you down into his bedsheets, watching as he tugged his shirt over his head, descending on you with lips so urgent that you would’ve thought he’d waited a lifetime to finally kiss you.

You’d fallen asleep on top of him, head on his chest, limbs tangled, hair a mess and skin slick. And when the morning finally came, the world was still standing and you’d fucked your best friend but nothing had really changed.

Steve still made you coffee when you finally woke up, bare body only covered by one of his too big sweaters and he pressed a kiss to your cheek before he left for work.

You didn’t talk about it, neither of you needed to. It was fine.

But then the world kept threatening to fall apart and you’d spent too many nights watching him swing his baseball bat at creatures that just couldn’t stay in their own fucking world.

You spent late hours patching each other up, both taking turns to sit on the kitchen sink and tap to the other's knee, a silent order to make them move closer. Careful hands on split skin, water running pink with blood, plasters that were made for paper cuts pasted over wounds that needed so much more than a kiss and a cotton swab.

It kept happening.

Dirty clothes, stained with ash and grime and blood, stripped in the hallway, shoved into laundry baskets and hands wandered, hugs turning into something more because oh my god, you were both still alive.

And on the nights that your friends tumbled home with you both, a crowd of kids and teens falling into the empty Harrington home, you set your shoulders and tried not to think about how the only thing that made you feel better now was your best friend's mouth on the inside of your thigh.

Maybe it was the way he’d taken to kissing you, slow and deep, like Steve somehow now knew that’s what you liked. Lips lazy against yours, mouth a little messy, pulling back only enough to tell you how pretty you were, how good you felt, how much he needed you.

Maybe it was the noises he made when the adrenaline from the night made you impatient, maybe it was the way you put a hand on his chest to shove him back onto the mattress, hair already misbehaving from your greedy fingers.

You liked the way he looked at you when you did that, jaw slack, eyes hooded, mouth all pink and plush from your lips, your teeth, your tongue. Maybe it was the way he said your name when you took the hard length of him into your mouth. The once frantic scrabble to shed each other of clothes slowly turning into something that stretched out across the night, hands and mouths desperate to find out what made the other moan the loudest.

And when the sun came back up and the town was still standing, you both went on as normal, going to work, driving the kids around Hawkins and pretending that you didn’t know what the other looked like when they came.

The last time, the last time was different.

You’d gotten hurt. Not seriously, not the life threatening kind of hurt that every one of you worried about each time you trailed back out to another new gate, El at the front, hands raised, ready to close it.

Things had gone wrong, people got split up and some of you had been dragged through, feet first, the familiar damp smell of The Upside Down assaulting your senses.

You’d heard Steve yell your name, voice wrecked, Robin holding him back. You hadn’t been trapped for long, Eddie and Nancy pulled in after you, Max yanked in soon after, Lucas’ hand in hers until the very last second.

You fought off bats, some other kind of animal that The Upside Down had taken and turned, a bird-like thing with hardly any feathers left, a too big beak, sharp and perfect for slicing.

The three of you had pushed Max to the ground, watched her shuffle hurriedly underneath a slab of rock as the creatures descended and you had nothing but tree branches to defend yourselves with, getting the upper hand for only seconds before another wave of them came.

It allowed you all to fight your way back out, the gate stubborn and trying to sew itself shut, keeping the rest of your friends out and trapping you all in. They were frenzied on the other side, El bleeding from her nose and ears, slumped against Mike with the exertion of it all.

Steve had grabbed you immediately, arms tight around you, a hand in your hair, both of you crashing to your knees together because it was three o’clock in the morning and this wasn’t supposed to still be happening, was it?

The boy panicked at the red that soaked your shirt, your skin, tiny paper cut sized slices scattered on your cheeks and arms, one at the corner of your lip, blood smeared at your chin.

It took you taking his face in your hands to soothe Steve, fingers splayed over his cheeks, thumbs running soft at the skin under his eyes, voice hushed and just for him. You ignored the way your friends stared, you ignored the knowing looks, the whispers of ‘this isn’t new, is it?’

And when everyone was dropped off home, bodies sore, voices cracking, Steve sped across town, red lights be damned, one hand on the wheel and the other curled around your thigh.

It felt like a lifeline, his touch on you. It felt like the only thing that was keeping you together, an electrical current that restarted your heart, ‘cause you didn’t know how much longer you could lie on your back, staring at a red sky and wonder what was going to try to kill you next.

You didn’t even get out of the car before you were reaching for each other, desperate to feel, the car parked in the empty drive, the town in darkness, neighbours asleep and blissfully unaware of what happened underneath them.

And despite the urgency you’d felt to touch the boy, to hold him, the kiss was slow, gentle and soft in a way that made your chest hurt, like you were both taking the time to commit every single touch and taste to memory.

You’d thought you had.

Steve tasted like summer and the night. Campfire smoke and the way the air turned after it rained, sweet like peaches, like fresh lemonade and raspberry ice cream.

Sometimes there was the metallic lingering of blood, split lips and bruised skin, antiseptic and toothpaste kisses after a shower to wash away the night.

He brought a hand to your neck, gentle but keeping you there, nose pressed to your cheek, lips sliding easy over yours, both of you so well practised in the art of making each other sigh.

You whispered his name, needy. But he pulled back and swept a thumb over your cheekbone, still stained red and he tilted his head towards the house, standing in darkness, empty as always.

Maybe it was because you’d had each other so many times now, maybe it was because you knew that the last time was never going to be the last time. Maybe, it was because you knew you had all night, you had a whole lifetime for each other, this summer and the next, this night and tomorrow and next week too.

Maybe that’s why you let him lead you to the bathroom and not his bed, another familiar space and you didn’t say anything when Steve tapped the counter top, a soft but commanding ‘up,’ leaving his lips as he pulled the almost empty first aid kit from beneath the sink.

You did as he told you, brows knitting together when you moved, skin pulled tight from all the tiny cuts, dried blood making you itch. You let him clean you up, hands ever so gentle, lips finding yours every time you hissed into discomfort and he kissed the pain away, soothed your noises with murmured promises of getting you to make different ones for him soon.

The light behind the vanity mirror was soft, almost too dull from hardly being used and it lit the room in a faint glow. It made Steve’s skin look more tanned than it was, his eyes a caramel honey. It made the whole world look prettier than the reality of it.

But the tap trickled, your bare foot slid against Steve’s leg and he caged you into the counter with strong arms and more cotton balls and disinfectant spray, wiping away the blood until either of you were sure you’d actually been hurt. Sometimes it felt like a bad dream, a nightmare that you used to wake up from, skin damp, sheets twisted and your mom at the end of your bed, promising you it would all be okay.

It was you that led Steve into his room, lights off, bed still unmade from when he’d left it, back when his clock had flashed red, Dustin’s voice buzzing faintly from underneath a discarded sweater, hands already curled under his pillow to find his car keys.

You moved into each other with practised ease, faces barely lit from the light of the moon, a crack in the curtains bathing you both in silver and you hated the way your chest suddenly felt tight, as if something was psychically hurting inside of you from not being close enough.

Steve kissed you back, lips soft and probing, never able to say no. His hands were on your waist, shirt lifted, palms wide and warm on your ribs and then you were pushing up in your toes, kiss deepening, hands in his hair to tug him down to you and he let your name slip out with a moan, a deep, rumbling sound that you loved so much.

But then he was pulling back, lips glossy, eyes screwed shut and his forehead pressed to yours. He whispered your name, a sigh, a prayer, a warning.

“Babe, you’re hurt.” Steve said it as if it was his fault. “Let’s get you to bed, c’mon.”

The sudden bubble of tears that crawled up your throat panicked you, it took you by surprise, the sharp, hot prick of damp at the corner of your eyes. When you pulled in a breath, it stuttered and hitched at your throat and oh my god, you felt desperate, you felt wild.

“No,” you shook your head, disagreeing with the boy, ‘cause sure you had cuts and lacerations over your skin but right now nothing hurt more than the idea of your best friend rejecting your kisses. “Steve, please, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Jesus, you got dragged by your fucking ankles into another dimension, sweetheart, please, just let me look after you-”

He started to pull away, hands slipping from your waist and into your own, fingers intertwined and gesturing to the bed where all he planned to do was let you rest and sleep.

But that ugly panic was crawling back up your throat and you wondered if Steve could hear the way your heart was thundering against your ribs, if the idea of not being close to each other made his bones rattle the way yours did.

“Steve,” his name came out in a sob then, a soft burst from your chest, lash line watery, bottom lip trembling and when he looked back at you, he felt like someone had sucker punched him in the throat. “I need you, okay? Please, I don’t know what else to say, just please-”

He tumbled back to you then, knees bending slightly so he could crowd down into you, hand tilting at your chin, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that made more tears roll down your cheeks. His fingertips smoothed them away, brow furrowed, kissing you with everything he had ‘cause he understood, he knew what you meant, he knew the fucking ache that came with standing at the edge of a crack in the world and wondering if you were both gonna come back out of it.

He mumbled your name into your mouth, pressed it into you with a kiss, licked past the seam of your lips when you gasped, sighed, relief pouring from you.

You were both long past slamming doors and throwing each other into them, messy rooms with scattered belongings, loose change and old books falling off of dressers and desks, bodies sat on top of them, hands reaching under skirts to hastily pull down underwear.

Time slowed for you both now, the night outside coming to a halt, the world pressing pause to give you this, what you both so desperately needed. The moon was your only witness but even it seemed to always disappear behind a cloud, granting you both the darkness you needed in order to pour out your fucking soul to your best friend.

You were begging him, soft and quiet, hushed whispers that had Steve absolutely reeling, hard as a rock in the jeans he’d yanked on, hands touching you everywhere at once. He loved all the ways you said his name, a needy moan, a quiet sigh, a gasp, a curse. But he never thought you’d ever sounded as pretty when you let your head fall back for him, throat exposed and eyes clenched shut. Begging.

“Steve, please.”

That sound made him check himself, a deep breath, inhale, exhale, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat ‘cause holy fuck, he wanted to turn you inside out.

So he counted to three, took another deep breath and counted to five, because he wanted you as much as you wanted him, a quiet need for each other that burned over days, weeks, sometimes months. However long it took for the world to fall apart again.

But now he was set alight, your hands grabbing at him, tugging him down to your level, mouth searching, a quiet moan when he kissed you, feet clumsy and tripping over the boyish mess of his bedroom carpet.

A book bag, never used, old textbooks from a school he’d long graduated from, a shirt, one boot, an extra baseball bat - sans nails.

You led each other to bed, one pushing, one pulling, both always following the other without questions and you could both map out the other's body with your eyes closed, hands trailing up sides, taking shirts with impatient hands.

Bare skin on bare skin brought some relief, a lazy sigh, a gasp of gratitude as you pulled each other closer, warmth and softness blooming over your chests. You knew you were ready for him even then, wet and slick between your thighs, legs rubbing together impatiently as he crowded you back into his bed, hovering over you with one hand pressed into the pillow you lay on.

The other grabbed at the hem of the shorts you were wearing, a pretty lilac colour, tiny clouds dotted over them ‘cause you hadn’t changed out of your pyjamas when Steve’s car had rolled around the corner of your street, headlights off and Eddie in the front.

You lifted your hips up to help him trail the soft material down your legs, a squeak escaping your lips and your foot kicking out to send them into the abyss of Steve’s bedroom.

Wide hands, warm and rough with callouses and scars, ran up the length of you, trailing soft over shins, a squeeze at your knee, gripping a little harder, a little more possessive over your thighs.

You knew what was coming, you knew him so well, you loved that you did and fuck, you held your breath anyway, anticipation making you giddy, chest burning.

A tap, high on your thigh, quick and almost sharp all while Steve licked into your mouth - kiss growing messier, dirtier - before he nipped at your lip, pulled back and murmured, “open, sweet thing.”

It should’ve made you burn with embarrassment, it should’ve had you questioning your entire friendship, but you didn’t hesitate to do as the boy asked, never had, never would.

It always made you think back to that first time, the “only time”. You’d stripped each other without as much as a second thought, the adrenaline and years of wondering and wanting making it too easy to stand in front of each other, leaning lazy against Steve’s bedroom wall as he dragged your underwear down your legs.

Every kiss after that felt like a what if.

Your knees fell apart for him, a kiss to your neck as a reward, a pretty bruise bitten and sucked there as a thank you and you were too loud, too breathy when Steve slid two fingers through your folds, gathering up all the wet there, thumb on your clit and making you hum.

You felt alive again, body electric underneath his, and when he pulled back just enough to nudge his nose to yours, watching you fall apart from under his lashes, you knew he felt the same way.

He was swearing when he slid his fingers inside you, cursing at the way you arched your back off of his bed at the feel of him, a tear slipping from your eye and rolling a little pathetically down your cheek because the need you felt for the boy was overwhelming.

Steve made you come almost too quick, tight around his fingers as he worked you up and over, your hands wrapped around his wrist, your lips parted, eyes clenched shut and falling apart.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he praised, voice soft and dirty, low and murmuring just for you. “Look at you, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.”

You were a mess, words stumbling, touch desperate and you tried to sit up, tried to bring your hands to the button of Steve’s jeans, eyes on the way he was straining against the denim but he shook his head, capturing your face between his thumb and fingers for another kiss, long and drawn out, tasting like the night.

Leftover summer air, cedar, wheat fields, car rides with the windows rolled down, the fizz from a bottle of cola.

He pushed you back down, moving to kneel between your legs, hands demanding as the hooked behind your knees and pulled you into him, crowding you and smiling way too pretty as he pushed his fingers back into you, crooking them just fucking right.

“Want another one, babe, fuck, please?” Steve sounded desperate now, a little wilder, eyes turning glassy like yours and he couldn’t stop staring at the way your hips lifted for him, needy and rocking against his hand. “Give me another baby, you can do that for me, can’t you?”

It was almost too much. Almost.

You came again, chest heaving, skin burning, moans swallowed by Steve’s kisses, licked away and tasting like sin. He whispered your name like it was unholy, pushing his jeans down his legs and letting you push at him.

You were on his lap before the denim hit the floor, your hands in his hair, mouth on his neck and when you pulled back to watch him, he was sucking two fingers past his lips, groaning at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut and god, it was obscene, it was intense, it was almost too fucking much and it wasn’t enough.

“I need you,” you told him, voice all choked up because you couldn’t control it anymore, the desperation you held with you at all times, the need for him, the want for your best friend. “Please Steve, I just-”

You were murmuring, barely managing full sentences and Steve hushed you, hands soothing over your cheeks, thumbs swiping at the tears that gathered in the corner of your lashes and he swept your hair back from your damp forehead.

“I know, shhh,” more kisses, short, sweet and sticky against your neck, your shoulders, your bare chest. “I know babe, I got you, c’mon.”

Tender hands helped you climb onto his lap, skin on skin, the night air seeping in through the slightly open window and you both felt warm to the touch. Your fingers splayed over his shoulders and the muscles there rippled and tensed when you sat down on him, Steve’s legs stretched out and his back pressed into the pile of pillows at his headboard.

He was still close enough to kiss and you did so as you took the length of him in your hand, fisting him and giving him a few hard pumps. You loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as he tried not to come for you so soon.

When he settled, face still flushed and eyes glazed over, you sat up on your knees, his hands on your waist to help guide you back down and onto him.

That. That feeling? That was it.

It made everything better, it felt like coming home, it felt like being put back together, it felt like being found in the dark, led back into the light and fuck.

It’s why you prayed for the night, ‘cause it was so much easier to press your lips to Steve’s when it was dark. It was so much easier to pretend then, that it didn’t mean anything more than it had to. That this was a one time thing even after the seventeenth time he’d taken you to his bed.

You let the night swallow you both. It took your moans and your noises, whimpers and the soft, snuffled sounds as you tried not to cry. It took you whole, quiet and dark, pulling you into it like a soft blanket. It made the shadows glitter, it made the next day easier to survive and it pushed you closer into Steve.

A hand on the small of your back, palm pressed flat, fingers splayed over the curve of your ass, guiding the way you rolled your hips, achingly slow. Another hand, cupping your chin, a wholly delicate touch, thumb tapping at your bottom lip, telling you to open for him.

You did as he asked, you always did. It felt better when you did.

When you pulled back, panting hard, gasping for breath, you didn’t know you were crying until Steve swept the tears away with his thumb, the pad of it under your lash line and his brows were knitted together, own eyes turning glassy.

But you still rocked over him, bottom lip trembling at the intensity of it all, desperate seeking out that high you knew he was gonna give you, the one he always gave you and you tried to grind a little faster, hips shifting up and down quicker.

“Baby,” Steve’s voice was tight, jaw slack but his eyes were worried and he kissed away another tear from your cheek as he tried to slow you down, trying to get you to tell him the reason for your tears.

You were sure he already knew, you were so sure he could see it in the way you gazed at him, doe eyed, fucked out, relentlessly greedy for him. You felt it from him too, in the way you knew you’d wake up tomorrow with pretty, lavender marks on your chest, the boy in question glued to your side, arms wrapped around you tight ‘cause he couldn’t fucking bare to let you go.

‘Cause the night was gone and the sun was shining through the crack in the window and neither of you knew if and when this would happen again.

It was only a one time thing, remember?

But you shook your head, refusing to slow down, refusing to stop and your breath hitched when Steve relented, pulling you closer still as he sat up, wrapping your legs around his waist and he pushed up into you, meeting the way you rolled your hips over him, thrust for thrust.

“Gonna come for me?” He asked, breath harsh, voice wrecked and you wanted to sob with it all, you didn’t want it to end, and somehow it felt like the last time, it felt like the first time and you were falling apart. “Come for me, sweetheart, come with me, yeah?”

You nodded, hands framing his face, fingers delving into soft, messy hair and you pushed your lips to his in a way that had him groaning. You felt Steve twitch inside of you, grip turning a little tighter and it pulled the breath from you.

His hand dropped between your both, thumb on your clit, and you rocked over him in a slow, deep, steady pace. It was a little dirty, a hot grind of skin on skin and you were coming for a third time, clenching around Steve, both of your eyes slamming shut as he tumbled over after you, hands grabbing at each other as if you were the only thing keeping that kept you both on this earth.

Maybe you were.

There were golden stripes painted across your skin, Steve’s cheekbone, the line on his jaw. The sun cut through the gap in the curtain, lit the boy up in bronze and you could just see the start of the morning through the window, sky cotton candy pink, clouds peach and tangerine.

You were both panting, skin damp, stray hairs curled against foreheads and you could hear the faint sounds of bird song, the clock telling you both it was five o’clock in the morning, another new day and god, you were both still breathing.

Steve made to move, to slip out of you and grab a warm cloth from the bathroom, the same routine as always. But it was different this time, wasn’t it? You could see the sun in his eyes, caramel and honey, the freckles that summer had given him, across the bridge of his nose, the high point of his cheeks and you watched the way his lashes fluttered, as he caught you staring.

You made a soft noise of protest when he moved under you, hands flying to his face to stop him and you wondered what it would be like to kiss your best friend in the daylight, when you could see the way his mouth parted for you, tip of his tongue pressed to his bottom lip, eyes heavy, body lazy, leaning into you like he was supposed to.

So you did, breath still shaky and you could see the dust motes float through the air, caught in the sun beams, prettier than the ash that fell around you the night before. You caught Steve’s lips in a kiss that was sweeter than it should’ve been, especially considering you were still naked in his lap and he was still buried inside you.

It felt a little backwards, it felt a little like a first kiss. Steve hummed at it, hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear, kiss soft, lips pliant under yours as he let you take control and you pressed a little closer. Noses nudging, cheeks warm, pink skies, warm sun, messy room, Steve, Steve, Steve and god. God, this day felt so much better than the last.

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