#this is the best length for one shot fics you can’t change my mind

[inthehystericalrealm]

the way i feel about this fic has become part of my lore i fear

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.

When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you. 

It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks. 

You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that. 

And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked. 

His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.

You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make. 

Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:

One, he’d always be your best friend. 

Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. 

And three, he’d never break your heart. 

He only kept two of those. 

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his. 

You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend. 

It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water. 

You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.  

Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink. 

“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual. 

It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly. 

But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap. 

You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?

You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides. 

“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”

Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay. 

There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair. 

You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad. 

But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:

“Looks better on you anyway.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin. 

“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs. 

You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together. 

“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”

You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists. 

“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”

You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”

And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner. 

You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father. 

But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood. 

He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding. 

“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”

You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.  

“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question. 

“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”

You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head. 

“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”

Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard. 

“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”

And then, you were dismissed.  

“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”

You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside. 

You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window. 

You could still hear them though. 

“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom. 

“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”

It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him. 

You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”

Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance. 

“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”

“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”

Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it. 

But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years. 

Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause. 

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”

Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter. 

“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”

And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet. 

Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching. 

Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other. 

You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle. 

Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen. 

You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind. 

Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small. 

“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”

You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence. 

The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty. 

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked. 

Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation. 

“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”

You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say. 

“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”

“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“

“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.

Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you. 

A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised. 

“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”

You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up. 

One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water. 

Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts. 

He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt. 

Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself,  feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water. 

He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous. 

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. 

You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first. 

You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before. 

Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together. 

You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time. 

You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve. 

He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist. 

You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily. 

You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too. 

He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt. 

So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it. 

When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night. 

But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own. 

So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him. 

He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised. 

There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair. 

So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with. 

It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one. 

Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him. 

It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy. 

But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his. 

The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you. 

Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it. 

He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet. 

“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”

You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name. 

“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze. 

“What happened?”

Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke. 

“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”

You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself. 

“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck? 

“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”

“Jonathan?”

You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt. 

It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end. 

“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body. 

He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried. 

“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”

You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked. 

“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic. 

He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff. 

“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”

You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”

Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.  

“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”

You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was. 

“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”

He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft. 

“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“

You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed. 

“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”

It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead. 

Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side. 

“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?” 

He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple. 

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“

You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry. 

You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true. 

You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much. 

“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”

He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully. 

He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding. 

He was a little bit yours again. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”

Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing. 

“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour. 

“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”

—————

You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk. 

You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual. 

Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off. 

You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you. 

The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore. 

She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car. 

“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body. 

“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots. 

The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow. 

You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk. 

“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”

You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”

Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”

“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”

You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on. 

“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”

Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak. 

“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”  

Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said. 

“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”

“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”

The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement. 

You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench. 

“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her. 

She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently. 

You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece. 

“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?

When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness. 

He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too. 

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”

You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal. 

“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”

Can I go where you go? 

When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts. 

It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians. 

You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked. 

It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party. 

You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze. 

It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance. 

He’d told you not to come. 

Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?

Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation. 

You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him. 

His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything. 

But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head. 

The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying. 

Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening. 

Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall. 

He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened. 

The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name. 

He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes. 

Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you. 

He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again. 

You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued. 

Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?

It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire. 

Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.

But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.

You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.

You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat. 

You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name. 

You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.

The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning. 

But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead. 

Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.

You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.

Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m happy you’re safe.

The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest. 

It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.

A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all. 

Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs. 

He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above. 

You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room. 

You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.

Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart. 

The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks. 

He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?

Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water. 

You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer. 

Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles. 

So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name. 

He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.

Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.

Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington. 

When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable. 

But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.

He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine. 

You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you: “Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”

You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then. “We were eight, Steve.”

He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash. 

“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.

“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”

You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head. 

The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking. The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all. 

Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment. 

“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.” 

You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list. 

Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him. 

You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look. 

He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close. 

You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison. 

“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks. 

“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section. 

Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers. 

“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”

You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed. 

‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal. 

You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation. 

“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”

She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”

You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same. 

When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable. 

‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much. 

You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard. 

But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy. 

He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected. 

Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra. 

You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick. 

You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years. 

You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”

Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips. 

“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”

You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at. 

She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day. 

“Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”

She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once. 

“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”

You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious. 

But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious. 

“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”

—————

It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. 

You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back. 

You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs. 

So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you. 

It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach. 

Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack. 

Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting. 

The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day. 

And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night. 

There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you. 

Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz. 

He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun. 

“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”

If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard. 

He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips. 

“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough. 

You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke. 

“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched. 

Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos. 

But all the boy could say was, “oh.”

And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-

“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above. 

You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs. 

“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again. 

He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him. 

The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.  

“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day. 

“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”

Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting. 

“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”

You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you. 

“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face. 

“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’s really just curiosity, right?”

His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz. 

You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh. 

“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.

He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.  

He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve. 

It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy. 

And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away. 

Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck. 

“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”

And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs. 

You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god. 

Fuck. 

You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin. 

You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving. 

When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming. 

Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date. 

Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you. 

It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you. 

Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps. 

It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple. 

It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”

He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass. 

He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away. 

Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again. 

“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite. 

It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.

Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.

He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall. 

“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you. 

But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.

He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him. 

You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth. “Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”

“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids. “Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up. 

Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.

He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz. 

In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.

You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake. 

You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that. 

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue. 

You didn’t talk about it. 

A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you. 

It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid. 

But it was fine. 

Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn. 

You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car. 

It was fine. Until it wasn’t. 

Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after. 

You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only. 

It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned. 

“Where are you going?”

His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely. 

“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag. 

“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice. 

You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything. 

“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”

Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”

You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.

“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”

You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.

“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”

“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”

The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you. 

“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”

You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”

You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.

There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school. 

But you didn’t.

You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you. 

If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’

----------

You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.

You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.

You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you. 

Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.

He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.

Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.

Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open. 

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”

Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.

“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it. 

“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”

You knew why. 

“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”

You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did. 

But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come. 

“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.

“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.

He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering. 

It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.

“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”

He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.

“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”

You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening. 

“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”

You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.

“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”

You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.

“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”

You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to. 

But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done. 

Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours. 

“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”

Your heart fell. 

“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”

“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”

You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart. 

Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him. 

“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”

“Take me home, Steve, please.”

But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy. 

You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it. 

You panicked. 

You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut. 

You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway. 

You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore. 

Good, you thought. 

Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:

One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart. 

It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them. 

Take me out, and take me home. 

It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it. 

Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly. 

He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.

 He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly. 

Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry. 

He’d panicked. 

And you’d left. 

He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely. 

He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him. 

But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself. 

He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared. 

You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith. 

“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”

Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired. 

“I know.”

You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all. 

Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced. 

She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed. 

“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too. 

Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both. 

“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”

You huffed. 

“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”

“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return. 

She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece. 

“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet. 

You shook your head. 

“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly. 

You shook your head again. 

Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face. 

“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”

You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded. 

“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”

“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”

The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile. 

She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled. 

“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”

Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question. 

“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”

“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight. 

“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.

Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed. 

“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”

Fuck. 

You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still. 

You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock. 

It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling. 

You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either. 

The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more. 

So you knocked. 

Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could. 

Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day. 

 Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors. 

You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt. 

Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you. 

It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend. 

Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that. 

The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said. 

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey. 

“Hey.”

He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years. 

“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”

You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve. 

“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn’t wanna upset you any more.”

Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches. 

And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar. 

You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity. 

It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve. 

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”

You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own. 

You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter. 

“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”  

“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”

“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”

He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again. 

“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.” 

A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough. 

You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close. 

You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous. 

He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound. 

“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly. 

“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”

You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing. 

“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?

“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”

God, the memory made you burn. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”

Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you. 

And that seemed like a big ask. 

“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded. 

He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside. 

“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”

It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other. 

“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”

His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were. 

“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours. 

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.  

“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you. 

“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”

The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other. 

“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you. 

“Can I take you on a date?” 

Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest. 

“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.

But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.

“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.

You nodded. 

“You still my best friend, Harrington?” 

Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.

“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet. 

“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bat and all.”

“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to his, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration. 

“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip. 

“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair. 

“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him. 

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

[thelazyhermits]

After my most recent ask, I decided to make this post, so I could give y’all an update on my plans writing-wise. That way we could all be on the same page. I really should’ve done this sooner. Sorry about that 😅

Anyway, as I mentioned in my last ask, I have not started on the TABF WHM fic like I had intended to do despite now having the DVD. That’s because my mind has been taken over by Twst, and I have no idea when that will change lol

The way my brain works, once I fixate on something, that’s what my focus remains on for a prolonged period of time. That’s why I took a break a while back after having started JWTN so I could write some Ensemble Stars fics.

It always just hits me at random, and I really have no control over it. Once my brain says it wants to focus on something, I basically become a slave to its whims lol

That’s why I haven’t written any new BNHA content since the summer and probably won’t do so in the near future since I wanna take a crack at writing for Twst, not a full length fic, though, just some oneshots. 

However, that’s not to say you won’t be getting any kind of BNHA content from me. Thankfully, I wrote a lot of fics during the summer which I have yet to post, so y’all do have that to look forward to.

For now, my plan is to ensure I post at least one thing a month, and in the case of December, I’ll post a two-shot that covers the TABF rendition of the Endeavor Agency Arc, which will mean two updates in that month, since I wanna get that fic posted before I post the one shot I have planned for January’s update.

By doing this, I can ensure that my lovely readers don’t have to go a prolonged period of time without any kind of content from me. 

I feel bad that I can’t deliver the WHM fic when I originally said I would, but it’s best not to force things since that could lead to a negative effect on the quality of the fic, which I wanna avoid. 

I wanna give y’all the best writing I can produce, and the only way that’ll happen is if I’m in the right frame of mind and properly focused. 

Hopefully, after a few months of Twst, I’ll be able to get back on the BNHA track since that’s what happened when I took a break for Enstars.

In the meantime, I hope y’all will be patient with me 🙏

[angryschnauzer]

Undercover Honeymoon

Summary; Having survived a helicopter crash that killed off the gang you and your senior agent had infiltrated, you hide out from the storm that brought the aircraft down by pretending to be Honeymooners at a boutique hotel... but what will 24 hours with August Walker bring you? Trouble, that’s what, and the best possible kind.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (no race or body type specified)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, honestly this is entirely smut, its a crack fic too. Sigh, here goes: face slap, murder, August in a hoodie and grey sweatpants, oral sex (female recieving), blowjob, drunken antics, impared judgement, titty fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, anal sex, inappropriate lube, multiple orgasms, dubious consent, choking, dom-vibes, Sugar Daddy arrangement (but no Daddy kink).

I do not run a tag list, but if you go and follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and hit notifications, you’ll get an alert to any new stories i post. All previous fics can be found on there or on my Ao3

Undercover Honeymoon

The helicopter spiralled out of control, the tall pines looming through the storm of the century rain, screaming filled your ears, unsure if it was the sound of the engines failing or coming from your own lungs. The aircraft made contact with the trees and everything went black.

-

“Agent… AGENT!” a slap across your face sprang you from your unconscious state, your vision blurred and you winced at the sharp pain that shot through your temple as the face before you came into focus.

“Walker?” you muttered; “Can’t blow our cover…”

Strong arms gripped your shoulders;

“Wake UP! Everyone else is dead”

The next hour was surreal. Agent Walker - your superior officer - had pulled you from the wreckage of the helicopter, past the lifeless bodies of the gang you’d infiltrated, some of which had injuries that looked suspiciously like gunshot wounds. Either way you were alive and so was the other undercover agent, and having spent the last four days running bank robberies you were relieved to be rid of the brutal gang.

Agent Walker had half dragged half carried you through the forest, and even though it was the middle of the day, the torrential rain and dark storm clouds above made the way feel like you were travelling at twilight. When you stumbled on some roots he caught you, his arm firmly around your waist;

“C’mon Agent, not much further now…” his voice softer than usual, reassuring even.

“Where’re we going?”

“Out of season ski lodge… should be quiet this time of year, just a couple of wildlife watchers no doubt”

-

What you’d been expecting was a cute little place with checkered curtains and cutesy decor, what you’d arrived at was a luxury boutique hotel. Agent Walker had managed to spin a very convincing tale of your car leaving the highway due to the weather and he’d arrange to get it recovered after the storm so you could continue your ‘honeymoon’. The receptionist had smiled warmly and offered the pair of you the luxury suite, August merrily peeling $100 bills off a stack he’d produced from his pocket, the paper band that held them together from the robbery slyly crumpled up and you quietly picked it up from the floor, a tiny smirk on the corner of his face when he spotted you covering his rare mistake.

-

Ten minutes later you were settled in your shared room, starting to peel yourself out of your soaked boots and clothing as you eyed the enormous bathroom and ultra fluffy robes that were provided.

“I’m going to go to the gift shop…” he announced, breaking the silence; “They do hoodies and stuff, i’ll grab some dry things to change into…”

“Thanks Agent Walker… I’m going to take a bath…”

He nodded quietly, standing at the door;

“It’s August… call me August”

You must have fallen asleep in the bath, as the next thing you know there is an insistent knocking on the bathroom door;

“Honey? Honey, everything ok in there?”

“Y-yes, Sorry, fell asleep…”

“Ok Honey, just got room service here delivering some lunch”

“Thanks Aug… Augie…”

Augie? Where the hell did that come from? You mentally chastised yourself. An hour ago he was your senior agent and all round grumpy supervisor, now he was ‘Augie’? You actually facepalmed yourself before taking a deep breath and climbing out of the bath. A few moments later once you were dry, wearing the fluffy robe you stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, your breath catching in your throat;

“Augie… we have company?”

Agent Walker was standing in the middle of the room in his shirt, underwear and socks, talking to the room service attendant as he tipped the young man;

“Darling, lunch is here, you must be famished” he let a warm smile spread over his face as he turned to the staff member; “We must have a bite to eat… expending lots of energy, it is our honeymoon after all…”

Once he’d ushered the man out of the room he cleared his throat and his expression dropped, his face serious again;

“I got your new attire… it fits more with the location” he motioned for you to follow him to the bed where there were a number of things laid out, however your feet were rooted to the floor; “What?”

“You’re… you’re in your underwear…”

He looked down, almost in shock to discover he was without his cargo pants;

“Yes? And you’re completely naked beneath that fetching white robe” he motioned to a side of the bed where a bunch of things were sat on the pristine white duvet; “So unless you wish to eat lunch having me know you are naked save for a glorified towel with sleeves - and that would be a delightful thought - you may want to get changed whilst i shower”

Without another word he smirked, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and grabbed a pile of clothing on the bed, before sauntering into the bathroom, leaving you open jawed at both his sassiness and his tight ass in snug jersey boxers.

Turning back to what was laid on the bed you looked over what he’d managed to get in the hotel’s boutique; a daringly short floral summer dress, a hoodie with the Hotel’s logo on, a pack of novelty thong panties also with bears on, and the highest heeled wedge sandals you’d ever seen. Although none of this surprised you, it was after all the kind of hotel where in good weather, the rich and famous could have cocktails on the deck as they overlooked the Rocky mountains, the fact he’d managed to find your exact size in everything was impressive.

Leaving the heels off for now, you pull the panties and dress on, throwing the hoodie on unzipped to cover up a little, before going to investigate the food, realising that you probably hadn’t eaten for close to 24 hours. You were bent over the service trolley scrutinising the various dishes that had been delivered when you heard his voice;

“Huh, didn’t need to buy you a wallet, those tiny panties show off your silken purse beautifully Princess”

Spinning around you gasped, about to give him a piece of your mind but your train of thought stopped like a record scratch. There before you stood Agent August Walker, grey sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips, chest bare as he pulled a khaki green hoodie over his still damp curls. You noticed how his beard was a little beyond stubble, his mustache curling as a small smile tugged as his lips. Your gaze unashamedly ran down the length of his entire body, emphasis on length as it was clear he was without any underwear, and those rumours that were quietly whispered in the ladies room at the Pentagon were looking to be true as to exactly why they called him ‘The Hammer’.

Still holding a cooling French Fry he sauntered over to you before grabbing a sandwich from the platter;

“My apologies… that was inappropriate” he took a bite, before talking with his mouth full; “Been a crazy 24 hours huh?”

“Y-yeah, you could say that… so, what’s the plan?”

Just at that moment an incredible gust of wind rattled the windows to the point you thought they would blow in, the lights overhead flickered before settling back to bright as he answered;

“Eat, Drink, Sleep. We’re stuck here at least overnight. We don’t have any cells or electronics people can trace, and having checked the map this is not the closest civilisation to the crash site so even if people did come looking for us, this isn’t the first place they’d think of… however in this weather the roads are impassable, at least two rivers have breached their banks, we’re basically cut off from the rest of the world here in our own little bubble” he took a bite of sandwich before grinning at you; “So eat up, the bar downstairs is well stocked, dinner is apparently served in about 4 hours, and there’s a game room if you’re up for a round or two of pool…”

-

Giggling you both tumbled into your suite, August flicking the light switch up and down before realising the power had gone out at the exact moment he’d unlocked the door;

“Oooh dark… are you afraid of the dark Princess?”

The pair of you stumbled and turned, pushing the door shut and you found yourself pressed between it and August’s body, his lips finding your neck as he pressed kisses along your jugular, his facial hair leaving behind a trail of tingling skin in its wake;

“Depends who i’m in the dark with…”

He was so close, in the faint last traces of daylight as the storm took hold of the night you could see the outline of his face, how his long eyelashes rested against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, his breath warm on your skin as you were surrounded by his scent, pine soap and single malt whiskey;

“A monster…”

“I was never afraid of monsters…”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss to your clothed stomach before his hands were beneath the skirt and pulling your novelty panties down;

“Hold your dress up Princess, show me that pretty pussy”

Doing as he told you, you gripped the pretty fabric in your hands as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing kisses to your inner thighs before his thick fingers parted your folds and he dived in. His mustache and light beard pricked at your sensitive skin, but his tongue and lips soothed your aching core, desperate for attention and dripping with need as he went to town on you. He quickly brought you to orgasm before pushing you on for the next, his fingers now knuckle deep in your velvet walls, curling just right to find that spot that had you dripping, his tongue working against your clit to the point where you had to steady yourself by curling one hand through his soft chestnut curls, riding his face as you cried out his name.

Now over sensitive, you pulled his curls to get him to relent, a grunt of frustration coming from between your thighs;

“Augie… please… too sensitive…”

He quickly stood, lifting you to kiss you roughly, his tongue pushing into your mouth and you could taste yourself on his tongue as he gripped your ass as he carried you across the room before unceremoniously dropping you on the bed;

“Strip” he commanded as he staggered to the bathroom. 

You ignored his request, instead reaching for a bottle of water at the side of the bed, taking a drink from he as he returned holding a bottle;

“August… what’s that?”

He looked down at the bottle, almost surprised he was holding something and blinked a few times before looking back at you;

“Baby oil. Its... Baby oil”

“Why do you have Baby oil?” you asked, already knowing the answer but with a sly streak wanting to get him to admit it

“Because they didn’t sell condoms in the gift shop so i cant fuck your pussy because i can’t check to see if you’re on birth control” he blurted out quickly.

Whatever you had been expecting, it hadn’t been that, and as you coughed on the water you had been about to drink, August got distracted and moved to light the candles that sat on the table in the centre of the room now that the only available light was the tiny light over the sink in the bathroom that was battery operated. You watched as he somehow managed to strike the matches and light the candles even though he was visibly drunk, before returning back to the bed and standing over you;

“Why aren’t you naked?” he frowned at you; “Don’t make me rip that pretty little dress off of you Princess”

Shimmying out of your dress you bit your lip as you watched him watching you, the low light dancing over your body and enough for you to see the obscene bulge barely contained by his sweatpants. He stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you before he took hold of your ankles and roughly pulled you to the edge of the bed before he pulled the grey sweats down and you finally got sight of his legendary hammer;

“Fuck…”

“We’ll get to that Princess, but first, suck”

Taking him in your hands he was hot and throbbing at your touch, his thick shaft patterned with veins, heavy and virile. You pumped your fist, your fingers unable to meet as you worked his uncut dick. You felt his hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer until you had no choice but to open your mouth and take him as deep as you could, gagging as he immediately hit the back of your throat and started to fuck your mouth.

Holding your head in place with both hands he rocked his hips back and forth, groaning as he stretched your lips almost uncomfortably. Soon you had spit running down your chin as he rained down a stream of degrading compliments;

“Cock hungry slut, look at you with my dick in your mouth… does it taste good, Jesus christ your tongue is perfect, yeah do that thing again, fuck, i can feel your throat tight around me…” with a gasp he pulled out, a trail of spittle hanging from your lips to his angry red tip, before he grabbed the baby oil and pushed you back until you were laying flat on the bed;

“Push your tits together, i’m gonna fuck them and cum all over your pretty face”

He climbed on the bed, straddling your lower torso as you found yourself pushing your breasts together. The click of a bottle of baby oil and it was being poured in the valley of your chest, before he settled his dick against the slick skin. He dropped the bottle and with a grunt pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing his glorious chest, covered in dark hair and thicker than you had realised. 

His dick was heavy against your chest as he took your hands in his and showed you how he wanted you to hold your titties for him, rocking his hips bath and forth as his hot flesh slipped through your soft pillows, the angry tip poking out at your neck with each thrust;

“So fucking pretty, gonna cum all over that face… you wanna taste my cum you little slut? Yeah? Cock hungry slut, can’t get enough of my dick, can you?”

You didn’t answer, the lust in his eyes making you drunk with desire, instead you tipped your head to your chest and opened your mouth, letting August’s dick slide into your mouth, the salty tang of his precum hitting your senses.

His thrusts were becoming rough and violent, his hips squeezing your ribcage as he fought back against the urge to cum, but you wanted it, needed it;

“August, will you cum on my face, pretty please?” you batted your eyelashes at him innocently and it was the final straw, and you watched as he threw his head back and thick ropes of his creamy seed spurted over your mouth and cheeks as he groaned so deliciously. On the last spurt you leaned forwards and took his tip into your mouth, gently laving your tongue over the leaking slit, before releasing him softly. August had eased his gasp on your tits, and using his thick finger he scooped the cum from your cheek;

“Open wide Princess”

Sticking your tongue out you sucked the bitter treat from his finger, before he repeated it with the other cheek. Finally swallowing you grinned at him;

“Thank you August”

His hand paused on your cheek, softly cupping it;

“Anything for you Princess… now scoot up the bed, i wanna eat that pussy again whilst i get you ready for my dick”

He swung his leg over so you could wriggle up the bed, and immediately he was laying between your legs, both of your thighs over his shoulders as he started to sloppily eat you out again, except this time his lubed fingers strayed to your asshole and he already had one knuckle deep in your back entrance. You were writhing against his tongue, and although not as accurate with his targets this time now that the alcohol in his system was taking hold, that wide tongue was driving you to heaven as his fingers pulled you down into the dark pits of depravity that hell could only contain. You were uttering almost incomprehensible gibberish, begging for more which he eagerly gave, a second and soon a third finger stretching your ass as he prepared you for what was yet to come. You came with a scream as his wide tongue tormented your pussy until you had to physically pull him by his curls to stop, breathless as you watched him kneel on the bed and grab the baby oil, pouring some onto his hand to lube his dick before smoothing a considerable amount over your asshole and lined up his now raging hard on with your stretched hole. He paused, looking down at you;

“Final chance to back out… do you want me to fuck your ass?”

“Yes… please August, i want your dick in my ass, i want you to cum in my ass, treat me like a dirty anal slut”

With a groan he pushed forwards, slowly breaching your body and you felt the uncomfortable stretch of having a dick slide into your ass. Even with the prep and the oil it still took a while for your body to relax enough for him to push in, but when he eventually was balls deep in your ass you felt so full you were sure you would burst;

“Oh my god… You’re so big…”

“Taking me like a champ Princess, even with the oil your ass is so fucking tight i’m struggling not to blow my load right here and now”

“Fuck my ass August, do it hard, i wanna feel it in the morning…”

With a roar he started to fuck into you, holding himself up on his massive arms as his hips pistoned into you, filling your barren depths as his pubic bone rubbed against your empty pussy and your juices flooded his crotch;

“So fucking wet Princess, leaking all down your ass, its only adding to the lube so i can fuck you harder. Your poor little battered asshole, you’re barely gonna be able to sit tomorrow… apart from back on my dick as we have breakfast, don’t think this is the only time i’m gonna fuck your ass, i’m gonna use this hole until you’re loose and stretched, so i can just bend you over and slide my dick into your ass. Gonna hide those stupid panties i bought you, i want you walking around bare, my cum dripping down your legs where there’s so much inside you, you can barely keep it inside… shame the gift shop didn’t sell plugs, i woulda’ filled you with my load and have you plugged and ready lubed for me to use whenever i pleased…”

August’s dirty talk had you cumming hard, squeezing him tight and yet he fucked you straight through it. Laying limp as he continued to fill your ass he slowed and moved, kneeling on the bed as he moved your legs from either side of his lips until both your feet were over one of his shoulders, pushing and pulling you until he had one arm firmly wrapped around your knees and he could fuck into your ass as he held you like a rag doll. The new position was tighter, deeper, and as you started to pant out with lust his free hand rested on your throat, squeezing carefully but firmly;

“Harder…” you panted out, your head swimming as your airway was restricted, and as he pounded into your ass you were both getting close.

“Gonna cum in your ass, fill you up with a massive load, you want that Princess?”

You tried to say yes, but all that came out was a tiny croak as his massive hand gripped your throat. Before you could even try again your orgasm hit, your eyes rolling back in their sockets as you squirted, your body gripping him so tight he reached his peak, pushing in as deep as he could as he pumped your ass full of his cum.

August released his grip on your neck, pulling out gently as he softly lay your legs on the bed;

“Did so well Princess, such a good little slut…”

You could only hum out a response, your mind as used as your body was.

-

You woke to the sound of soft rain falling against the window, peering out from beneath the duvet you could see that the grey light of morning was filling the room, the storm seemingly blown mostly through with just a persistent rain now dampening the earth. Shifting on the bed you winced, everything was sore, but especially your ass. But then a warm body pressed to your back, a large hand smoothed over your stomach and a familiar voice spoke softly in your ear as stubble brushed against your bare shoulders;

“Rise and shine…”

“Hmmmmm no, i don’t wanna get up” you grumbled

“But…”

“Noooo. If we get up then we’ve got to think about things going back to normal, i just wanna pretend i’m able to stay in a hotel as nice as this when i’m not trying to escape a dangerous gang… too many responsibilities, too much stress… i just want another half hour of being treated like a Princess” you grumbled.

A quiet chuckle came from behind you;

“There’s no reason why we can’t do this again”

Turning in his arms, you looked at August;

“How? You’re my superior Agent, the CIA pushes and pushes and pushes, I never get enough time off to do something like this, If i had known i was literally signing my life away i would never have signed up for the academy. What’s the fucking use of earning a good wage if i can never enjoy it… and its not even that good of a wage to be honest…” you paused and narrowed your gaze; “Have you showered?”

“Yes. And i have a proposition for you…”

“Keep talking…”

August started to move, slowly climbing between your legs and you felt his hard dick resting against your folds, your pussy instinctively growing wet, slowly rubbing against you as he smiled down at you;

“As a senior agent i get a considerably better wage than you do, but i don’t have anyone to share it with, anyone to treat like a Princess and spoil with gifts that they deserve… but i also want someone that will be agreeable to my darkest desires…” he rocked his hips back before slowly parting his thighs, and you felt the nudge of his tip at your soaked pussy; “... someone, a woman i can treat like a Princess but will let me fuck them like a whore… can i fuck your pussy like a whore?”

The gentle nudge of his dick just stretching the ring of muscle that granted access to the heaven between your legs had you begging, pleading to be August’s Whore. He let out a sigh of pleasure as he slowly sank into your pussy, bare and unprotected filling you with his virile shaft;

“You’re my Slutty Princess…taking my dick like a pro”

In that hotel room August Walker became your sugar Daddy, and over room service breakfast you agreed the details of your arrangement as you sat on his lap, his dick in your ass as he fed you strawberries, before he grew impatient and bounced you on his dick until he came in your barren depths. Resting back against his chest, his softening dick still inside you he played with your pussy as he discussed the next step, trying to decide if a trip to an adult store or a jewellery store should be the first stop after returning to DC;

“How about a jewelled plug?” you suggested; “That’s the best of both worlds”

Holding your jaw he turned your head so he could kiss you, pulling away and grinning;

“See, that’s why you’re the perfect Princess, smart and sexy…”

You felt him start to harden in your ass again, wriggling and letting out a giggle as you felt him stretch your insides;

“Over the table or out on the balcony in the rain?” you asked

“Oooh lets do the balcony… its check out time so a few other guests will be able to see my little slut have her battered asshole filled with another load”

There on the balcony that overlooked the serene mountains August filled your ass again, your naked bodies soaked with the rain as he gripped your breasts whilst he fucked you from behind. 

You couldn’t wait to be August’s play thing.

[plsimsuchasimp]

gone (cheating ft. kenma)

an anon asked me to write another version of this post, so here it is. i’m sorry about this, it’s definitely not my best work.

request: “Can you do another cheating fic but with kenma since he is my favorite character”

genre: angst

ft: kenma kozume x gn reader, a little bit of kuroo tetsuro

wc: 1.8k

warnings: fainting, angst, implied cheating

Flopping down on your bed, you picked up your phone and shot off a quick text message to your boyfriend, Kenma.

“hey babe, can we call? it’s been a really long week and I haven’t seen you in forever,” you wrote, pressing the send button with only a moment’s hesitation. 

Sighing, you scrolled upwards a bit, reading through the message history. Recently, his texts had been getting shorter and more abrupt, often making excuses when you asked to see him or talk to him.

1 new message. Distracted, you scrolled down to see Kenma’s text. 

“sorry can’t i was just about to sleep”

Frowning, you glanced at the top of the screen. 10:53 pm. He never went to bed this early, let alone slept. Your throat constricted, but you tried to brush it off, the thoughts whispering at the back of your head like malicious pixies, insecurities and harsh words. You stared at the simple string of words, wondering what to say. Are you okay? you’ve seemed off recently. No, you were probably just overthinking it.

“okay, have a good night! ily” Read 10:57 pm. No response.

Putting the phone down, you tried to push it to the back of your thoughts, but it nagged at you. Turning on your PC, you logged onto discord and noticed Kenma’s status. He was playing a multiplayer game, in a VC with one other person. Right-clicking, you ignored the feeling of distrust and clicked on the other player’s profile. 

You knew her- she was a friend of Kenma’s from school. Kenma had promised you they were just friends, that you had nothing to worry about, but the insecurities crept in again as you realized he’d been spending a lot more time with her instead of you. Biting your lip, you looked back at your phone, the accusing text glaring at you. It seemed innocuous, seemed like you were overreacting. Kenma didn’t really get why you were insecure- he always told you he only had eyes for you, but lately, it didn’t really feel like it.

The last time you two had hung out, he’d laughed at something on his phone, then turned away when you asked to see what it was, muttering something vague about a funny tiktok. You didn’t think much of it at the time, but with thoughts crowding your head, you wondered if it really had been just a video. Kozume had always been distant- you understood that when you started dating him, but was it too much to ask for a scrap of his attention? 

You were torn. On one hand, you wanted to trust Kenma, believe that everything he told you was true and he still loved you like he used to. On the other, your gut was telling you there was something off. Praying that he wasn’t hiding anything, you entered a different browser and logged into his Discord account. You’d given each other the passwords to your socials a while ago, your way of showing that you had nothing to hide.

Incorrect login information. The words appeared in red on the screen, the password field outlined in red. You tried again, ensuring that there were no typos, and it still registered as wrong. Your stomach sank, staring at the message on the screen. He changed his password and didn’t tell you. At this point, you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t want to ask him in fear of seeming insecure or clingy, both traits Kenma disliked. Before you could lose yourself further in the swirling tornado of your thoughts, your phone dinged with a new message. It was from Kuroo.

“hey y/n, are you up? we need to talk.”

Brow furrowing, you responded with “yeah, is everything okay?” He read the text, and then the call icon rang at the top of the screen, red and green buttons buzzing gently. You accepted the call, answering with “Hi Kuroo.”

“Hey y/n,” he said, his voice quieter than normal. 

“Are you okay?” He sounded off, sad somehow.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. There’s something I need to tell you, though.” You paused for a second, hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was, before he continued. “Kenma- Kenma cheated on you.”

“W-what?” Time seemed to stop. you couldn’t, didn’t want to believe your ears. Your breath caught in your throat, shock freezing your body in place.

“Shit, y/n, I’m so sorry. I just found out.” Kuroo was still talking, but you weren’t hearing him. It seemed impossible, even though you’d seen it coming. “Y/n? Are you okay?” 

Startled, you choked out, “Yeah, I’m okay, just a little shocked.” a little was an understatement. “H-how did you find out?”

“Well,” he sighed, “I saw him kiss her behind the cafe yesterday. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was still figuring out what to do.” Guilt laced his words, and you got the feeling there was still something he hadn’t said.

“What else?” From his slight intake of breath, you could tell you’d caught him off guard. He was silent for a moment.

“He’s been texting her on Discord for the past month or so. I think you know her, (f/n)?” You felt your heart crash into your stomach, and your worst fears were confirmed. Switching back onto your computer, you saw that Kenma was still playing the game with the girl, and your stomach clenched. 

“Yeah, I know her.” He noticed that your voice was quiet, subdued, and he swallowed.

“Y/n, I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.” He was silent then, waiting for you to speak.

“No, no, it’s fine,” You said, your voice oddly calm. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. Hey, are you going to be okay?” He asked, unsure what was really happening inside your head.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Before he had a chance to say anything else, you hung up, mind spinning.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel anything. You knew in the back of your head that this was your way of coping, that the hurt and anger and sadness would come later, but for now you didn’t care. Methodically, you went to all of your socials and blocked Kenma, hesitating only slightly to block his number in your phone.

You shut off your computer and turned your phone to silent, sitting in silence on your bed. Slowly, your eyes filled with tears that spilled down your cheeks, expressionless besides the gleaming tear streaks staining your face. Your shoulders shook, and everything seemed to crash down at once. 

Your body couldn’t keep up, the sobs overtaking you until you were lightheaded. The room was spinning and the shining moonlight was glinting through the blinds at odd angles, seeming to distort your vision. You couldn’t breathe, and then everything faded to black.

You woke up a few seconds later with your head on the pillow, dazed and hearing the blood pound through your head. You groaned and lay there for a couple of minutes, letting your breathing slow. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, staring at your puffy eyes in the mirror. It hurt, to know the man you loved didn’t feel the same anymore. What did you do wrong? Were you too clingy, not good enough, not there for him enough? Why would he cheat on you? 

Guilt vibrated around you, and it brought back the memories of every other time. It must have been your fault- it always was. 

Sleep took you uneasily that night, creeping in around your obsessive, painful thoughts and lulling you to distraction.

The next morning at school, you wiped the pain from your face and moved through the day in a haze. You saw Kenma in the hallway, leaning against the lockers on his phone, and avoided eye contact. When you saw her, (f/n), anger and hurt swelled up in your stomach, and you tried to swallow it and avoid lashing out. 

Later, Kenma stared at his phone as an error message popped up when he tried to text you. We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach is unavailable. A pit formed in his stomach, and he went to his other socials, reaching the same conclusions in other places. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, amber eyes scanning the hallway. You were already gone, though, and he moved through the swarm of people, eyes focused on the exit. Where would you have gone? 

When he showed up at your house that afternoon, you were surprised. He doesn’t waste time, showing you his phone and bluntly asking “Why did you block me?” Your eyes widened to see him slouching there, clearly uncomfortable with going out of his way to do this. “Are you angry at me?”

“Kozume, I don’t really want to talk to you right now.” His face twisted at your use of his last name.

“Why not?” 

At this point, you sighed, tired of everything. “You cheated on me. That’s why.” Your voice cracks in the last sentence, and the world stops.

His stomach drops as you turn away, the weight of the world on your shoulders. “N-no. Y/n. Please don’t go!” 

Kenma’s not good with words, and you understand that. Sometimes, though, it feels like he’s not trying. As he shook his head frantically, chin-length hair swaying around his beautiful face, you could tell he wanted to say something, but he can’t.

“What is there to say, Kozume?” Your eyes were brimming with tears, your heart squeezing at the sight of him.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.” Even he knows how weak this sounds, how pathetic of him, and when he looks back up at you, his eyes are shiny. “I love you.”

His words ring hollow, and you scoff. “Where was that love when you kissed her behind the cafe? Where was it when you were constantly texting her on discord? Where was it when I needed you and you weren’t there?” You shake your head, heartbreak written all over your features. It’s then that he remembers the declined calls, the unanswered texts, the neglect he subjected you to as he pushed you away.

“I hope you’re happy with her, because we’re done.”

He didn’t even have a good reason this time. All he knew was that he wanted you to stay, but he knew he didn’t deserve a second chance. Against his will, a tear slid down his cheek and dropped to the floor, making him sniffle. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to pull him into your arms, cry into his shoulder, but you couldn’t. It hurt too much. You stepped back and slammed the door on him for the final time.

Leaning your head against the door, all of your emotions spilled out. You were silently crying, the ache in your chest almost too much to bear. You thought you heard your name outside the door, whispered just loud enough for you to hear, but you just sank down to the floor and let the tears fall.

On the other side of the door, Kenma’s phone buzzed. It was a text from her, and the disgust and anger that filled his stomach at the sight was enough for him to know he’d never forgive himself for hurting you like this.

“I love you.”

a/n: srry for the anticlimatic ending i was just feeling super bad and not in the mood to write but i wanted to get this out here, hope you like it.

[burnedbyshoto]

kacchan, kaacchan, kaachan

— “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

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pairing: midoriya izuku x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, mommy kink, dom!reader, sub!izuku, pegging, jealous!reader, degradation, anal fingering, begging, crying, marking and biting, best friends(?) bkdk

word count: 6,520

a/n: I have transcended. im sorry, this is now my favorite fic. im... ohhh mama, I just froth at this idea so much, please if you aren’t so utterly disgusted by mommy kink or bkdk pray you read this. p l e a s e.

kinktober day 13 main kink: pegging | kinktober masterlist

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“I fucking hate them,” you growled, temples throbbing in your anger, fingers clutching your drink. “I’m going to kill Izuku and his stupid fucking Kacchan.”

You met Midoriya Izuku before high school. At the time, you had been a sweating, nervous middle schooler who was applying for Yuuei, who was sitting right next to him during the entrance exam. Despite the way your hands were shaking the entire time you were taking the test, and the way your stomach felt seconds from exiting your abdominal cavity and falling straight onto your lap, you smiled. You kept watching the green-haired boy next you continue to fanboy over the smallest of things. 

Through this, you had also met Bakugou Katsuki. You had initially thought the two of them were friends, well with the rather weird nicknames they had for each other, and then the small disgruntled comment on not being able to work together with friends. 

After being dismissed to go change out of your school uniforms, you had tapped on the green-haired boy. He was muttering a storm under his breath. He wasn’t much taller than you, and his green eyes were shot wide when you thanked him for making you less nervous. He didn’t say anything back to you, a red blush bright on his face as you wished him luck before racing off.

So on the first day of high school, on the fated orientation day, you had been surprised to see that Midoriya and Bakugou nearly fought. They weren’t friends, you quickly figured out, a small frown on your face as Aizawa-sensei dropped Bakugou from his capture weapon. It didn’t take much for you to become friends with the initially timid, but entirely confident Midoriya Izuku. The two of you were fast friends, and before long after watching countless times where Midoriya and Bakugou would be at each other's throats to only be okay within the next few hours.

It confused you entirely.

Eventually, one day on your way home together one night, you finally asked Midoriya.

Midoriya had frowned, his eyes looking out of the speeding window as he slowly explained his relationship with Bakugou to you. He explained that he and Bakugou were childhood friends, having first met when they were three years old. They had been good friends, best friends if it was possible to have one back then. Then, their quirks appeared, and Bakugou received endless praise and awe — it was a changing point in their relationship since Midoriya explained that he was a rare individual who only manifested his quirk within the last few years. So while Bakugou had never put him down for being quirkless, a single moment happened when they were about six years old, wandering in a gated woods area, and Midoriya went to see if Bakugou — who had fallen from a great height — was okay. From that moment on, something flipped inside Bakugou, and he lashed out. He smiled sadly, admitting without a lick of doubt that Bakugou was a jerk to him, a real asshole.

As if to save Bakugou from an ill opinion from you, Midoriya quickly imputed that Bakugou was still one of the lesser antagonizers he had in middle school and at the end of grade school. Most of his other classmates had been his bigger bullies. Still, because Bakugou was just different to both him and the school as a whole, the few times he antagonized Midoriya, it seemed to wave into ripples that turned into tsunami wave crashes. Midoriya had explained that he had gone too far in a single instance and that it still hurt thinking about it. He would like an apology from Bakugou but didn’t know how or if it would happen. After all, Bakugou hadn’t bullied or antagonized him at all for the last full year.

You had taken it all in, watching the small green-haired boy look both sad and determined as the metro pulled into your station.

“You still want to be friends with him, huh?” you asked, ignoring the people clambering out and in of the vehicle. 

Midoriya had looked at you with wide eyes and his teeth bitten, swollen lips pressed into a flat line, his head dropping, “Is it weird that I do?”

Chuckling, you shook your head, moving to leave the metro, “A little, you guys definitely will have to put some work into it, but hey, as long as you know that he’s done you wrong before, I think you deserve to find out if you two can make it work again.”

That had happened at the end of your first month of school.

At the end of your second year of school, you had confessed your feelings to Midoriya Izuku, who thankfully, returned your feelings.

At the end of your third year of school, you had watched with bright eyes and a great smile as your boyfriend hugged his childhood friend Bakugou Katsuki as the graduation streamers and confetti still swirled in the air. You and your entire group of female friends, who for the past two years had been trying to get both boys to confess that they were best friends with each other, seemed to have succeeded. They had obviously been friends by the end of the first year; both boys have gotten to speak on their many different feelings and thoughts at the end of the first year. But it had taken seven girls, two more years, and a late-night discussion between you and Izuku for you to figure out that no matter what happened with his relationship with his Kacchan, he would be at peace with it. He had chased him for so long, for such crazy lengths and obstacles that the moment when they found peace, he had accepted it.

But you knew what would happen if you had gotten the ever so annoying, permanent tsundere of Bakugou Katsuki to admit where the lengths of their friendship were at currently. You had guessed correctly because Izuku was absolutely sobbing as Bakugou hugged him. It could have been an awkward moment between them. The two of them never touched one another unless it was because they were roughhousing, training, or assisting one another in the middle of a fight. But your heart warmed at the sight of your boyfriend, entirely built and tall as he was now, blushing as he still does, scarred fingers and arms holding his Kacchan tight, the happy tears on his face rushing down his cheeks as Bakugou seemed to be blinking up a storm.

You have succeeded.

Best friends, you squealed internally, grabbing the girls and walking away to take some photos together. You had finally gotten them to admit that they were best friends again.

It should have made you happy, and for a while, it did make you glad to know your loving boyfriend was over the moon happy to have this small detail confirmed with him, but two years post-graduation, it was straight up annoying and made you somewhat... livid. 

It started when your classmates began to whisper about how strong you were to let Izuku and Bakugou be that close. Then reporters asked about how you felt about the Wonder Duo’s relationship outside of the field. Fans straight up saying that they liked them better than you and Izuku, fans asking if you felt lesser than Ground Zero in Pro Hero Deku’s life. At first, you had always expressed your truths, you didn’t care what others thought because you knew the truth, but they must have been annoying you for so damn long that you were beginning to feel doubtful, just the tad bit anxious. 

Izuku had asked if you wanted to go to a bar for a night of some drinking. Well, with the both of you not having work tomorrow, you had agreed. It had been a while since the two of you had been able to do anything. So a night at the bar the two of you frequented a lot was a great start to a long night the two of you were undoubtedly going to have if the lace panties under your skirt had anything to say about it. You thanked the gods of every deity every night for making your boyfriend such a stupid pervert that a single whisper of what you were wearing would have him turning red and stumbling out of the bar to get you home immediately.

Well, that was the plan.

But no, nope, nope, nope, nope.

In the middle of your flirting session with Izuku, who still could not keep up with your quick, slick tongue, his phone had rung. It wasn’t abnormal that it went off, he was an incredibly gifted hero, and with his recent sort of permanent team up with his Kacchan to form a hero duo, they were hot shit.

But it wasn’t a work call.

No, it took two seconds to figure that out because Izuku had placed his phone to his ear, his cheeks pink, and eyes sparkling as he immediately chirped out: “Kacchan! Hi!”

And just like that, your flirtatious mood had been stomped on and stabbed over into one of annoyance.

Your boyfriend was a hero otaku; that was something you knew the very moment you met him when both of you were merely fifteen. From that moment on, when your crush was formed on the excitable, blushing otaku, you knew that should you become his girlfriend, there would only be two people above you.

Midoriya Inko then All Might.

Both of those people were completely understandable.

Inko was the best mother in the world, and as Izuku’s most significant and first support system, you didn’t mind losing out to her. She was a fucking sweetheart, after all.

All Might was a slightly annoying one, but as your boyfriend's mentor and father figure, you understood. Plus, the scrawny man was also a sweetheart who flustered over Izuku almost as much as Inko did.

But, you didn’t and couldn’t believe that Bakugou ‘Kacchan’ fucking Katsuki would be challenging your place as third in the most critical person in Midoriya Izuku’s life. You wouldn’t sit idly by on it.

Taking another long, deep chug of the heavy in alcohol percentage drink in your hand, your anger seemed to be at an all-time high. 

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

That stupid fucking nickname seemed to pour like liquid gold from Izuku’s mouth.

Kacchan this, Kacchan that, Kacchan yes, Kacchan no.

You knocked back yet another fucking drink, slamming the glass onto the bar counter, demanding another one as Izuku’s deep stupid voice seemed to turn airy as he laughed at something Bakugou Katsuki said. Bakugou Katsuki, who didn’t ever tell jokes because everything he said was stupidly not funny and hated being not serious even for a single second, was making your stupidly thick, built, and strong boyfriend giggle like a schoolgirl. Izuku only laughed like that around you?!

Oh, fucking, no, you realized, your back straightening, your eyes blazing into Izuku’s side profile that still illuminated the deep, intensity of his blinding happy smile. 

“Kacchaaannn!” Izuku suddenly whined, his lips pressing into a pout that wouldn’t form because of his stupid, irritatingly handsome smile. “That’s not fair!”

Growling under your breath, you grabbed the new drink presented to you by the bartender and began chugging.

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

Kacchan, Kaacchan, Kaa-chan.

You spluttered, your head light and fuzzy with the inhibiting alcohol as you heard Izuku still rambling on the phone to his dumb fucking Kacchan.

‘Did he just?’ you thought, entirely unprepared for that name to whisper from his mouth.

Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan.

You stopped a broken moan from spilling from your mouth at that word. Despite the coursing alcohol in your veins and the way it typically made you hornier slower, that slightly whiny, entirely Izuku’s tone when he said what your horny brain to be interpreting as Kaa-chan, your panties became wet immediately.

“Izuku,” you breathed — almost whined — into his ear. Your chest pressed against his muscled arm—your mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of his ear before biting down on his earlobe. 

“Y-Y-Yes, y/n?” Izuku stammered, his face flushing, mind entirely lost at the feeling of your breasts pressing onto his arm and probably his stupid Kacchan’s voice in his other ear. 

“I’m wearing those panties you really, really like,” you moaned softly into his ear, your teeth nibbling on his earlobe.

You never heard Izuku hang up so quickly on his Kacchan as he downed his drink and quickly followed after you, a puppy at your heels.

The two of you made it home, mouths pressing fervently together, fingers in each other’s hair and clothes. You giggled when you managed to push your much larger boyfriend into the door the moment you both managed to enter your apartment. 

His scarred fingers had invaded the underneath of your skirt, already pressing his fingertips to the lacey fabric. He moaned against your mouth, his hands pervertedly gripping your full ass in his large, hot palms. 

“Call me Kaa-chan,” you suddenly moaned, your mouth tearing away from Izuku’s reveling in the fact that he tried to chase after your mouth. It was at moments like this that being so much smaller than your skyscraper of your boyfriend helped — the third year of high school had made your entire male classmates grow an additional near one hundred centimeters, fucking ridiculous. 

“W-What?!” Izuku spluttered, his eyes wide but still entirely glazed over with his lust.

“Kaa-chan,” you slur, the alcohol in your veins and his kisses on your lips, making your brain mush. “Call me, Kaa-chan, please!”

“I-I can’t? I’m not going to call you, Kacchan! T-That’s so weird? You don’t even look like him, and even if you did, I’m sure that would be entirely not okay! That’s Kacchan’s nickname, and for me to just use it in bed would make me think that I’m having sex with Kacchan, and I bet you’d agree about how not okay that would be! Imagine that! That would be not okay, but if there’s anything else you want me to call you in bed, although, you do have the best reactions to me whenever I call you—” Izuku rambled, his eyes searching the dark hallway for something to focus on. His face red with slight humiliation and his muttering tongue speeding so fast you could barely keep up with his sentences with your drunken brain. 

“Not Kacchan,” you roll your eyes, your hands pressed to his side, trapping him between your arms — something that was a hilarious sight. “Kaa-chan, Izuku-chan, Kaa-chan.”

“O-Oh.”

You pulled away from the wall, your eyes bright with what you thought would finally be the tipping point in your biggest kink finding a spot in your sex life with Izuku.

But Izuku begins laughing, his head shaking quickly, the laughter so loud that you watch literal tears form in his eyes as he stands there. Your cunt suddenly feels dry.

“I-I can’t do that,” Izuku finally manages to press through, his hand on his stomach as small laughs still manage to breakthrough. “Oh, god, no, I can’t. I’ll always think of Kacchan when — if I call you kaa-chan.”

Your lips pressed together, anger flushing through your blood as you nod your head once.

“Fine.”

“Y-Y/n!” Izuku bawks, his eyes wide as he quickly understood that he hurt your feelings with that outburst of his. “W-Wait, I mean—”

“No need,” you cement over, lips pursed in your shaking anger. “Give me some time alone, please.”

Izuku can only watch with wide, tearful eyes as you guide him out of your apartment, and you don’t look at him when you close the door, too afraid of what those puppy dog eyes would do to you. You needed time after being laughed at like that; your pride demanded it.

.

..

.

It took less than five hours for you to forgive Izuku. He had stayed in the hallway of your apartment. Sitting outside of your door, waiting for you to message him of some sort about wanting to talk. You hadn’t precisely forgiven him, just wouldn’t allow your more often than not perfect boyfriend to be trapped outside, sleeping in a terrible position on your day off. So at nearly two am, your eyes refusing to close and fall asleep, you trudged to your front door and demanded he gets in or else he’d sleep in the hallway.

Izuku had looked up at you with tired, sad eyes, and your throat tightened as you looked away with a huff. He had gotten to his feet and walked into your apartment, kissing you softly as the door closed behind the two of you. Despite you having been the one to kick him out earlier, he carried you to your room as you began to cry again. He undressed to just his boxers, and the two of you cuddled each other before the both of you fell asleep, feeling slightly better.

Although you hated to admit it, everything was back to normal the following morning.

Well, that is until the fateful day when you were straddled across Izuku’s waist, his thick, long cock stretching you out as much as it felt that first time you fucked, riding him until his hands left bruising prints on your hips. You knew what made Izuku tick, moan, and go absolutely feral in bed; you knew him so well, and if the indicating throbbing of his swollen cock had anything to say, was that he was seconds from cumming.

Again, this was a fateful day.

His work phone suddenly screeched at the nightstand, and you both screamed at the horror.

What was happening?!

Not bothering to unmount from his cock, Izuku grabbed his phone and placed it to his ear.

“Hello, Deku, speaking!”

You pouted from on top of him, still rather pleased that his cock was still firm within you, and you watched his face, ready to send the blood in his cock right back to his head and get him out the front door if it was an emergency.

“K-KACCHAN?! THIS ISN’T AN EMERGENCY!” Izuku screamed, his face pounding red as his free arm collapsed over his eyes.

You were going to kill motherfucking shithead, Bakugou Katsuki.

Your eyes narrowed, and with the fury of being cockblocked by your boyfriend's stupid best friend in a whole new way, you began to shift your hips against his cock. Your hips rising and falling as you continued to fuck Izuku, uncaring that he was on the phone.

Izuku, never having been good at being secretive, let out a strangled choke and a moan, his hand thrown over his eyes trying to get a solid hold on your hips to keep you from fucking yourself against him. He froze, his face exploding with heat the moment you forcibly clenched around his thick length, “I-I-I’m at y/n’s apartment! Kacchan! NO! We were having sex!”

Rolling your eyes, you knew he was going to blab that secret out.

“We are having sex right now, K-Kacchan!” Izuku whimpered, downright hilarious of the brick wall of a pro hero could do. “Kacchan, that’s not fair! You called on my emergency-only phone! Of course, I was going to pick up!”

Red bled into your vision as you realized that Bakugou undoubtedly was talking shit about your ability to fuck your own boyfriend. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku groaned again, but you were far past the point of being okay with this situation.

Grabbing the phone from Izuku’s hand, you slammed the phone to your ear, listening to the chortling laughter of Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

“You fucking piece of fucking shit, try calling this number again without a proper fucking emergency next time, and I’ll kill. you!” you spat into the phone, your blood boiling as the laughter on the other side of the line stopped, only for you to be met with an irritated and challenge-accepted growl of Bakugou Katsuki, who was seconds from responding back with his own threat and challenge. But you hung up, chucking the phone into the corner of the room before setting your sight on Izuku who’s eyes and pupils were blown wide.

You couldn’t even begin to process that your words had turned Izuku on; you could barely feel his throbbing, twitching cock buried deep in your womb because your inner walls held a vice, unbreakable grip on him. Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. You had finally heard that stupid fucking nickname in bed, and still, the way it was said and who it was for wasn’t for you, and you were absolutely frothing.

“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan,” you spit out, fury and animosity, your hips still slamming down on his cock, Izuku’s scarred hands once again reaching for your waist. “Is there any other fucking name you can ramble in bed?!”

Izuku cries out, his hips snapping up to meet yours, the echoing slap of your meeting sexes still not loud enough to tune out your angry, abhorrent thoughts. 

“N-No?!” Izuku stammers out, confusion heavy on his tongue, and you know why, but you don’t care. “I-I-I don’t! What else am I supposed to sayyyy oh my god, baby! What am I supposed to call Kacchan?!”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, and you smile slowly. You wait for green eyes to open and lock on you before your smile becomes cunning, altogether ferocious, and biting as your hand reaches out and grabs the curls at the nape of his neck. You yank on the hair towards you, watching as his neck arches, and you coo at the breathless gasp that spills from his mouth as your lips are at his ear, his cock threatening to slip out of your boiling cunt at this new angle. There’s a growl on your tone, your lips brushing against the soft cartilage of his ear. “Say Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan. Since you fucking want your damn fucking Kacchan so badly that you can’t even indulge in my little nickname, I’ll make sure to ruin the damn fucking nickname for you forever.”

You pull away, your hissing words sitting heavy in his ears as you slip off his cock and stumble to the closet for your toys. 

Izuku lets out a needy noise, his breaths pathetic gasps as he looks at you and away, unable to fully comprehend just what you were planning on doing to him.

Slamming open the closet, you grab the plastic tinted box in the closet, throwing it open and grabbing three items.

One: your pretty green harness. 

You had bought at a sex shop store you frequent whenever you were bored and alone. About six months ago, this particular sex shop had obtained rights to sell Pro Hero styled lingerie and sex toys. This harness was modeled after Izuku’s costume, and you bought it to surprise him with whenever you two got into pegging.

Two: the bottle of lube.

Also purchased from the sex shop. Apparently, it was a lube that was both super cold and hot — obviously modeled after Todoroki. It would start off as cold on the skin before warming up to temperatures that were guaranteed to make people shriek and moan like porn stars.

And last, but definitely not least, your ace up your sleeve: the strap on dildo.

At the same sex shop, they had released a limited quantity, a one-week available dildo that was nearly impossible to accept was a thing. Along their wall of many, many different shapes and sizes of dildos had sat seven limited dildos made from the cocks of pro heroes.

One of which being Ground Fucking Zero: Bakugou Katsuki.

You’re not sure what possessed you into buying it, but you did. The dildo modeled after Bakugou’s own cock was now something you possessed, something you hid from Izuku’s sight at all times. The cock was about eight, nearly nine inches, maintaining a fat, swollen head and base, with thick veins running through its length. 

The dildo itself was completely minimalist, jet black with only the Ground Zero’s logo painted to the bottom of the curve, but if you were to do this, Izuku wouldn’t know it was his best friend's cock until you were done with him. 

Throwing your legs through the harness, you turn your head to lock eyes with Izuku’s bright eyes that are taking in your every move. You fasten the ties, making them just a tad bit tight around your thighs and waist because you knew that Izuku loved seeing the divot in your skin. 

Your eyes are peering through your lashes to look at him, your frown becoming a confident, biting smirk as you attach the dildo, immediately covering your hand with the cold lube before slicking up the silicone cock. Izuku watches you with shaking thighs as you climb back onto the bed, your eyes dark, dangerous, as your fingers drag down his toned and muscled calves.

“Get on your fucking hands and knees like the fucking good boy you are,” you growl out the command, your fingernails digging into his skin. “Show your cute fucking ass to your Kaa-chan.”

Izuku let out a heavy moan as his body quickly shifted over, he got up onto his knees, but he went a step further by pressing onto his knees, letting his scarred back curve beautifully for you. 

You groan at the sight, Izuku's large, muscled ass on full display for you. His body trembles and shakes with every breath he takes and how his muscles are tight with his nervousness. His little asshole clenching and tightening at the air, undoubtedly ready to have you press the cock into him. You groan, your hand that's slick with the lube becoming warmer with the intended promise of the lube, and your grin when you grip his supple asscheeks between your hands, delighting at the way his flesh molds within your hands.

“You have such a pretty little ass, baby boy,” you moan, your index finger circling around the rim of his pert, tight hole. You lean in closer, your hot breaths spilling across his muscle that sends it spasming in its attempts to clench around nothing. “What do you want your Kaa-chan to do?”

Izuku stammers, his mouth unable to form any sort of coherent sentence as you lather your fingers in the cold lube, and without much of an introduction, you slide your slick, cold index finger into his hole. Izuku cries loudly when you move your finger inside of his ass, and you smirk at the sight of his twisted with delirium face before you. Eyes crossed, tongue hanging out as your finger dives into his ass. 

“Does this feel good, baby?” you ask, finger curling deep within his ass.

He can’t find the energy to speak, but strangled noises of approval are made, and his hips shift back onto your thrusting finger.

You enter a new finger, stretching out his tight muscle even further, your two fingers reaching a further depth and more manageable pace than you had before. You grin at the way Izuku begins to fuck himself against your fingers, his asshole looking as if it swallows your fingers as your dildo ruts against his leaking cock. Izuku's chest collapses onto the mattress when you glide your free hand against both the dildo and his cock as you continue to finger his ass — a third finger eventually joining.

“God, your ass is so fucking slutty, sweetie,” you groan, absolutely obsessed with the pink haze on Izuku’s cheeks and the growing moans. “Is your Kaa-chan making you feel good? Kaa-chan promises that she’ll protect you through everything!”

Izuku spams, a loud cry of your name as your fingernails scratch at his walls, and his hips buck further into your fingers deep in his ass before rutting back into your hand, stroking his cock. You coo at how he is clearly enjoying it, chest-thumping with how he clearly wants more, and how you intend to give him more. A sadistic smile carved onto your face as his rambling begins to take shape begins to actually have meaning behind it except the whining, pitiful cries.

“You are!” Izuku finally manages to gasp, his ass slamming back onto your curled three fingers. The lube is now hot as it can grow, and Izuku is obsessed with the heat in his ass. “You’re doing this to me, y/n!”

You freeze, fingers freezing in his ass as Izuku once again refused to call you Kaa-chan.

Well then.

Freeing your fingers from deep in his ass, your upper lip curled into a snarl as you doused the Ground Zero dildo with the ice-cold lube, your blood roaring in your ear. It just seemed that you were going to have to take that nickname by force.

Slapping the lube coated dildo between the valley of his pretty, beautiful asscheeks, you grabbed his head of curls, snapping his head back so that his ear was a lick away. “Listen to what I’m about to fucking do, I-zu-ku,” you accentuate his name, your free hand gripping his slick cock, and fisting it slowly, your grip tightening whenever he tried to rut into your grip. “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear. Izuku freezes for a second, deep flushed red exploding on his face before he moans loudly, face burying into the mattress as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

“Kacchan…” Deku’s mouth fumbles, unable to find that distinction even like this, but that’s okay, you got time.

“Again, Deku,” you snap, watching as a shiver slams down his spine at the nickname, and you press the head of the cold, lube coated dildo against his ready, clenching asshole.

“Kaa-aachan!” Deku moans loudly, and you press the head of the black dildo into his ass, watching as his slutty little ass swallows the head without a single problem. His back arches further, and his ass shakes as you keep him from falling further on his Kacchan’s cock.

“Are you having that much fucking trouble distinguishing who’s fucking you right now, Deku?!” you practically seethe, your fingernails digging into his firm, plump ass before beginning to drag the cockhead away.

“No!” Deku sobs, his ass pathetically following after your exiting cock. “I’m not Kaa-chan, I promise!”

Oh, the golden words you’ve been looking for.

With a widespread, near-feral grin, you slammed the whole cock within him, not stopping until you couldn’t see the black of the dildo, and your thighs were pressed against his ass. The noises that spilled from Izuku’s mouth with sinful, lewd, and made you think for a second the hot and cold lube was in your cunt. His mouth continued to speak at a speed you couldn’t understand, his ass greedily sucking the dildo in with no thought to return it.

“I-It feels so good!” Deku cries, his ass slapping backward onto your strap. “Your cock is so good!”

“Damn fucking right it is, Deku,” you laughed, hands gripping his hips and with a determined show to make sure he knew just who the superior Kaacchan was, you began to rut your hips back up again his. 

Your pace was a lot faster than Deku’s, thighs crashing against his ass with every successive pound of your hips. Deku, who’s always been so good about being responsive in bed, is crying and moaning like a bitch in heat. His moans are endless and delightfully loud, his ass slamming backward to meet your rutting hips, and you can't help but land a loud spank against his sweet ass.

“How is this feeling, Deku? Tell your Kaa-chan how your shitty little hole is feeling?” you laugh, your body leaning over his, your lips and teeth marking up his sweaty, scarred back with bites marks and hickies. “Tell your Kaa-chan how it feels to have your shitty asshole fucked like this?”

“It feels sooo good, Kaa-chan!” Deku sobs and you shiver at the power behind that stupid little nickname. “My Kaa-chan is making me feel so good, so loved! Kaa-chan’s cock is stretching my ass out so good, her cock makes my stomach and ass feel so funny, but I d-don’t want it to end!”

His back is arched, and his fingers can no longer clutch the fabric of the mattress, and it’s all overwhelming as you fuck into him faster, more demanding, with more intention to have him be yours forever.

“My precious little Deku looks so fucking cute when he’s crying for his Kaa-chan,” you pant, your thrusts becoming sloppier with your heightened pleasure, knowing just whose cock he was crying for. His stupid Kacchan could never do this. 

The raw noises of wanton pleasure rip from Deku’s throat and his ass comes down to fuck back on your strap on with greater power, faster speed. You keep up, though, you have to prove your worth, you’ll fuck his brains out until the only thing he can call you is his Kaa-chan. You grip his hips, your knees shifting as you find a new angle, a better angle as you drill the cock in faster and further in, bottoming out in him with every stroke of your bucking hips. 

“Fuck!” he screams, his knees almost wholly giving out on you as you drive against his prostate. The cock and angle you had quickly allowing you such a pleasure as you fuck into him faster. And upon the tenth slam against his prostate, Deku is shouting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Kaa-chan!”

Drool is pouring onto the bed, and you feel on fire as Deku continues to whimper, continues to cry your name, claiming that his Kaa-chan has never made him feel this good before. Your hands move from his waist and find themselves latched onto his curls and fisting his cock again. The power that hums through your body makes you see stars as he cries at the pain of having his hair yanked backward, and having your fingers press against the head of his weeping, pre-cum drenched cock.

“Oh, poor pathetic Deku,” you snarl despite the grin on your face, sweat drips down your temple, and you laugh. “Does your pathetic fucking cock need to cum? Do you need to cum while your Kaa-chan’s cock fucks you?”

“Y-Yes Kaa-chan!” Deku screams, his tongue falling from his mouth, his eyes dazed in his hysteria. “Yes, Kaa-chan! I want to cum on your cock, please let me cum on your cock!”

Your cunt throbs from your arousal and lack of stimulus, but the apparent slick in your lips that is slowly dripping down your thighs, makes your next train of thought seem worlds apart hot. The hand in his curls fists his hair harder, snapping Deku closer, making his back arch further. The hand around his cock pinches his cock head together, a pain you had discovered that never failed to get him to cum. And your hips, the hips that drove the Ground Zero dildo further into his tight, greedy asshole, slammed viciously and barbarically into his pretty little asshole.

Deku praises your cock again, his eyes fluttering shut as he cries for his Kaa-chan’s cock, and in a blind fit of victory, your lips press against his ear and whisper to him the truth.

“I’m actually fucking you with your Kacchan’s cock,” you admit, feeling Deku go rigid beneath you. “I know you know what I’m talking about, Deku. So yes, I bought it just to fuck you with it, and look! It’s Kacchan’s cock, but it's your Kaa-chan who’s making you feel so. good. with it!”

And with one last driving slam of Kacchans cock into Deku’s slutty, needy hole, you can feel his cock spasm within your hold, and the way his ass tightens beautifully around the dildo, and he collapses with a pitiful, pathetic: “Oh my god.”

Your hand is coated in his hot, heavy load of cum. You pull away from him, and you laugh, watching as Deku moves onto his back, his eyes fluttering with a million emotions as you bring your hand to your mouth and lick his musty cum clean from your hand. 

“Now,” you cough, slipping the harness from your waist and thighs and climbing back onto his awaiting, still semi-hard cock. You moaned at the feeling of his cock hardening back within your crazy soaked cunt. “Kaa-chan wants you to suck your Kaa-chan’s tits, and then you’ll be rewarded for being. So. Good.”

His eyes swim with uncertainty before he blinks, his hips rutting up to meet your cunt, and his mouth latching onto your needy nipple.

“Anything for you, Kaa-chan.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Bonus!

Due to Bakugou calling on Izuku’s emergency-only phone, Bakugou had come over with an apology dinner made for the two of you. You sat at the table, Bakugou sitting in front of you, Izuku, to your side in the square table Izuku owned. 

Bakugou was already frowning, his body language trying to hide the apparent surprise that went through him when Izuku opened the door and greeted him as ‘Bakugou-kun!’ 

Had you known his reaction would be that pathetic, you wouldn’t have bothered to accept his dinner. You would have sufficed with that moment being caught on camera instead.

But no, Izuku loved Bakugou’s cooking, and you were now sitting here, glaring at Bakugou, who was glaring right back at you.

However, you knew Bakugou wanted to understand why his childhood nickname had suddenly been abandoned, and you had strategically placed Izuku’s favorite drink near the empty seat. Closer to you than it was to Bakugou because you knew that asshole was quicker than most.

“Oh, Kaa-chan, do you mind passing me my drink?” Izuku asked before flushing at the realization of what he called you in front of Bakugou.

But Bakugou didn’t notice, how could he?

Because both of you had made for his drink, and you just managed to snatch it before Bakugou did as you watched in evil elation as Bakugou quickly placed two and two together. Handing the glass to Izuku, you smiled, as he stammered out an embarrassed thank you.

“Sorry, boys, I’m actually needed somewhere tonight,” you lie, rising to your feet as Bakugou’s eyes rage with something you can’t name but love nonetheless. “I’ll leave you two alone, I’ll be back!”

You don’t let Izuku’s embarrassed begs for you to say deter you, your fingers grabbing your boyfriend by the chin before kissing him deeply, shoving your tongue into his mouth for good measure as you look at the still, void Bakugou when you break away.

You don’t know what happens as you leave, but the way that Izuku’s less superior Kacchan snaps his name makes your toes curl with pleasure.

Oh, you really liked this.

[lauralestrange7]

Hiya could you write an Oliver wood x fem reader soulmate au please? xx

Magic Summers | Oliver Wood |

Hey, just a heads up I have never written anything in Soulmates AU before , now have I read much about it, so please excuse me.

Also, this is the fastest I have responded to a request lol like only in 3 hours, I got really excited after I read the plot. 😂 That is also probably why this is shorter than my usual fic length.

However, please comment below your thoughts on my attempt. My requests are open 🌸 🌻🌼

Thank you for requesting!

Hope you enjoy it!

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It was a lazy summer’s day, the term was ending in a couple of weeks. All the exams were over, so students were spending the weeks on the grounds under the warm sun. You however were sitting in the astronomy tower leaning across the cool wall and reading, the wind was blowing by caressing your face gently, tickling your neck. It was very comfy, no one could blame you for slowly dozing off. Your head started lolling and unconsciously collided with your knee bone, startling you awake. “Ouch” you groaned slowly rubbing your forehead “That looks like it hurt” a chuckle shot in your direction. You looked at the source of it, and there was Oliver Wood hovering on his broom smirking in your direction. He started climbing on the tower, “Oh yeah? You know what’ll hurt” you said “Being pushed off a tower”. Oliver smiled ‘Oh yeah, that’s gotta hurt, but only if “someone” has the guts to do it” he said cockily. “Don’t tempt me Ollie” you said stepping forward, however his expression didn’t change. You sighed softly before sitting down again, Wood sat beside you. “Can you believe it? One more year and we’re done” he said in an amazed voice you smiled “It’s crazy isn’t it?”

Wood and you met in your first year at The Hogwarts express the two of you soon become inseparable. You have never had a friend like Oliver, both of you were extremely close. But around your third year, the two of you started drifting, it was mainly because of Oliver’s quidditch obsession.

You sat silently and so did Oliver for once, you looked at him he was gazing at the sky. He was so much different than your eleven-year-old best friend, he was surely taller and there was no doubt that Quidditch was doing him good. Oliver caught you staring and smirked “Like what you see?” he asked “Oh don’t get so full of yourself!” you scoffed looking away. He smiled “You know you haven’t changed a wee bit,” he said “Yes I have,” you said crossing your arms defensively. “I’ll show you,” he said and out of nowhere he kissed your cheek and obviously you flushed instantly “Aye, you still go pink every time I do that, well I can’t blame you there though,” he said laughing as you punched his arm.

You leaned onto him, “I have been having this dream for days you know” Oliver started. “I am walking and I seem to know where I am going, and after a while, I hear some calling me, then I see ”, --- “someone smiling at me and taking my hand” The two of you finished together. Shocked the two of you stared at each other “I have been having the dream too” Y/n said

“You don’t think that we –“

“Yes”

Hearts and minds racing the two remained quiet for a while “Eh it’s fine I have loved you ever since I can remember, was too coward to say anything” Wood said honestly “You don’t have to lie” Y/n said looking down “I mean it” Wood said taking your hand pulling you closer as his cold fingertips trace your cheeks. He kissed you and no way was he lying now, you kissed him back. It all seemed to fall in place as he slowly caressed your face. It was sweet, passionate and filled with fireworks. Who knew your best friend could turn out to be your soulmate?

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xoxo

[kanene-yaaay]

Talks, Teases and Tea

Warnings: I can’t think of any. They’re just talking about boundaries and lightly teasing and tickling ech other. Brief Ler!Aizawa and Lee!Hizashi with implied Lee!Toshinori. About 2500 words.

Kanene’s notes: Heya! I’ve been wanting to finish this fic for a while! I wanted to write a bit more about it because it is an interesting scenario but dfghjdfghjr I was already losing the tracks with this quite long fic, so, yay! I am glad I am finally sharing this w u all <3. I hope u like this ^v^

[~*~]

Toshinori winced at his own smile, staring at the cup of tea in front of him with an intensity that wasn't really needed. His gaze flicked quickly across the two guests in the room, analysing the situation. Aizawa drank his tea slowly, partly oblivious to Hizashi, who kept drumming his finger on the tabletop in a rhythm he was sure he heard somewhere, humming a song. Their gazes locked together and Toshinori couldn't help the slight blush which traveled to his cheeks. They quickly averted their eyes.

Aizawa's loud, exasperated sigh flew across the room. "You two are ridiculous."

Hizashi and Toshinori broke down in giggles, not really denying the black haired teacher words, the acknowledgement of how they, professional heroes trained to act through the nervousness and pressure, just spent minutes deviating glares and blushing like teenagers in love making them only laugh harder.

"It's kind of silly, isn't it?" Yagi was the first to get himself together, softly smiling under Shouta's intense eyes.

"Yes." The aforementioned retorted. "But it's necessary."

"We can't say it isn't even a bit awkward, though." Hizashi contemplated, stirring a spoon on his untouched drink. His smile became wicked as he wiggled his fingers in front of Aizawa's face. "Aren't you nervous about sharing your deepest desires with us, Shou?"

He yelped as the other batted his hand away, scoffing, not unkindly. "Stop, you're scaring Toshinori."

The attention switched to the taller one. Showing vulnerability was difficult to all of them, but to the former number one hero it sometimes felt as if he would never be able to fully do it.

He was working on that.

"Oh, shit, sorry,  I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Hizashi-san." Yagi scratched at his neck, wondering if the hot feeling painting his cheeks would ever disappear. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you with it." His grin was small, but honest.

Aizawa did his best to not get up from his chair and hide Toshinori on his capture weapon before he killed him with cuteness, just as he did with his cats. At his side, Hizashi made a show of placing his hands on his chest and crying "My heart!" dramatically as if he just got shot. All Might's face got even redder.

"Right." The erasure hero started before his urge became stronger. "Let's start with a safeword."

"Right." Yagi beamed, getting a small notepad in hands and hurrying to find a blank space on it. 

He looked up when no more suggestions filled the air, only to find a very amused green gaze staring right at him as the other grumbled something about not being awake enough for that and stole Hizashi's tea. "Toshi, dear, what are you doing?"

"I'm, uh, actually I…" He cleaned his throat. "My memory is kind of bad so I was wondering that I could, maybe, take notes?”

"Will they be coded?"

"Yes."

“Then I don’t care. Do what works for you.”

"Oooh," Yamada popped in, hands resting on the tabletop as his body inclined forward. "Clever! Such a clever idea! Can you teach it to me later? And let me take pictures?"

"O-of course, Hizashi-san."

Shouts huffed, amused. "You know he will use all that information against you, right?"

"Shhh! Shou, don’t expose my evil plan!"

"Maybe we could use the Spotlight system?" Yagi cut their bickering, knowing the lengths they could take their playfulness and he really doubted he would have the courage to finish this conversation another day.

"Bo-o-ring! We should choose something more unique and new! Something more like..." The blonde's eyes suddenly gathered a dangerous glint. "I am here."

"No."

"Absolutely not."

"No, no, no, Toshinori-san, hear me out, hear me out!" His words almost couldn't be understood across his crackles, the voice hero trying to make the Number One hero to stop hiding his face, knowing that any attempt of reasoning about this with Aizawa would be quickly ignored. "Think about it! Think carefully about it!"

The called one peaked between the fingers of the hand, opening his mouth to vehemently protest against the use of his hero persona’s trademark phrase, but then, in that exact moment Yamada pointed to Shouta.

Suddenly, a very clear image of his gloomy, reserved coworker, with a gigantic smile plastered on his face shouting "I am here!" between his frantic, low laughter filled his mind.

He took a steady breath.

"I am tempted," was his final verdict.

"Yes!"

"I refuse."

"Democracy is really a bitch isn't it?" Hizashi pouted in fake empathy. "I promise I won't tease you... too much."

"I can and will kill you both before that. I am an underground hero, I have my ways."

Yagi chuckled. "I still believe we could use the spotlight system, too. It's faster."

"Noo, Toshinori-san! We were almost winning!"

Aizawa flicked him on the forehead, lips quirking upwards before he sobered. "We also need a word to signal a need for a break and a non verbal one. That is not negotiable."

Hizashi blinked, red dusking his initially confident expression. "Oh, yeah, this is actually a very good idea."

"For the non verbal we could tap out?"

"Nope. I trash around too much, probably would do this without even realizing it…" How could Yamada talk so freely about this, Yagi would never truly understand. "Ah, I know! We could just snap our fingers!” He was fast to demonstrate his words. “Quick and easy!"

"And we could use Break as the other one, everyone agrees?" Aizawa nodded at the affirmative sounds said by the others. "Good. Bondage?"

Silence.

"I am… not very comfortable with it as the ler, but…" Hizashi drummed his fingers harder on the tabletop, stopping only when Aizawa gave his mug back, happy in occupying his antsy hands with it. "Sometime... When I am in a strong Lee mood, I like the light ones?"

"Always ask before, then." Yagi smiled kindly at him before scribbling that down. "Shouta-san?"

"Yes. Just not my arms."

"Right."

"And you Toshinori-san?"

The pencil stopped for a second. Yagi chuckled nervously. 

"...I don't really know."

He couldn't describe it. That not quite quite, but definitely there, feeling that accommodated on his chest everytime he thought about it.

"It's okay." Yamada reassured. "It's never too late to discover and try it! When you feel comfortable enough to do that, of course. Also, don’t forget: just one word and we will stop."

"This talk is important exactly because of that."

Warmth filled Yagi’s chest at care and the safety that flowed from each act, each word from the other two.

"Of course." His tune then became serious. When did he get so soft in the first place? "And, if any of your preferences change, warn me. This needs to be comfortable for all of us, right?"

"Will do."

Shouta hummed in agreement.

"Okay. Aaand what about petnames?"

Suddenly, Yagi was very, very happy for having that conversation in person and not through shy, quick messages in their shared group - how he first intended for it to be,- because otherwise he wouldn't have had the gold opportunity to watch how fast Aizawa’s face was able to blush entirely with a single sentence.

The Erasure Hero lifted his gaze, gave a quick glance between Hizashi’s smug expression and Toshinori’s truly awed one and immediately shrunk on his chair, arms crossed and grumpy grubbles being chewed under his breath, the red on his features still shining brightly. 

“Fuck.” Both of the other two integrants in the room snickered at the curse.

“Baaabeee.~”

“Shut up. I hate you.”

“My deeear, my adorably, adorable blushy toyy.~”

Shouta twitched in his place, an uncontrollable wobbly smile opening its way to his lips, butterflies jumping and dancing non stop on his stomach. He shrunk even further on the chair, refusing to hide his face only because he knew how much of a fuel that would be for both blondes.

(And, maybe because deep down, he liked the attention he was receiving.) 

“I am going to leave.”

“Aww, why? The serious, grumpy Shouta can’t stand letting his bestest friends knowing that he is actually a soft, adorable, flustered-” at each adjective Hizashi ignored the other’s - admitelly fake - sharp gaze in order to poke his stomach with every word. “-little wiggle lee?”

It took just a blink of an eye. In a second Yamada was tormenting him, having an absolute blast with the way Shouta’s blush was travelling all the way to his neck, chest shaking with his attempts to trap the bubbling giggles inside, and, on the other, the underground hero used their proximity to grab the Voice Hero’s hand and twist him so the blond would be trapped on his arms, a surprised high pitched sound flying the air.

“I would be very careful with my next words, if I were you.” The black haired hero adjusted them so his low tune would hit directly Hiazhi’s unprotected, and also very sensitive, ears, that act alone being able to fish more whining noises from the blond.

“And you.” Toshinori couldn’t help the way his soft smile turned into a nervous one when those black, deep eyes stared directly on the bottom of his soul, the redness of his face taking some of the sharpness of his words, however. “Don’t think you’re out of danger just because there is a table between us. We know I’m faster.”

“I wouldn’t dream about it, Shouta-san.” Yagi replied with an amused placating gesture, his entire face filled with softness. “I was just appreciating how considerate and attentive it was from Hizashi-san’s part to bring up such an important topic and also how great it was for you to let him have some fun before your immediate reaction.”

He watched with a sweet interest and a polite faked confusion, as if he couldn’t understand the impact his words and the implications they held, as their faces were set on flames again with his blunt honesty. 

“You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Shouta-san!” The former number one hero chipped before innocently writing down a few more lines on his notes.

“Yagi-san!” Yamada whined. “I thought we were a team! Partners in crime! Two forces that gathered together to bring Shouta down. How could you betray me like that?!”

Toshinori just grinned free of any guilt, not taking long before he sobered again. “Is there, however, any nickname you’re not comfortable with, Shouta-san, Hizashi-san?”

The one with vivid green eyes seemed lost in thought for a moment, so the underground hero’s grumbles were easily noticed in the sudden silence.

“Just don’t call me any variation of ‘pet’ and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” Toshinori replied, writing that information down as well.

“Oh, yeah, I just remembered something. It’s not really a nickname and more of a situation? I think it can be called that?” Hizashi cocked his head to the side, fingers tapping on the temple of his glasses. “I mean, it’s not the topic here and I can wait for when talk about it, of course! I just literally remembered it-”

“Hizashi. Spill it.”

“Right. Okay. Hm, don’t call for help while we’re at it?”

Shouta furrowed his eyebrows, not really getting the reason for the wish. His gaze found Yagi’s one and found confusion there as well, however both were quick to let it be buried  away by understanding.

If Hizashi wanted to share his reasoning in the future, he would. It was not in their place to question his boundaries.

“Of course, dear.”

Hizashi could barely describe the warm, nice feeling filling his chest when he heard Toshinori calling him that, immediately melting when Aizawa gave his back a few light scratches, not enough to tickle, but just the nice tad of a good, comforting gesture.

“Softies, softies. All of you.” He sing sang cheerfully at them.

A squeeze on his tummy made a loud squeal cut any other teasing he might come up with. “I can show Yagi how soft you can be.” Aizawa purred, his hands slowly crawling to strategic, ticklish spots on his belly and thighs. 

“Shouta. Shouta, wait! Y-you know I was only kidding, my dear, my sunshine, my old pal, my very kind, very, very forgiving friend!” Yamada’s wiggles become stronger, titters spilling from his lips in between his pleas, body squirming and trying to escape from the other’s still strong hold.

“Don’t think you will able to escape so easily, not after the whole ‘petnames’ topic you decided to bring up.” His titters evolved to fast giggles when Aizawa decided it would be a good idea to place surprising pokes and prodding on his skin. “Also, a serious, sad face doesn’t fit you.”

“We stihihill have to finish the conversation!” Aizawa hummed, not convinced. “Yagi, my hero, tell him!”

Toshinori wouldn’t point himself as a coward, really. He had faced and battled against all kinds of villains with a reassuring smile and a booming laughter on the tip of his tongue, he had survived a meeting with Nedzu and Gran Tourino’s training.

However, as Aizawa’s smirk was thrown in his direction in sync with a sharp, playful gaze, he couldn’t stop the excited squeak that escaped from his mouth.

Also, at the scene of a previously smug Yamada giggling himself silly and staring at him with a fake pout, maybe he couldn’t help but feel a little playful, as well. Besides, even though he would deny it until his end days, Yagi knew how much soft Aizawa truly was when it came to the people he cared about, therefore the underground hero would be careful to not cross any of the blond’s boundaries. 

“Oh, my, it seems like the tea is cold.” He got up, gathering the cups on his arms. “Maybe we could take a deserved break before discussing the rest of the topics, right? I will make more tea.” And he grinned, light and innocently, at Hizashi’s energetic protests, which grew more less like words and more like a mess of laughter, snorts and giggles as the tallest friend directed himself to the kitchen.

After a few more minutes of tickles, Aizawa stared at the smiley mess on his hold with a dangerous shine on his eyes.

“You’re really a tickle monster, aren’t you?” Hizashi chuckled.

“It’s not my fault that he really believes he can escape from the same fate of yours.”

Yamada huffed a laugh, lightly smacking his arms. “Go. But soon enough I will catch my breath, so don’t forget to watch your back. ~”

Aizawa gave his hips a warning pinch before snorting as he got up, looking at the kitchen’s direction with a smirk on his face. “Good luck with that.”

Needless to say, they had a very giggly break.

[akvtsuki-ari]

Around Your Neck

Warning: smut, unprotected sex/creampie, post!prison reid, fingering, oral both recieving, throatfucking, slapping, bruises idk??

Length: 4.8k 

Authors note: you know that tiktok audio that goes “whats wrong with you?,” over and over again. thats how writing this fic made me feel. based loosely after a conversation me and my wife @pastanest​ had sdkjhjkef and that gifset of spencer with that gold chain on that has me so tight. so disrespectful...

Edit: heres the gifset!!! 

Plot Summary: Prison changed Spencer. That damn chain around his neck made sure you remembered. 

Spencer Reid was… different after prison. It was something about him when he left, like a part of him was always far away somewhere when you spoke to him. He was fractured it seemed like - even though he was saving lives everyday there always seemed to be something on his mind. He was still Spencer of course, still sweet-talking and soothing when he needed to be. He never lost that odd charm about him and after those first few months he grew back to be more comfortable in his own skin but there was just something there. Something on the back of his mind that he seemed to be handling alone. 

You’d been with Spencer for a while before he went to jail, a few years and other traumatic events later - you had an idea of how Spencer dealt with pain and difficulty. He liked to let things sit and stir inside of him for a long time before he lets it show - then he gets snappy and mean for a bit after that till he sorta just breaks. In many ways, when something bad happened to Spencer you sorta just knew what things would be like for a bit, but no matter how many times he slipped you caught him. When he got shot and nearly died twice, you were there right next to him - making sure that he was going to be okay. That's just what you did, to say you were Spencers ride-or-die would be an understatement. You gave him whatever he needed, whether that be some tough love or being pampered for a few days straight. 

Spencer knew that about you, and even before prison he had this affinity for you that always made sure you knew how much he adored you. He wanted you to know that he only ever had eyes for you and that he was beyond grateful for how patient you seemed and how loving you were to him. Spencer made sure he never stopped chasing you before he went to prsion. He bought you flowers, supported you when you switched careers, and generally made sure he returned the favor in loving you but he was always chasing you still. Part of it was out of disbelief that someone could love him like that, but the other part was out of insecurity. You always told him you were always his, but he never seemed to believe you. 

Prison changed a lot of things for Spencer, but that thing about him chasing you was what changed most. Spencer was always possessive in his own right, but he wasn’t jealous necessarily. He just wanted to make sure you were okay and that no one was fucking with you or bothering you. It didn’t bother him before if you talked and flirted with Luke, or if some guy was hitting on you because you were normally so adamantly rejecting it. He wasn’t someone who was particularly upset about not having claimed you as his - before he didn’t really care. 

For the longest time you didn’t really notice just how much Spencer had actually changed how he acted towards you - mostly because he was still really sweet to you. It wasn’t like he was treating you any worse, or necessarily any better. It was honest to God, just different, more.. something. You don’t wanna use the word aggressive because Spencer isn’t the aggressive type. Spencer was calculated, and he could be angry sometimes but not often. He didn’t have a shorter fuse - hell, you could argue that prison made him more patient since he was often just lying in wait. 

The best way to describe it is probably just more confident, really. He was assertive about you being his and his tolerance for crude jokes that came your way was a lot lower. Most of the time, at least before, he’d let shit slide if it was too small. Nowadays though, if he even catches something bothering you he steps in - always finding the small of your back and pulling you closer to him like he was keeping you close to protect you. He doesn’t curse them out or get angry, just stares at them with a blank expression that's arguably more intimidating. 

You were a flirt by nature, too. You were never trying to flirt with people, but you’re one for flattery and compliments so it sure can be read that way. You loved receiving the same energy so when you did your jokes and compliments would increase ten-fold. It doesn’t bother Spencer because he knows you’re just being silly but before, he didn’t mind if the other person was serious because he knew that you’d never continue like that. Now though, when someones dropping any lines your way he’ll tell them to leave you alone no question, unconcerned about any consequence or even if that person could beat Spencer's ass. Spencer wasn’t concerned about strength like he used to be - and when you asked him about why that was he simply shrugs. 

“I’ll play dirty if it gets there,” 

Those were all small details but there were so many of them that it was starting to pile up and draw you to interesting conclusions. Sex was also a clear example of change. The first time the two of you had sex when he came back from prison was relatively the same, but you could tell he was holding something back. For the longest time, you didn’t really know what until it was the heat of the moment and Spencer wrapped his hands around your throat and ask if he could choke you - something that you’d ask for previously that he was rather unsure about doing. It was the way Spencer's eyes looked into your eyes when he did it, the way his fingers curled almost carelessly around your delicate neck - so instinctively as if the whole endeavor was so natural. When he lets you go and kisses you - you’re more than into it but you can’t help but wonder where his desire came from. You didn’t really mind how Spencer got when he was like that but damn, you couldn’t say you saw it coming. 

The more you thought about it, the more it became clear to you that Spencer has changed a whole lot more than you understood initially, but maybe the last straw was when you made a sorta silly joke about the necklace worn around his neck after prison. It was a thin gold chain, for the most part tucked underneath his clothes when he went to work. He said in many cultures gold is a symbol for blessing and spirituality and he wanted to keep that with him, and that a lot of other people in prison wore gold chains. You made some stupid joke that if he were gonna wear it all the time - he should at least have your name around his neck. You knew stuff like that wasn’t really Spencer thing so when you’d said it, even though it was pretty hot, you were mostly just joking. 

It’d been a few weeks since then. Spencer had a case that needed his attention and you were at the bullpen with Penelope waiting for everyone's arrival. You were nearly bursting from anticipation, a busy case that made you particularly clingy and had you missing Spencer more than you can explain. There everyone was, walking through the doors when Spencer walks through and wraps you up in his arms. Spencer picks you up and spins you around for a few seconds before giving you a small smile. You just hug him again, noticing the cool metal on your skin when you do. You pull back before Spencer speaks and look down - his chains never had a pendant before 

There it was. Your name, hangin around his neck like it was nothing. Spencer was sporting it with a more casual version of what he normally wears, which was basically just no tie. A white shirt and blazer, and your name around his neck. You try your very best to ignore the heartbeat in your jeans while your fingers went up carefully to touch it. Spencer gives a coy smile, watching the way your eyes look at it so hazy. Just like he wanted. He places his hand on top of yours, seeing your pretty eyes flick up to meet his. You can barely contain yourself - the chain around his neck always brought you to some interesting places but to see your name - your fucking name, around his neck so casually brought you somewhere rather interesting. 

“Um - nice necklace,” you squeak out. Spencer laughs brightly, his arms circling around your waist as you bury your face in his chest instinctively . You can feel the way his laugh reverberates and you just whine in annoyance. 

“I’m glad you liked it, might be a little awkward otherwise,” Spencer jokes. It was your turn to giggle, Spencer left terribly endeared by the sound. 

“You ready to head home, doctor?,” you say softly. Spencer nods, taking your hand as you lead the way and feeling his heart burst out of his chest, grateful to have you on him always. 

__

You guess that Spencer buying your name as a pendant on his chain was really what set you off in realizing just how possessive he was. He didn’t take it off around the house, walking around your shared apartment shirtless with it on at all times. He’d play with it constantly, fingers brushing the smooth metal while he was doing something a little mindless or that required his focused attention. It was driving you nuts, the image of Spencers chain hanging in your face was already one you returned to a lot but - now that your name was there it made the stakes of such a situation so much higher. 

Spencers just sitting and reading the paper when you finally are fed up. He always liked reading the actual newspaper, claims there's nothing quite as good but you’re tired of… well, you’re not sure what you were tired of but you knew you needed his attention asap before you lost your marbles for good. You walk over to him, moving the newspaper carefully out of his hands and folding it before sitting across his lap and crossing your arms. Spencer laughs loudly, especially as you take his arms and wrap them around your waist. Spencer just gives you a quirked eyebrow, a questioning look. You shake your head, because you’re honestly kind of unsure for what you’re asking for - you just wanted something. Dick, maybe. 

You give Spencer a look as you take his chain around your fingers again and play with it’s pendant. He already knows why you’re here, but he decides to let you figure it out. He knew before that you were the submissive type, but his response to that changed in prison. He carried that picture of you with him everyday, looked at it for hours sometimes so he could sleep - and it pissed him off when people would see it and talk about you. Spencer missed a lot of things outside of jail but you were number one - your love and affection of course, but there were other things too. Prison made Spencer particular about his possessions, that picture of you was one of the few things that was his and his alone. He didn’t let anyone go as far as touch that picture, so when he saw you again that possession just carried over. He didn’t really care, especially since it didn’t seem to bother you. Prison made Spencer realize how much he really cared for his possessions, books, chess boards, you - all things he already cared about but became a lot more particular after the fact. 

Spencer just knows. When you sit on his lap, all he can picture is him out in the yard but instead of isolated and paranoid, he’s with you by his side giving him all the restraint in the world. He’d be damned if he let anyone take that from him. You give Spencer a look he can’t explain, there's a certain innocence written on your face that makes Spencer's chest hot. His hand sits between your bare thigh as you sit on his lap, and the second you look down on it, you seem to get the clue. Spencer grips your thigh, eyes following the way yours move to try and make sense of what's happening. Your eyes are fluttery, as your head twists to meet Spencers, the two of you nose to nose. Spencer just gives you a smile, before looking down at your lips then right back up to you. You blush. 

“You’re close,” you say, not knowing what else to do. Spencer chuckles. 

“Would you like me to move?,” Spencer asks politely. You shake your head. 

“No,” you say stubbornly. Spencer licks his lips for a second before smiling again. 

“Okay. Then, what would you like me to do?,” Spencer says, holding back a laugh. Your eyes fixate on his lips when he talks, and you scrunch your face up. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble. Spencer grins ear to ear. 

“Say please,” Spencer replies, leaning in as his lips brush onto yours. He pulls away before you can kiss and you sigh. 

“Please,” you manage out meekly. 

Spencer pushes air out of his nose before he does just that. His lips are smooth, stubble touching your smooth skin as your hand moves to one side of his face. Spencer smiles into the kiss, feeling the way you melt into him. The moments before things get heated is fast, Spencer's hands underneath your shirt as his tongue slides between your lips. He kisses you slowly, patiently but that’s not quite what you want. You give him a whine, but he shows the same attitude. You keep kissing like that for a while, moving yourself to straddling Spencer's lap before using your teeth to lightly tug on Spencer's bottom lip. He gives you a small groan and you return it with a noise of approval. Spencer pulls back to look at you, his eyes telling you to be careful but his body language betraying him. You can feel the tent in Spencer pants as you weigh yourself down on his lap. 

“Don’t hold back,” you ask, hoping it’s the right thing. Spencer gives you a weary look. 

“Are you sure?'' Spencer asks. You nod, eyes looking into his. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for go,” you say repeating your safewords to him. Spencer gives you a kiss on the forehead, both for remembering your safeword but as an assurance. He’d never really been rough with you - he was a soft dom at heart and wouldn’t go as far as hurting you. You just give him a pleading look - you wanted him to be rough with you, bruise and mark you, just for a little while. The idea made your skin flush, but who was Spencer to deny you of such a request. Spencer nods softly, leading you to the bedroom. 

Spencers the first to close the door, pushing you up against as he lifts one of your legs up and kisses you slowly - fingers pressing into your thighs as Spencers tongue toys with yours. He always kisses you like that, slowly but surely introducing as much of himself to you as possible - his erections pressed against you when he does. The sound that leaves your mouth is a cross between a whimper and a moan - a broken sound that makes Spencer a little more eager. He smiles when you make, giving you a look of surprise but you don’t have anything to say. Spencer smiles down at you. 

“Go lay down for me,” Spencer requests. You just nod as you get comfortable on the bed - watching Spencer take off his grey sweatpants and boxers, the chain still around his neck. Your eyes follow his figure, landing on his erection before widening. Spencer just chuckles at you - signalling for you to take your shirt off which you do with no question. You watch his eyes as the rack themselves over your figure, panties forbidding the rest of you from being on display. Spencer walks towards the bed, pulling your legs over the edge as he kneels between them. You yelp at the sudden move, but quickly settle up again. 

One thing is for certain, Spencer always wants to make you feel good first. It didn’t really matter what headspace he was in - whether or not he was super dominant like he was today or if he was super submissive like he was when he was stressed. His touch is careful, your legs over his shoulders pull him closer instinctively but he doesn’t seem to mind. He merely pushes your panties to the side before he eats you out, kissing your clit to be gentlemanly. His tongue is careful at first, experimental lickes before he lays his tongue flat - with a soft rhythm, slowly increasing his pace to your pleasure. He gets you close like that, pausing for a few seconds on moving before sucking softly on you, making you twitch your legs. Spencers careful about this part, his speed only testament to how much he can push you, the knot in your stomach carefully being undone as Spencer continues. 

“Can I cum, please?,” your voice scrapes the surface as you ask. Spencer is busied with his mouth but he hums - feeling you unravel as your orgasm hits you with astonishing impact. Spencer feels the way you pulsate on his tongue, humming again so you feel that little vibration that sends your hands in Spencer's hair to pull you off. You’re trying to catch your breath as you finish, Spencer still adamantly eating you - making your body shiver with pleasure. He holds your hips down for a few minutes like that. You don’t really want to argue with him but you’re unsure how much you can handle as he makes you cum for the second time, a small wave of pleasure brushing against your spine as cum for the second time. When Spencer pulls away from you, orgasm covers his lips and manages to get onto his stubble. He gives you a light smile as he leans up to kiss you, hands holding your thighs as he does. You can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Do you think you can handle letting me fuck your throat?,Spencer asks. You give him a look of surprise, trying to remember if you still had any cough drops before nodding - more than eager to let him do that if that's what he wanted to do. You just nod, ready to get on your knees before Spencer stops you in your tracks. 

“I wanted to do it while you were laying down, you know,” Spencer says, voice unsure. You’re surprised but you just shrug, laying down, your head back on the edge of the bed.  It weird to see everything upside down like this, so you just shut your eyes and open your mouth up. Spencers cock twitches at the site of you laid back for him like this, pushing past your lips a lips a bit, feeling your tongue along his tip. You pat Spencers leg, letting him know you were comfortable to let him go further, feeling his length push past your throat. You let your throat relax, gripping your thumb as Spencer buries himself nearly fully in you. His fingers find the column of your neck, brushing the bulge in your throat which makes it hard for him to contain himself. Spencers fucks your throat slowly, carefully not to push you too hard even though you were more than ready for it. You steadied yourself, the other hand in your underwear rubbing your clit to the feeling Spencer fucking you like this. 

“You’re so pretty with me down your throat like this,” Spencer comments. You moan around his length, letting him know he’s free to continue. 

“Prison made me think of all the things I could be doing to you, fucking you like you were the only thing I thought about all day. Maybe because you were,” Spencer laughs when he speaks, his hands reaching down to toy with your nipples, his fingers carefully twisting them, relishing the way you writhe under his touch. You tighten your throat around Spencers length causing him to jerk into your throat - sorta how you planned for this to go anyway. Spencers expression changes as he watches you take all of him in, his hand lightly around your neck, maybe too turned on by how the air leaves your lungs. When you pull out, spit covers your face and chin - but you just give Spencer a thumbs up and a smile, not phased at all. Spencer didn’t think he could be anymore in love with a person, yet here he was. 

Spencer helps you sit back up, sitting for a few moments to readjust to the world around you. Spencer cups your jaw, pulling your face to look at him - giving you the most adoring eyes like you didn’t just take his dick all the way down your throat, well that may be the reason why. Spencer  leans down to kiss your forehead, hands around the base of your neck as he does. 

“Good girl,” Spencers use of that phrase is spare, only using it when he really meant it. It fills you with a certain intensity you weren’t expecting, your throat already a little sore from the endeavor. You give Spencer a small hum of approval. 

“Thank you, Sir,” The honorific makes Spencer's heart ache. Spencer was a soft dom, which mostly meant that in bed you called him by his name. Sir was a sometimes thing, like when he got rough on the occasion. Sir was earned, just liked good girl was. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl,” Spencer asks. You do as you're told, arching your back completely for Spencer without questions. Spencer admires you, running your hands over the curves of your body, admiring the little wet spot that forms on your slit for him, cum running down your legs. Spencer wanted to fuck the shit out of you, wanted to see his cum spill out of you - as filthy as the thought was. You’d always talked about letting him go raw but Spencer was normally too cautious. You getting pregnant was much less of a consequence these days, like if anyone were to carry his baby into the world it’d be you and no one else. 

If anyone got to fuck you like that, it needed to be him and no one else. That was one thing Spencer knew was so different. Spencer needed to fuck you like that, raw and shameless just like only he could. Spencers fingers are too curious for his own good, one hand around your waist to play with your clit, and the other posing two fingers inside of you - brushing up against your gspot with ease. You shudder under Spencers touch, getting fingered from the back like this wasn’t what you were expecting but you weren’t upset about it. Spencers voice is warm in your ear. 

“You’re gonna have to cum one more time before I even think about fucking you,” Spencer warns. You just nod, chewing your lip as Spencer pads his fingers along you, curling them up for you to feel. He stretches you out comfortably like that, and you’re unable to really think clearly. His mouth works on your neck, biting hickies onto your throat as he does. The bruises are red and pulsating, the dark marks only bound to get darker and more visible as the days pass. Not that Spencer minded, though you did. It was a worry for later though, of course. You cum around Spencer's fingers again, unable to comprehend the level of exhaustion that seemed to come over. Still, you’d be damned if Spencer didn’t fuck you senseless. You tighten around Spencers fingers. 

“Spencer, fuck - please, please,” the begging has no particulars. It’s never for anything, instead a mindless response to Spencer and his ability to turn you on this much, to the point it was all you thought about. You were exhausted but all you wanted was for him to cum inside you and make you feel so pliable. You always were, for him anyways. 

“Sir - fuck me raw, please,” that last plea was a demand. Spencer groaned into your neck, nodding lightly, no response to your request. His fingers burned bruises into your waist, gripping on to you like he was gonna lose you if he didn’t. That feeling comes at you so quickly you can barely make sense of it, Spencers hands rhythmic in their ability as you convulse, cumming around Spencers calloused fingers and feeling every inch of them in you. You whine in disappointment when he pulls out. He just chuckles, taking his fingers and slipping them between your lips and down the back of your throat. You don’t choke, unsurprising to Spencer really. Saliva coats his fingers which he smears across your lips, just degrading enough for you to giggle. 

“Lay on your back from me, I wanna see you,” Spencer doesn’t need to finish his sentence to say that he wants to see how his cum fills you up, such a pretty sight it doesn’t need any words for description. 

You lay down, waiting for Spencer who doesn’t wait to get on top of you. That’s when you catch it again - his fucking chain. His name around your neck, hickies from you around his neck just like your name was. Spencer gets on top of you, chain hanging from around neck and all you can think is how fucking badly you needed this man inside of you. The way he had you, feeling this possessive over him made you fucking insane. You knew he’d always keep that chain on, like you were always hanging around his neck anyways but you needed to do more. You wanted to scratch his back up, steal his soul when you gave him head - everything, you wanted to do everything for that man. When he fucks you and you feel all 7inches, stretching you out - cumming inside you like he owned you because he did. So carelessly fucking you, making you cry out his name and now he had your name hanging around his neck. You’d be damned if another person even got near him. 

“Say my name when you fuck me,” you request. Spencer groans, slowly doing just as he promised, hitting your cervix before bringing his hips up - ready to fuck the daylights out of you with no question. Your eyes fixated on the jewelry that adorned him as he pounded into you, your voice totally lost to you as you feel his cock pulsate inside of you. He was relentless, the sound of his hips making contact with your backside filling the room with such a filthy sound. It was filthy the way Spencer fucked you. He leans down to you, his chain resting on your chest as he hands move to the side of your face. He wants to hit you, call you his pretty slut before he fills you with his cum. You just flutter your lashes and before he can ask. 

“Green,” 

Spencer's hands hit the side of your face roughly, the stinging sensation rather pleasing in all reality. Spencer's voice is low, an octave lower and hoarse as he pounds you out like it was nothing. 

“You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you baby? Taking all of me in, like it’s easy. What were you doing while I was gone? Bet you were getting ready for me do this to you, weren’t you. Did any of those toys you used feel as good as me,” Spencers words are callous, and degrading but you loved every second of it. You shake your head. 

“Nothing was as good as you,” your response was forced out. Spencer laughs, voice tinged with something dark. 

“Nothing,” Spencer pushes his hips as far as he can, making you cry out as he reached the edge “Nothing ever will be,” Spencer finished

You tighten yourself around Spencer, looping your legs around his waist to make sure all of him shoots inside you. He finishes with a loud groan, fucking the cum into you a last few times before pulling out. You’re more turned on than you know what to do with so you loop your fingers in Spencer's chain and kiss him, wet and sloppy as he finishes. He presses his forehead to yours as he kisses you, eyes locking with yours as the both you stare at eachother in euphoric post sex glow. Spencer breaks out into a giggle as he comes down, falling into you when he pulls out and you do the same. 

“All this because of a chain?,Spencer asks. You just nod, placing a kiss in Spencers messy hair before sighing. 

“If you ever date anyone else, I’ll be the person in prison,” you say stubbornly. Spencer just laughs a little bit more, the two of you lying comfortably as Spencer places kisses over some of the hickies he left. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,”

----

taglist:  @cynbx​ @zephyr-studiesjp​ @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @reid-187​ @louistwinslover​ @pastanest​ @nomajdetective​ @iamburdened 

[anonymous0writer]

partner in crime | r. cameron

summary: she is rafe's partner in crime; always will be, according to him. until he does the unthinkable.

wc: 1,392

warnings: tv show rafe lol, obx spoilers? but more of rafe's s2 behavior

a/n: im writing for obx again! also im changing the style of my fics

His bruised fingertips brush over the blood-spattered skin of her shoulder, his hard, cerulean eyes admiring the freckles of ruby blood sitting on her heated skin like jewels. The corner of his mouth twitches into a cruel form of a smile that etches onto his similarly blood-painted features. His nose scrunches, his thumb brushing under his nostrils in a habitual movement, smearing blood over the top of his lip. Lips pulling back from his perfectly pearl-white teeth, he leans closer to the junction of her shoulder and neck, breath fanning over her smooth skin as he whispers comforts into the shell of her ear.

"I'm proud of you," his words come tumbling off his tongue seemingly unbidden as if he's conveniently on auto-pilot mode. His palm curls around her other shoulder, a first glance comforting gesture that hides his true intentions of keeping her close. A heartbeat later, he feels the quiver of her muscles and bones underneath the rough surface of his palm, a sure sign of her flagging cooperation. "It's over, baby."

The reminder only does so much to soothe her, and her lashes brush against her cheeks as she tries to relax into each rolled syllable of his succor. But she's shaking and she swears she can feel each droplet of scarlet blood on her skin like a brand. Her frantic eyes wander, looking for much-needed alleviation but end up snagging on the peek of brown army boots under the pale tarp. A sob catches in her throat as his fingers press against the curve of her lips, hard enough to bruise her into silence.

"There's no going back," Rafe continues, knowing by the wild look in her eyes and the rack of sobs threatening to slip past his fingers she is a ticking time bomb. Unless he can get her under control. He bows his head, locking his calloused cerulean eyes with hers, rooting her into the lush grass underneath the tread of her shoes. "Look at me, alright? We're fine. You're fine. I'm going to clean up the body and we won't ever have to think about this moment again. It'll be okay."

Words still locked behind his tight grip, she fails to reply with the words begging to leap off her tongue. If he hadn't clamped a ring-clad hand over her lips, she might've voiced that they just killed someone and that she will always think about this moment. As if he knows it, Rafe only tightens his grasp, eyes narrowing as he regards her harshly. "Be a good girl and cooperate, okay?"

Knowing submission is her option, she forces her chin up in down in reluctant agreement. Rafe's response is delayed but his touch eventually lifts from her skin and she tries her best to reign in her erratic breathing with controlled exercises. Beside her, the tall blonde boy offers no further comfort or aid; leaving her to grapple with the feelings roaring in her head alone. Despite the tepid, suffocating heat hanging in the air, a shiver crawls down her spine as she tracks Rafe's deliberate movements. He does as promised; making quick work of packing the body in the back of his truck and closing the hatch with a thundering echo. Gravel crunches under the tread of his designer shoes as he closely watches his doubled-over girlfriend try desperately to muster enough control to pull herself together in the long driveway of his front lawn.

"Let's go," he speaks, prompting her to lift her head.

"I- I thought you were handling it?" she scrapes enough volume and unshaken syllables to answer him, palms resting against the curve of her knees.

Rafe cocks his head, golden hair falling into his pale eyes as he quizzically surveys the girl before him. "I said I was going to clean up the body. Not get rid of it- that's your job."

❊

Eyes trained on the small golf ball with the personally engraved words 'happy anniversary love r.' written across it, the girl wraps her white-painted hands expertly over the shiny club, sizing up the short distance between the personalized ball and the hole. Before swinging, the girl draws her eyes to the tall figure casting a towering shadow over her stance, sapphire eyes trained on the distance.

"Rafe," she drawls slowly, adding hints of melody in her words to grab the superior golfers' short-lived attention. She succeeds, the boy's gaze falling to her and the shot she's sloppily lined up for the sole purpose of getting the boy closer.

Releasing a short breath of poorly concealed frustration, Rafe rolls his eyes skyward before moving to rearrange his girlfriend and her obviously horrible golfing skills. Standing over her, the toe of his shoe nudging against her own to get her to shuffle across the green a few inches, Rafe reaches for the club to show her the right way to hold it.

The calm, tepid summer air is split with the rising wail of sirens and the burning glare of red and blue lights that circle through the pale sky with furious intent. Her head snaps up, eyes growing wide and frantic at the rampant ideas building in her head about the meaning of those sirens. She turns sharply on her heel, eyes searching the calm facade of Rafe's features for any hint of shared panic. She comes up empty-handed, the boy's eyes not even on her as he watches the horizon, where the cop cars wail their impending arrival. Taking a shaking breath that fails to soothe the wild beat of her heart, her lips part in question.

"Rafe? What's happening?" the words fall from her chapped lips in a demanding tone, panic fraying the ends of her nerves. When the older boy doesn't reply, his mouth thinning as he expertly ignores her and her pleas. "Rafe."

Her throat tightens in fear when the blonde's gaze finally settles on her, letting the realization that her worst ideas may not be that far-fetched sink into her bones. Feet scrambling, the girl stumbles back a step, flattening the perfectly maintained green of the golf course. She repeats his name, the syllables reaching a higher decibel as the panic overwhelms her. Her fingers tighten around the gold club, knuckles paling with the ferocity of her grip.

"What is going on?" she enunciates, searching for some sort of answer, unable to find one embedded in Rafe's all too calm features. The squeal of fast-paced tires against smooth road breakthrough her panic-hazed mind, her movements become wild, a choked sound falling from her lips as she falls back again.

Noticing her fluttering fingers dancing along the length of her golf club and the rapid rise and fall of her chest, along with the distraught gleam to her eyes, Rafe takes two swift strides to her side. His palms fall heavily on her bowed shoulders,

"Hey," he mummers softly, cooing at the unnerved girl before him. He continues whispering calming words while holding her gaze, one of his hands snaking closer and closer to the failing grip she has on the club. "It'll all work out."

Rafe steps back, long fingers closing firmly around the metallic club as he yanks it swiftly from her grip. His blue eyes stay on hers as he leaves her, stranded on the small island of green, his footfalls the only sound as he continues propelling himself back.

He nods to her silently, his gaze unwavering. "It'll all work out." He mouths again.

Hands in the air!

Rafe watches in silent reverie as the girl whips around to face the array of policemen, black barreled guns aimed at her heart and demanding for her hands in the air. Before complying, she turns, mouth parted as she screams his name, falling roughly to her knees as large hands press down on her shoulders, yanking her arms behind her back and clamping cold-metal cuffs tightly around her wrists. Rafe can't hear her screams of betrayal as the cops nod to Rafe calmly as they being to drag her shaking and bound form away. Her eyes don't leave his, intent on silently communicating her boundless rage left all for him. The boy, however, catches the end of her vow before the black-painted door of the cop car closes her in the car's cabin.

"I will take you down, Rafe Cameron."

[tags: @possiamo-andare @downbytheouterbanks @ijustreallylovethem @stilesflannels @ilovejjmaybank]

[queerenteen]

Your top five 🌊 Fanfics? Any fandom works

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

This is one of the first fanfics I read seriously, and I did it the day before my prelims paper.

I still don't regret it--this is one of the most hauntingly gorgeous things that I have ever read and builds up in a fantastic slow-burn with a shroud of mystery wrapped around it. Cannot recommend it enough.

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by reiya

‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

A single event changes the course of Yuuri’s life, throwing him into a bitter rivalry with Viktor Nikiforov that spans across his entire skating career. But as the years go on, rivalry and hatred begin to develop into something very different and Yuuri doesn’t seem to be able to stay away, no matter how hard he tries.

Hatred and love are two sides of the same coin and even though everything changes, some things are still meant to be.

This is beautiful. I absolutely adore this au, with an amazing enemies to lovers scenario.

It is a what it could have been, perhaps even more dramatic than the original, and somehow, some things turn out the same anyway.

The Art of Burning by @hella1975

Zuko had never excelled at anything. Azula was a prodigy. Uncle always knew what to say. And Father... Father was strong, iron-like. But Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. He knew how to do it. So when he was kidnapped by the Southern Water Tribe, he expected to fight as he always had. He didn’t expect to be taught instead how to live.

In a warring land, the Water Tribe forgave the enemy in an act of defiance. For this, he was torn from them, and this time, his wounds won't heal so easily.

Forced back into nothing but survival, the last person Zuko expected to see was Hakoda's son. Hakoda was a promise of safety. The relentless blue of Sokka’s eyes was a promise of happiness. Zuko could have both if he just reached out his hands, but he found them clutching into fists. After all, he’d been burned one too many times.

But hey, at least between Hakoda and Sokka, Zuko could appreciate the family resemblance of pure, asinine stubbornness.

Can I just say how amazing this fic is?

I went into it for the zukka and instead got an absolute masterpiece, with some of the best character dynamics, plot and stunning writing.

I love it so much and I know that this is another one that I will keep coming back to when it's done.

Anachronism by chellethewriter

Catra clenches her fists. She won’t let it happen. She won’t endanger their future. “We can’t change anything. We’ll just have to wait, and do everything the same way we did before.”

Adora grabs Catra’s shoulders. Her grip is so tight, it’s nearly painful. “But do you realize what that means for us? Playing along. Letting things go the exact same way as before–”

Catra’s expression darkens. “I know,” she says, struggling to keep her voice from trembling. “You’ll have to leave. We’ll have to be enemies again.”

*** Years after defeating Horde Prime, Catra and Adora inexplicably wake up in the past—on the day that Adora first found the sword. If they're going to make it back to the present, they'll have to relive their past from start to finish, pretending to be enemies despite being in love. Despite being married. Despite knowing exactly how the story ends.

But it's not easy, waging war against the person you love most.

Okay, it's not easy to make Catra and Adora's past even more painful but this one really takes the cake.

Going through these horrible, painful events--pitted against the person you love most once again, just to get back to the future you remember?

It is breathtaking, highly recommend.

area cryptid upset no one bothered to inform him of his tragic backstory by crimsonseekers

“My life is a nightmare,” Dabi muttered blankly.

“Nah, this is hilarious,” Hawks said, and while he wasn’t explicitly laughing, Dabi knew that those weird little chirps he was letting out were pointed at him. “Imagine if we go through all this effort and you don’t even have some sort of dramatic background or tragic backstory to justify you being this emo, you’re just a hot topic junkie or something.”

“That’s fucking worse.”

Or,

Dabi has amnesia and keeps reading conspiracy theories about himself in an attempt to figure out who he is, gets the League in on it, and they dismantle organized crime, revolutionize society, and ravage the hero system in the process. Hawks suffers.

Dabihawks is such a good ship and this is god tier content right here. I read this fic and then two days later immediately reread it. Enough said.

(I really shot myself in the foot with the whole top 5 so instead, I'm just giving all the top fics from the fandoms that I have)

Lynchpin by @shanastoryteller

He can’t get Jin Guangyao’s words out of his head.

If he’d only believed in Wei Wuxian, if he’d only been willing to stand up for him, could it all have been avoided?

Yunmeng Siblings get to live happily ever after because Jiang Cheng changes the timeline.

The fix-it fic where the entire cultivation world is saved from ruination with the help of time travel and a good bit of communication.

Company by galori

You’ve never minded eating alone (before.)

Or: Asami and Korra are both intelligent, just in different ways.

Modern au where Asami is the CEO of a company with the stain of her father's legacy and Korra is an ecologist who wants to create and protect to the best of her abilities. Their paths intersect and once they do, there is no untangling them.

Not enough people have read this--everyone go read this now, it is absolutely amazing.

Okay, I have so many more fics that I want to talk about because these are all my novel-length fics but for now, here's my bookmarks (I love them all)

[threeamfics]

Here it is, my very first self-indulgent fic on this site. I prefer writing in first person POV but I’m gonna tag this as a reader fic since I tried to make it possible for anyone to self-insert. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6k

Summary: I used to loathe Baron Zemo. I never thought my feelings could change so much in a single day.

Tags: angst, fluff, gender ambiguous MC, first person POV, soft Zemo

TW: blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts

The Monster, the Once-Was Father

Zemo laid there on the hard floor, struggling to breathe. I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to help him. He was a murderer, a manipulator, a criminal, a heartless monster.

But only an hour ago he’d been telling me what his son had looked like. Zemo had described, in loving detail, the silly things his son would sometimes do. I’d seen a rare smile on Zemo’s face while he lamented those times from before the disaster in Sokovia. It forced me to recognize the man beneath the monster, as unwilling as I was to see it.

So now, despite the many reasons I still had for hating him, I reached out to help him. It was not “Baron Zemo, the monster” who I reached out to, but “Helmut Zemo, the once-was father.” I did my best to keep this in mind as I pressed my hand against the bullet wound in his abdomen to temper his blood loss.

“Breathe evenly,” I instructed him under the sound of more gunfire. The anarchists who’d shot him seconds ago wanted their killing blow, but I kept myself crouched low on my knees behind our makeshift barricade. Sam and Bucky were elsewhere, hopefully searching this empty building for a way to flank the anarchists. None of us had anticipated this ambush.

With his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, Zemo nodded, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Keep doing that,” I said to him. A bullet skimmed the top of our barricade. Instinctively I bent myself lower, closer to Zemo. My hand felt warm with his blood. “But we can’t stay here. When I say run, you need to run with me. Understand?”

This time Zemo opened his eyes and looked at me with resolve when he nodded. I knew then that this hadn’t been his first time getting shot in combat.

I looked down at his wound. It was off-center, possibly non-lethal so long as the bleeding could be stopped. But there was nothing I could do about that in the middle of a firefight. I knew there were medical supplies in the car, but I had to get down there first. I silently begged for the distraction we desperately needed.

Then the shooting stopped. I heard one of the anarchists shout, “Behind us!” And the shooting began once more, but the bullets flew in the other direction. Sam and Bucky must have successfully flanked them.

I grabbed the lapels of Zemo’s coat and began pulling him up, forcing a pained growl through his clenched teeth.

“Run!” I commanded him. In an instant he was on his feet, as was I, and we raced out of the room before the anarchists could notice. I led our escape and looked back now and then to make sure Zemo was right behind me. I hadn’t expected him to handle himself this well with such a bad injury, but then again, nothing about him could be considered predictable.

We made it through a few corridors and halfway down a set of stairs before Zemo finally stopped to let out a guttural moan. I skidded to a halt and turned to look up at where he stood on the steps. He was hunched over the bannister, his features twisted in agony.

“We can’t stay here,” I gently urged.

Zemo looked like hell, with his cheeks reddened and his hair disheveled. “Give me a moment,” he managed to say between gasps for air.

I looked around to make sure no anarchists had caught up to us yet. “We may not have a moment. And the sooner we get somewhere safe, the sooner I can stop that bleed.”

Zemo didn’t move. He stood there, breathing heavily, quaking. With a soft sigh I climbed the stairs to stand at his side, and I ducked underneath one of his arms. He watched me, bemused.

“Come on,” I said, anchoring him to me by his arm around my shoulders. I tugged him forward, giving him no choice but to comply and lean his weight against me. The descent down the rest of the stairs proved difficult enough that I slipped my other arm beneath his coat and around his waist, where I grabbed him by the belt to steady him. Zemo placed his free hand upon mine there, perhaps out of reflex, or maybe as plea to not let go. Both our hands were slick with his blood.

Eventually we made it outside, where the sun beat brightly against the paved streets and sidewalks. It was out here that I realized Zemo’s blood had run down the length of his leg and was dripping off the cuff of his pants, leaving a trail behind us.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“What?” he rasped. Then he followed my gaze. “...Ah.”

I needed to get him somewhere safe without any anarchists tracking us down. Everywhere I looked, however, there was only wide open space, and in very public view.

And then I heard Sam calling out to me. I patted Zemo’s arm as a signal to let go. He hurriedly shifted his weight off me, allowing me to slip away, and I rushed to meet Sam and Bucky as they made their own escape from the building.

“Zemo was shot back there,” I explained, breathless, “I need to—”

Sam interrupted by tossing a set of car keys at me. “Go,” he urged. “Take him. We’ll be all right, I promise.”

I caught the keys, but I hesitated to leave. That car was the only escape we all had. “I can’t just—”

“I’ll send you the coordinates for our next safe house,” Sam cut me off again. The resolve in his eyes was apparent.

I looked at Bucky, who jerked his chin in the direction of the car. “Go on. We still need the information Zemo’s holding hostage from us, so don’t let him die.”

They were giving me no choice but to leave them. They could handle themselves, I reminded myself, but it still wrung my heart to turn my back to them. They ran one way, and I ran the other, back to Zemo, of all people in the entire world.

When I returned to Zemo, he was lightly swaying where he stood. I stopped long enough to look at his face. He’d become alarmingly pale in such a short time. His hair, normally so tidy, now hung loosely above his eyes, dampened with sweat. I tried to hold his gaze, but he seemed barely able to focus on me.

“Take this off,” I told him, pushing the fur-collared coat off his shoulders, knowing it would only be in the way later. As Zemo shrugged it down his arms, I noticed a handgun tucked inside the shoulder holster he wore underneath the coat.

I frowned at him and said, “When did you get your hands on a gun?”

Zemo only answered with a frail but roguish smile. I shook my head, vexed by him. He was unbelievably crafty. Gathering his coat in my arms, I told him to shed the holster, and I collected that from him, too.

“Into the car,” I commanded, leading him toward it by the hand and steadying him each time he stumbled. It was a miracle he didn’t collapse until after he’d crawled onto the backseat, where his body finally gave out. I tossed the coat and holster to the floor of the car before circling around and practically throwing myself into the driver’s seat. And then we were speeding away.

I drove us toward the outskirts of the city where I knew more condemned, abandoned buildings would be. Occasionally I glanced at the rear view mirror to check on Zemo. He laid in the backseat, too tall to fit comfortably, and though his face was turned away from me, I could see his fists clenched white-knuckled against the pain. I pressed harder on the gas.

The few minutes it took to reach the outskirts felt like forever. I pulled up to the first dilapidated building I saw, some sort of old storefront. Hopefully there weren’t any other unfortunates already using it for refuge. I yanked a medical bag out of the glove compartment and threw it over my shoulder before leaping from the car.

“Come on, round two,” I said after wrenching the back door open. Zemo didn’t respond. I reached in to grab him by the front of his maroon sweater, and he weakly groaned as I pulled him into a sitting position.

“Just a little further,” I pressed. My hands were on his shoulders, tugging him, trying to coax him from the backseat. I could see where his blood had soaked into the seat’s fabric.

Zemo ran a trembling hand through his hair. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and sweat glistened on his forehead. I took hold of his face between my hands.

“Zemo!” I shouted, and his dark eyes locked on mine at last. “On your feet, okay? Just a bit further!”

It was then, as I noticed all confidence had vanished from Zemo’s face, his eyes fraught as they stared into mine, that I realized just how vulnerable he looked, and how concerned I actually felt for him. He could die here, and I didn’t want him to.

“Come on, just a little further,” I urged again.

Zemo swallowed with difficulty and nodded. Slowly, carefully, he slid from the car to his feet, and I ducked under his arm to guide him again. I could feel his entire body shaking against me as we hobbled our way into the building.

The storefront had evidently been some kind of café once upon a time. A handful of tables and chairs remained scattered around the room, each one layered in dust from disuse. It was all I could take note of however, for we only made it a few feet inside before Zemo’s legs gave way. He slid from my grip and collapsed onto the hardwood floor.

Falling to my knees beside him, I dropped the medical bag, ripped it open, and spilled its contents to the floor. With quick hands I separated out the supplies I knew I would need and brushed aside the rest. Then I turned back to Zemo, who was still on his stomach, breathing hard against the floor.

“Work with me,” I instructed as I tugged at his shoulder. He obliged and pushed himself onto his back.

“Apologies,” he whispered up at me.

I almost dropped what was in my hand. He was the one dying, and yet he was apologizing to me? For a minor inconvenience?

I banished the thought. There was no time for that right now. If Zemo lost any more blood, there would be no chance of saving him.

I untucked his sweater to reveal his pale, taut abdomen, and the wound that marred it. The bullet had pierced him to the right of his naval, just below his rib cage. Hopefully it would leave no debilitating damage.

“The bullet is still inside,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as possible. The medical kit came with two syringes of localized anesthetic. I held one up to him. “This will dull the pain a bit, but it’s still gonna hurt like hell.”

I watched Zemo’s face for any signs of fear. His eyes only hardened, and he nodded for me to proceed. After uncapping the needle with my teeth, I injected the anesthetic into the muscle of his side, though I must’ve jabbed a little too hard since it earned a wince from Zemo. I took note to be gentler.

Blood continued to pour from the wound. There were no towels in the medkit, so I hurriedly removed my own sweater and pressed it against Zemo’s skin to soak his blood. The cold air around us easily penetrated the thin fabric of my undershirt, but I barely noticed it.

“You don’t want me to live, do you?” Zemo suddenly spoke. His voice rasped with pain and fatigue.

I had to stare at him for a moment before I could form a reply. “Obviously I do. Why else would I be saving your life?”

“You’re saving me out of an obligation to Sam and James.” Zemo studied the ceiling now, avoiding my eyes. “And of a moral obligation to preserve life in general. But if you could discard all of that, and only act on what you believe is the logical choice, then you would let me die for what I’ve done.”

I didn’t want to discuss this. He was wrong about me, that was for certain. But the things I’d been wanting to say to him ever since meeting him in Madripoor, when Bucky had first asked for my help, came rushing to the forefront of my mind. I’d been so intent on saving Zemo from this damn bullet that I momentarily forgot everything I hated about him. And now, he just had to go and remind me.

“You tried to destroy the Avengers,” I nearly growled at him as I grabbed a pair of forceps. “And you did it because you decided on behalf of the entire world that it was necessary.”

“It was,” Zemo insisted. “Power corrupts. It blinds. They could no longer see their own flaws, and because of their power, those flaws became dangerous to the very people they were trying to protect.”

I removed my blood-soaked sweater and plunged the forceps into his wound. Zemo’s words were interrupted by a low groan through his teeth, but he didn’t stop. “Stark created Ultron. Rogers harbored a deadly super soldier. All with good intentions, yes, but each with collateral deaths. They needed to be torn down before—”

I purposely wrenched the forceps too harshly when clamping them around the bullet, forcing another sound of pain out of Zemo. This time he didn’t continue. Instead, he threw his arm over his eyes, hiding his reddening cheeks. His trembling free hand clenched the fabric of his own sweater.

I instantly realized how petty it was of me to harm him in this kind of situation, no matter how much his words angered me. A heavy sigh blew from my nose. “You say all of that, and yet we desperately needed the Avengers when half the world got dusted.” I extracted the bullet and tossed it to the floor. “They were disbanded when all of that happened, because of you. There’s a chance they could’ve stopped it if they’d been together. Say whatever you want, but your arrogance played a role in the worst catastrophe that’s ever happened to us.”

Zemo said nothing. His chest rose and fell with shuddering breaths. I could see the strain in his clenched jaw.

I injected him with the second dose of anesthetic, and with the few tools I had, I set to work on closing the wound. “They still saved us in the end,” I said. “They brought everyone back and stopped that space army from invading. Despite everything you did to them, the Avengers persevered. Thank god your plan to get rid of them failed miserably.” I paused to concentrate on stitching for a moment, and then I murmured, “I was dusted, you know? I wouldn’t be here if not for them.”

It was then that Zemo finally moved his arm from his face and looked at me. I avoided his eyes, concentrating on his injury, but I could feel him studying me.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and raw. “I was spared, but I remember that day vividly. I was in my prison cell. The guard had come to deliver my meal, as he always would. It was so much like clockwork that I did what I’d always done every single day— stood at the door and waited for my meal to be handed through the slot.

“Only this time, the tray of food clattered to the floor. The guard had dropped it. I remember how it looked when he raised his hand, only to see it blowing away, like smoke. And then the rest of him scattered into ash. The worst part was, he hadn’t even screamed. He was simply gone.”

Zemo audibly swallowed. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming. Something terrible was happening. From the confines of my cell, I tried to see if anyone else had suffered the same. I caught a glimpse of more dust down the hall. Likely another guard. I started to hear other prisoners screaming through the walls. There was nothing I could do but wait for it to happen to me.

“But it never did. I sat on the bed for hours, wondering when I would disappear, and yet I remained. I didn’t learn what had happened until four days later, when one of the prison workers finally informed me. Even then, all they could tell me was that a battle with cosmic forces had taken place in Wakanda. We had lost. And whoever had been victorious was the one who’d done this to us.”

Silence then filled the room. I’d finished his stitches, and all that remained was to clean and bandage the wound. I silently mulled over his words as I continued working.

“I did consider it,” Zemo finally admitted. “That it had been partially my fault. But at the time, I refused to accept such a thing. What I’d done was necessary, and that was that.”

His words made me bristle. “Do you still think that?”

“I want to.” Zemo laid a hand over his eyes. “For so long after the destruction of my home, I thought of nothing but revenge. Everything I did from that moment on, I did for my lost family. Tearing apart the Avengers was for them.

“And then half the world became dust. I’d wanted to prevent further tragedies, and yet the very opposite happened. And I don’t want—,” Zemo’s voice broke, and his grimace deepened. “I don’t want to believe that the one thing I did for my loved ones was the wrong thing to do.”

I was very gentle now as I cleaned his stitches. My heart had begun to ache. I looked over at him, and though he attempted to hide his eyes beneath his hand, I could see much more than physical pain in his face. And to think, I’d hated him so much only moments ago.

Zemo’s other hand still tightly clenched the fabric of his sweater. I reached out to place my own hand upon his. I could feel him trembling.

“There is so much more you can do to love and honor your family’s memory,” I said quietly. “And it’s never too late to start.”

Zemo didn’t say anything, and he didn’t show his eyes. But, after a moment, I felt his hand relax, and his fingers threaded through mine. The small gesture made me smile.

“I still have to finish fixing you,” I whispered, surprised by my own unwillingness to let go. Zemo released my fingers, and neither of us said anything more as I bandaged his wound to the best of my ability.

Once I was satisfied with my own work, I pulled his sweater back into place and pushed all the supplies aside. I then positioned myself by his head, and, very tenderly, I moved his hand away from his face. Zemo’s eyes, rimmed red with fatigue and emotion, met mine. For a second I found myself lost in them. There was a rich vibrancy in the brown of his eyes, framed delicately by long, dark lashes. I didn’t want to look away.

But I remembered why I was here, and I checked the pulse in his neck with my fingers. It was worryingly slow. What he needed was a shot of adrenaline, but the medkit had nothing like that. We would just have to hope his body could recover itself.

“Am I going to make it?” he asked, a faint smile playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Too soon to say, unfortunately,” I answered. No sense in lying to him. I placed my palm against his forehead to check his temperature. “You’re not too warm though, so that’s good.” Without thinking, I ran my fingers through the locks of his disheveled hair to smooth it, and only caught myself after the fact.

“You look like hell,” I joked, trying to play off my action.

“I hear dying can do that to a person.”

I let out a small laugh, and Zemo smiled.

“I don’t think I can stay awake,” he then said, and his face fell. I could tell he was exhausted.

“Yeah, well, your body could probably use the rest. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Zemo nodded, his eyes already closed.

I went hunting around the abandoned building and, beyond all luck, managed to find a suitable blanket in a cluttered closet. After beating the dust from it as best I could, I returned to find Zemo asleep right where I left him. Breath came from him slowly and evenly for the first time in a while. I covered him with the blanket. The sun would set soon, and nighttime would chill the air even further.

The cold was finally getting to me, I realized. My limbs had begun to shiver now that I wasn’t concentrating solely on Zemo. My sweater, however, had become useless after soaking in so much blood, and I’d only been fortunate enough to find one blanket. There was only one option left.

I found myself retrieving Zemo’s long coat from where I’d tossed it into the back of the car and, with a sigh, I slipped my arms in and shrugged it on. It was actually comfortable, and definitely warm. I made sure to grab the pistol from Zemo’s holster and stuffed it into the back of my jeans before returning inside.

Now all that was left to do was wait. I pulled a chair up to the window and sat myself down, mentally preparing for a long night. The chill air made me bury myself deeper into the coat until its fur collar reached my nose. It smelled good, I realized. Really good. And I hated to admit that because it meant Zemo smelled good. Despite the uncertainty over how it made me feel, I continued to deeply inhale the scent of him.

It kept occurring to me that Zemo’s life could slip away at any moment as he slept, so I looked back every few minutes to make sure I could still see him breathing. He always was, and I was always relieved.

I wondered what Sam and Bucky were doing. Did they make it out? Were they searching for a new safe house? I could text Sam and suggest this place, but the surrounding area was too much of an unknown factor. It was best if I simply waited and left it up to them. In my mind I begged them to stay safe.

At some point I fell asleep in my chair. Allowing myself to drift off while keeping watch was irresponsible, but I must’ve been far more exhausted than I realized. When I opened my eyes, it was suddenly nighttime outside.

None of the street lamps were powered, and none of the other buildings showed signs of electricity. The only source of illumination was the full moon as it rose above the horizon. Its pale light washed over the streets outside and filtered through the window, turning the room around me into shades of gray.

It was by the light of the moon that I saw Zemo sitting not far from me in his own chair at the window. He was wrapped in the blanket I’d found, and he looked rather alert as he watched the world outside.

“Hey,” I greeted in a whisper.

Zemo turned to me and his face softened. “Good morning,” he replied, his voice low and still a bit raspy. “Though, I say that less than literally.” He gestured at the night sky and smiled.

“How are you?” I asked, wanting to get straight to the point. “How do you feel?”

“Still tired, still in pain, but I think I’ll be all right. I was able to get up and walk over here well enough on my own.” Zemo indicated the blanket. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

I shrugged, implying it was no big deal, then realized I was still wearing his coat. “You probably want this back, huh?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “keep it for now. It’s quite cold in here. And... it looks quite good on you.”

I didn’t want that to make me blush, but it did, and Zemo smiled a lopsided smile. At a loss for words, I looked away.

And then something occurred to me. Something that I’d picked up on during other conversations with him, especially when he would speak of his family. How everything about him seemed to be rooted in the past and not the present. So, as I stared out the window, I cautiously said, “If this had been up to you, would you have chosen to die?”

The atmosphere became uncomfortable after that. I feared I’d crossed a line, but he had done the same when he’d suggested I would have let him die under other circumstances. I wanted to know his answer.

After a long and tense stretch of silence, Zemo quietly spoke. “Yes. As you were helping me, there were moments when I wished you would fail so I could finally see the end. Years ago, on the day I tore apart the Avengers, I tried to put a bullet in my head. The merciful then-Prince of Wakanda stopped me, and I sat in my prison cell every day wishing he hadn’t. Death, to me, has always felt like an inevitability that wasn’t approaching fast enough.”

His answer was difficult to hear. I could feel tears welling in my eyes. Nobody, no matter who they were or what they’d done, should have to feel such hopelessness.

“But,” Zemo continued, and the way he stressed the word made me look over at him. “Now that I am sitting here, watching the moon on this peaceful night...” Looking into my eyes, he added, “with you... I feel only the urge to thank you for saving my life.”

For a second I was stunned. Then I couldn’t help but grin. I caught a tear from the corner of my eye before it could fall, and I murmured, “You’re welcome.”

He seemed content with that. In fact, with as calculating and sharp-witted as Zemo often was, he seemed more relaxed now than I’d ever seen him before.

“When we get back on our feet,” he said rather amiably, “I’d like to make some of my favorite tea for you. How does that sound?”

“It sounds lovely,” I replied, and I meant it. I buried myself deeper into his coat, inhaling the scent of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice what I was doing. But the movement made me realize something was missing. I reached for the back of my jeans.

“Oh— !” I exclaimed.

Zemo lifted his brows at my sudden outburst. Then, he understood.

“You’re looking for this,” he casually remarked, pulling the gun out from under his blanket. “Apologies, but I do need it for myself.”

I folded my arms, unable to keep the annoyance from my face. “Are you gonna use it as leverage on me?”

Zemo placed the gun onto the windowsill. “Absolutely not. It’s merely precautionary.”

I wasn’t surprised that he’d snuck the gun away from me, but it bothered me nonetheless. “So you’re still as shifty as ever. Has anything you’ve said in the last few hours even been real, or was it just more manipulation toward some end goal you have?”

Now Zemo was the one who looked insulted. “Not a single word I’ve said to you has been a lie. In fact, you’re the only person in the world I’ve spoken these truths to.”

That hit me hard. I sheepishly looked away, remembering the undeniable intimacy of everything he’d told me. “I shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Zemo sighed. “I know it’s difficult to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either. But please trust that these last few hours have been very real for me, and I have meant every second of it.”

I looked at him once more and was captured by his gaze. There was something genuine in his dark eyes, something vulnerable, something pleading.

Zemo gave me a sad smile and said, “I don’t often have the luxury of living in moments that feel real anymore.”

All of my doubts suddenly melted away, and I knew exactly what I wanted. Pride and hatred had left me long ago.

I stood from my chair and closed the distance between us. Zemo kept his eyes on me, curious but unguarded. I reached out, beckoning for his hand, and when he obeyed, I brought his hand to my mouth, buried my nose in his palm, inhaled deeply, and I kissed him there. All traces of tension left me in the moment my lips met his skin.

Zemo watched as I turned his hand over and placed a gentle kiss upon each knuckle. I looked at him, wordlessly asking for permission to keep going, or for him to stop me if he didn’t want this.

His answer was swift and immediate. The hand I was kissing slipped away from me, and then Zemo was standing, taking my face into his hands, and he claimed my lips with his own. The blanket fell from his shoulders into a heap at our feet.

I couldn’t believe how much I’d been wanting this. His scent was even more intoxicating than his coat, and he tasted wonderful. I parted my lips as we kissed so I could taste him even further.

But then he moaned hard against my mouth. The sound was so strained that I broke away, startled. Zemo was grimacing, and his hands dropped from my face to hold his side.

I hid my disappointment. It wasn’t his fault, after all. “You need more rest,” I insisted gently.

With a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, Zemo lowered his forehead onto my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him there.

“I’m pretty sure what you have is called a traumatic injury,” I teased, “and you need to take care of it. Besides, we’re both still covered in blood. Not exactly romantic.”

“I don’t mind,” Zemo said, his voice muffled against me. He turned his head and began to kiss my neck. My skin had been chilled by the night air for hours, and the sensation of his soft, warm lips was lovely. My fingertips dug into his shoulder blades. I felt his hands on my waist, and he tugged me forward, bringing my body closer to his.

“This truly does look so satisfying on you,” he whispered against my ear just before pulling his coat off me. I let it fall to the floor and threw my arms back over his shoulders.

“Zemo,” I murmured as a tender protest, knowing we shouldn’t do this when he was so badly injured.

But Zemo took it a different way. With a sigh he began to suck at the skin of my neck. A whimper escaped me as my body tensed deliciously, and my fingers tangled in his hair. I realized it was the first time I’d spoken his name with such affection. I repeated it, no longer protesting, and he lightly nipped my neck with his teeth. It made me press my body flush against his, and I could feel how much he wanted me. I wanted him, too.

The reality of the situation fully dawned on me then, and I couldn’t help but giggle in spite of everything.

Zemo skimmed the tip of his nose along my jaw to my ear and said in a low voice that made me shiver, “What’s so funny?”

“You,” I answered truthfully. “You and me. I just never expected this.”

After one last kiss to my temple, Zemo stopped, and he lifted his head to look at me. There was apprehension in his eyes now. I didn’t want him to misinterpret my meaning, so I pulled him back to me and captured his mouth with my own.

I was kissing Baron Helmut Zemo, the man who almost destroyed the Avengers. The man who manipulated Bucky like a pawn. The man who was usually three steps ahead of everyone around him. But he was also the man who’d lost everything he’d ever loved, and maybe that was why I felt him surrender himself into me so easily, so eagerly.

I grasped his chin with my thumb and pulled his mouth open so my tongue could finally explore him. He made a soft sound, but didn’t pull away. I felt his hands run under my shirt, up my back, across my chest, all over me, as I tasted every inch of his mouth. I wanted more of him. I wanted all of him.

But he’d been shot not even twelve hours ago. I forced myself to break away from him once more.

“We have to stop,” I whispered. “Your stitches are gonna tear if you get too excited.”

Despite the pain and fatigue that was evident on his face no matter how hard he tried to hide it, Zemo still managed to grin the first real, full smile I’d ever seen on him. It took my breath away.

“All right,” he said. “You win.”

“In fact, you should be lying down, not keeping watch at the window.”

“You know what I think?” Zemo asked, giving me a fiendish look. “I think you should join me on the floor.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Someone needs to be lookout.”

“If they knew our location and were coming for us, they would have come by now.”

He wasn’t giving me any room for argument. Sighing, I grabbed the blanket from where it had fallen. “Need help getting down there?” I asked.

He responded by holding out his hand. I grabbed it and steadied him as he lowered himself as carefully as he could. When he finally laid flat, he let out a groan.

“It’s not comfortable down here at all,” he muttered. “And yet, now that I’m here, all I want is to sleep.”

I laughed and followed suit, stretching myself out on the floor beside him, and I spread the blanket out over us both. “Try to rest. I’m staying right here.”

Zemo rolled onto his good side toward me, and he buried his face into my hair. I felt him plant a kiss there. He then spoke something very softly in words I couldn’t understand. I assumed he was speaking Sokovian.

“What does that mean?” I politely asked.

He chuckled. “Someday I will translate it for you.”

I pouted up at him. Zemo kissed my hair once more.

“I promise it was only good things.”

“I believe you.” I took one of his hands into mine and entwined our fingers. There were old callouses on his, softened from the years he spent in prison. I kissed the back of his hand.

“I could’ve sworn you hated me with all your heart yesterday,” Zemo said. His deep, rumbling voice was pleasant against my ear.

“I did,” I admitted. Lowering his hand, I looked into his eyes. His gorgeous brown eyes. “I don’t anymore.”

And he kissed me, deeply, lovingly. Everything had changed in a matter of hours, and I was thankful.

“Now go to sleep,” I said after we broke apart. “You seriously need it.”

The smile Zemo gave me set my heart alight. “As you command,” he whispered.

[mrs-gucci]

Dress Drop-Off {Mr. Pennyham (SNL “Sleepover”skit) x college age!Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! this is inspired by something that @glassbxttless posted (linked HERE) about mr. pennyham fucking his daughter’s best friend & college roommate (shoutout to @peachyproserpina​ for sending the ask in). it destroyed me. I have not stopped thinking about it. so, here I am, writing a mr. pennyham fic. 

**I take absolutely no credit for coming up with the name “Peter” for Mr. Pennyham. I regretfully do not know which author coined it, but it wasn’t me, so full credit to whoever did. and the name “Aidy” for mr. pennyham’s daughter is (I believe) a creation of @ohiobluetip, so credit to them for that.**

warnings: smut. general filth. mr. pennyham is a dilf. rough blowjobs. face-fucking. friends with benefits-type scenario. some praise. use of a clit vibrator. fingering.

tw’s: !!significant age gap (RC is 21+, Peter is ~50). infidelity/extramarital affair.

word count: 1.6k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

“See ya later!” Aidy says, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. “Oh, my dad might swing by to drop something off in like fifteen minutes or so. Would you mind letting him in?”

You nod, smiling. “Sure, yeah, no problem at all. I’ll be here.”

Mr. Pennyham is coming over, but it isn’t just to drop off Aidy’s dress for the semi-formal this weekend. You and Peter have been seeing each other for a few weeks now. Well, seeing each other naked is the better way to put it.

He and his wife are having some marital issues, you’re pretty sure divorce has been in the conversation repeatedly, and you wanted to be there for him as much as you could. You didn’t think that meant fucking him, but you don’t mind. The two of you have always had somewhat of a special connection, you just thought it was platonic up until that night a few weeks ago when he pinned you down on the couch and fucked you stupid. 

You quickly scramble to change into something a bit more presentable and attractive, grabbing your see-through mesh bra and panty set, slipping them on before pulling one of his button-ups out of the back of your closet.

A knock comes on the door just as you’ve slid the oversize shirt on and buttoned a few of the buttons.

Not wanting to risk anything, aka Aidy coming back and finding you in her dad’s shirt with lingerie on underneath, you peek through the peephole, seeing Mr. Pennyham standing there with a garment bag.

Your eyes instantly meet his when you unlock and open the door. “Mr. P...Aidy said you’d be stopping by to drop off her dress.”

His gaze lingers over your form, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He steps through the threshold, a rush of cologne looming in his wake, overwhelming your senses in the best possible way.

The dress is hung on her bedroom doorknob before he sits down on the small couch in your living room, legs spread a bit. He looks over at you, eyes shimmering with lust and hunger.

“C’mere, kiddo.” He pats his thick, khaki-clad thighs.

You bite your lip as you waltz over, taking a seat just above his knees, teasing him. He huffs, large hands quickly grabbing your ass cheeks, yanking you forward onto his lap.

“You know we don’t have enough time for teasing.” He growls in your ear, planting a single, searing kiss to that spot behind your ear. “Behave, little princess, or I’ll have to punish you the next time we're together like this.”

A shiver is sent down your spine, his beard hairs tickling your skin as his lips move down to assault your neck. He knows he can’t leave any marks in visible places, but he still likes to kiss your neck, regardless.

Your back arches slightly when lips mouths at your clothed breast and hardening nipple, a shaky sigh leaving your lips. Your hands tangle further in his graying hair, tugging the strands, earning you a deep guttural growl from Peter.

His fingers quickly pop the buttons of his shirt, pushing the garment off your shoulders, tossing it aside. He licks his lips at the sight of the sheer bra and your perky nipples popping up from beneath.

“Look at these pretty tits, princess.” He swipes the pads of his thumbs over the hardened buds, smirking when your breath hitches. “So eager.”

You subtly press your hips forward, gently rocking back and forth over his erection. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you, instead running his hands over your curves until they land on your thighs. He kneads the skin for a moment before landing a harsh smack on them, which makes you jump.

“On your knees, kiddo.”

His hands make quick work of his belt and the button on his pants, pushing the zipper down at a teasingly casual pace. His hand dips down beneath his plaid boxers and wraps around the base of his thick, veiny cock, giving it a few pumps before pulling it out.

You’re drooling at the sight, dropping down to your knees, sliding up between his spread legs. He smacks the mushroom head against your cheeks before his thumb presses down against your lower lip, encouraging your mouth to open.

He runs his thumb over your tongue, smirking as his other hand continues pumping his shaft. “This tight little mouth is gonna be the death of me, sweet girl.”

You whimper at his words, lips wrapping around his thumb, sucking and licking the digit gently, teasingly. He groans softly and begins to move it back and forth.

“So fucking desperate, aren’t you, princess? So desperate for my cock in your mouth that you start sucking my thumb...” He suddenly pulls it out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with his cock, smearing the precum gathered at his slit over your lips. 

His hand wraps around the back of your head as he scoots forward on the couch, finger pads gently rubbing your scalp. Your mouth opens to accept his length and he eases into your mouth slowly, a soft shaky breath emerging from his lips.

“Mmmmmmmm.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your mouth is stuffed full of Peter’s cock. You’re pretty much adapted to his large, thick length, so you barely gag when he forces every inch of himself into your mouth. 

Peter stays there for a moment, then wastes no time guiding your head up and down his stiff rod. He grunts softly with each bob of your head, head falling back against the couch cushions, Adam’s apple bobbing with each harsh swallow he takes. 

“O-Oh fuuuuuck, kiddo.” He groans, hips beginning to move up in time with your strokes. “Such a good little mouth, stretching out so fucking well for me.”

You moan around him, sucking a bit harder. His hips suddenly buck up out-of-rhythm and his hand leaves the back of your head, instead gripping the couch cushions. 

His hips quickly take over, and you still your motions as he creates his own rhythm. You love seeing him take control, lose himself like this. Your eyes are glued to his face, watching it contort in pleasure as his hips rock up into your mouth at an urgent pace.

It’s not long before his thrusts become desperate and sloppy, noises steadily getting louder.

“Mmmmfffuuuuck, I’m close. Gonna shove my c-cum down your tight little t-throat, make you taste it f-for the rest of the day.”

With only a few more thrusts, he’s cumming, strangled groans accompanying each rope of seed shot down your throat. You moan, swallowing each and every drop eagerly. 

You pull off after stroking him through his climax, standing up. Before you can make any kind of movement or say anything, he sits up and cups your ass with his massive hands, kissing your lower abdomen.

“Grab your little clit vibrator for me, princess.” He says against your skin.

Nodding, you rush over to your dresser, pulling out your clit vibrator. You hand it to him and he smirks, tucking himself back into his pants.

“Lay back against me, keep your legs spread.”

You do as he says, laying back against his strong chest, holding your legs open by keeping your hands holding below the backs of your knees. His beard tickles your neck again while he reaches around and presses the vibrator against your clit, holding the power button to activate the small device.

“Oh!” You gasp, back arching.

Peter smirks against your skin, gently beginning to move the toy in circles over the sensitive nub, enjoying the small noises that escaped with almost every one of his motions. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, but suddenly fly open a few moments later when he lines up and pushes two of his thick digits into your soaked entrance. He lazily scissors them inside you while he turns the vibrator up a setting.

“M-Mr. Pennyham!” You moan softly, moving your hips in time with the silicon toy. “Ohhhhh my god...shit.”

His lips place sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over the skin of your neck while his motions get quicker. His fingers begin stroking your walls with a pleasurable in-and-out pace.

The combination of his thick fingers pumping and the vibrations from the toy brings you up to the edge rather quickly. You’re panting; breathless as you grind yourself up against his ministrations.

“I’m g-gonna cum.” You breathe, eyes squeezing shut. “Gonna cu--ah!”

Your orgasm hits with a sudden intensity when he turns the vibrator up to the highest setting while his fingers curl up inside you, brushing against the special spot on your walls.

You bounce on top of him, grinding on his his fingers as you ride out your climax. He pulls the vibrator away and tosses it aside after feeling you begin to journey into overstimulation territory. 

He holds and squeezes your hips and continues to kiss your neck as you come down from your high.

“I should probably get going, kiddo. Aidy will be back soon and she can’t catch us like this.”

You sigh, nodding as you roll over off him, standing on shaky legs. He gives your ass a playful smack and plants a kiss on your cheek as he buckles his belt and prepares for his leave.

Before he walks out the door, though, he pauses and turns around. “I’ll see you this weekend for the birthday party, right?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” You nod.

His lips pull up into a small smile and he nods. “See you then, kiddo.”

“See you.”

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Two)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part One Here!

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3284

Series Warnings: angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen returned home right around 3:30 and went to his place to grab the beer he’d promised Y/n before heading to her apartment, his mind still reeling from the conversation he’d had with Stacy.

Letting himself in, as he always did, Jensen called as soon as he stepped into the entryway, “Sweetheart? It’s me.”

When he entered, he found you lying on the couch with your arm covering your eyes, and soft sniffles were coming from your direction. You were huddled in a mess of blankets and tissues littered the floor surrounding you.

Jensen quickly set the beer on the counter and hurried to you, kneeling on the rug in front of your sofa and reaching towards you. “Hey… Y/n, what’s wrong?”

Pulling your arm away from your face, he was met with puffy, red eyes. You’d been crying.

“Oh, nothing.” You sniffed, wiping your eyes. “I just got dumped, is all.”

You quickly sat up as Jensen climbed onto your couch and pulled you into his arms. Honestly, it wasn’t that you were broken hearted in any way. Sure, Stephen had been nice and sweet, and you were sad to lose him in a way, but the tears were more for your own sorrow of no longer being with someone, which seemed to be more often than not lately.

“I just don’t understand. What is it about me that I can’t just be with someone?” You cried.

Jensen simply swayed you back and forth as you curled into his chest and crawled into his lap. After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes once again as he said, “You know, any guy would have to be crazy for letting you go.”

It was another little jab to the heart, but he wouldn’t know why. You straightened up and took a deep breath. Your head was beginning to hurt from crying, and at this point you needed that beer he brought over. Running your hands through your hair, as you sat on the edge of the couch, Jensen seemed to read your mind as he quickly got up and returned with an opened beer for you.

“Thanks, Jay.” You said, taking a long drink.

He bent down and kissed your head before retreating to your kitchen. Peering over the island, you saw him taking down pots and pans and grabbing ingredients out of your fridge.

“What are you doing?” you called, standing and bringing your beer with you, leaning on the counter and watching him move from one end to the other as he emptied the contents of his arms onto the countertop.

“Well, it may not be your mom’s recipe, but I’m going to make you some chili. I know you were probably really looking forward to it, and I’m not gonna’ to let you go hungry.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can still cook.” You objected, even though the thought was exhausting in itself.

Jensen turned to you and began to chop an onion after setting the pot on the stove, “Nope. You sit your cute butt right there and watch me work.” He replied with a wink.

Smiling, you sat at your kitchen island and tried to avoid being a back-seat chef and allowed him to take the reins. He was a great cook, so you didn’t mind letting him do so. It wasn’t long before he had you laughing and clutching your sides. Between the way he was dancing around the kitchen and cursing when he made a mess, your mind had been cleared and you were in a much better mood. The situation with Stephen sucked, sure, but it wasn’t the worst breakup you’d endured. You’d find the one, eventually.

Jensen made the cornbread and put it in the oven while the chili simmered and came to sit on the stool next to you, bumping your shoulder with his and swiping your beer to finish it.

Clearing his throat, he dared to ask, “So, do you want to talk about it?”

You grabbed the bottle back from him, if only to hold and begin peeling the label, needing to fidget with something in your hands, “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s not like I’m super upset about it. Honestly, you were right. Stephen wasn’t the most exciting person, and I don’t think we really meshed well. He was sweet and everything, but I knew it wasn’t going to work out. It’s more of the fact that I was dumped, again. If you’re not in love, it’s easy to get over. Your hearts not broken.”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me.” Jensen said with a small sigh.

“Have you ever been heartbroken, Jay?” you asked in a whisper.

“You remember when Allie dumped me the summer before senior year?” he laughed. “You never left my side. That was more of a high school type heartbreak though. I don’t know if that was real, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Really. I’m sad about Stephen, but not in a heartbreak type of way.”

“What about you?” Jensen asked.

“Hmm?”

“Have you, uh… have you ever had your heart broken?”

You stiffened in his hold and took a deep breath, “Once.”

“Really?” he probed. “Who was it? Was it Tyler?”

You snorted, “Tyler was in tenth grade, dude.”

“I know, but still. I’ll kick his ass. Or whoever it was.”

A nervous bubble caught in your throat. He didn’t know, and he shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“Well, again. They’re an idiot, whoever they are. Besides, you’ll always have me.”

You gave him a small smile, hoping to hide the pain that the memories brought with them.

Jensen draped his arm across your shoulders, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder as you shook off the emotions from so long ago.

You continued, “He, um… he asked me about you, right before we had lunch. I don’t think he liked how close we are.”

Jensen pulled back a bit, an unreadable expression on his face, but you were quick to grab his hand and tug him back towards you, lacing your fingers with his, “but, I don’t care. I don’t want to be with anyone who can’t respect this friendship. We’ve been through everything together.”

With that, he smiled and squeezed your hand, bending his elbow so that you were almost in a headlock and he could plant his lips to your forehead. He lingered for a moment as you both sat, tangled in each other’s arms. He released your hand and ran his soothingly along your side before getting up to stir the chili.

It was true. You didn’t care who came along, Jensen would always be your best friend.

The two of you ate seated on your oversized sofa and watched Elf, a favorite of yours and Jensen’s, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Jensen was right – it wasn’t your mom’s chili, but it was damn good. Grabbing the last spoonful, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped as it landed on your tongue. Jensen’s eyes snapped to you, the sound making something within him stir.

Dropping the spoon in your bowl, you set it on the coffee table and leaned back, satisfied.

“That was amazing, dude. Remind me to tell you to cook more often.”

He laughed, grabbing your bowl and his and setting to work at the sink to load the dishwasher. You got up to help, but he snapped his fingers, making you sit back down with a grin.

“So, how was your meeting with Stacy today?”

He wiped his hands on the dish towel that hung on his shoulder after cutting of the sink, “Oh, uh…” he paused, looking down and busying himself with starting the dishwasher. “She brought me a script. It’s a different character, to say the least. A single dad who meets a small-town woman when he moves to a new place with his kids.”

“That’s interesting. What’d you think of it?”

“She’s going to send in my stuff, and we’ll see how that goes. I wouldn’t mind getting it… could be pretty cool.” He shrugged casually, but something in his expression told you he really wanted it. “It’s a really competitive part, though. A lot of interest, so she wants me to keep up my image.”

He returned to join you on the couch with a fresh beer, casually draping his legs across your lap as you asked, “What does that mean? You’ve got a good image. You’re not scandalous or anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m a ‘bachelor’.” He replied, using air quotes to indicate that Stacy used that term specifically. “She thinks I’d have a better shot at the part if I were in a relationship or something. Even threw around the idea of just finding someone to help me out for a bit so I could look like a committed man.” He huffed out a laugh at the ridiculous request.

You’d heard of some of the lengths agents would go through, but you could never imagine being asked to do something like that, even from your own. “You mean, like… a fake girlfriend?”

Leaning his back against the armrest, he stretched out as you scooted closer, with his knees coming to rest over your thighs and his legs extended as you both got comfortable. “Apparently, but I told her it was a bad idea. I wouldn’t feel right finding some random girl and selling a rouse.”

You nodded, your hands casually laying over his strong thighs, “That doesn’t sound like you, so yeah… I get how that could be hard.”

He sighed heavily before sipping his beer once more. Gruffly, he seemingly put the issue to bed for the time being, “Yeah, well you know how it is. If I get it, cool. If not, oh well. I’ll just keep up my appearances. Besides, I get to go to work with you every day now. Wouldn’t want to change that, right?” he nudged you with his foot, grinning at you.

Jensen had encouraged you to apply for a position on the show in season two and you were lucky enough to be considered. He’d been so excited that he’d flown you up from your shared hometown. Prior to that, you hadn’t seen him much since he moved to L.A. shortly after you’d both turned 18. The haunting memory of him driving away crept up as you studied his face, looking very much like the boy you’d always known but also the man he’d grown into. It’s in the past, you thought to yourself as you quelled the small amount of lingering feelings of that day.

You simply smiled back, finding yourself a bit lost in thought.

“Hey.” Jensen said, grabbing your attention. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About the Stephen thing?”

You realized in that moment that you hadn’t thought about Stephen since Jensen started cooking dinner. He’d done a great job of distracting you, but you also didn’t want him to know what you were thinking about. “Actually, no. I think you helped out a bit with that.”

A proud expression donned his features as he puffed his chest, obviously pleased that he completed his mission successfully. You chatted a bit more until you grabbed your tablet to do a bit of shopping and you both fell into a comfortable silence. You turned away to hide the item that you’d added to your cart, seeing as it was a little something extra for him. Pleased with the items you’d found for your family back home, and that they’d get to you before your flight in a few weeks, you placed your tablet on the coffee table before snuggling into Jensen’s side, who was enthralled with the animated Rudolph film playing on your TV. He was always a sucker for Christmas movies, though he might not confess that to anyone but you.

The stress of the day began to wear on you, and you soon found yourself drifting off. Between your comfy pajamas and Jensen’s heartbeat in your ear, you fell into a peaceful sleep.

 You awoke the next morning to the sunrise shining faintly through the curtains adorning your living room windows, confused to find yourself in the room. With a sleepy mind, you slowly shifted as you began to stretch your limbs but froze slightly when you met resistance. Eyes widening, still heavy with sleep, you came to find yourself snuggled against Jensen’s chest with the blanket from the back of your couch draped over you both. Your back was towards the cushions as you lay on your side, tucked beneath his shoulder and curled into his body with legs tangled beneath you. He was on his back, his one arm securely wrapped around your shoulders and the other resting on his midsection and your forearm that was enclosed around his trim waist. As gently as you could, afraid he might wake, you tilted your head to gaze at his sleeping form. His face was peaceful as he slept, his mouth slightly open and his chest rising and falling in a soft rhythm.

Content to savor the moment, you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling of being in his arms and nestled a bit further into the blankets, finding the chill of the morning slightly eased from his body heat.

You awoke again a bit later, when the sun had settled high in the sky, roused by something feathering across your cheek.

Jensen’s velvety voice jogged your sleepy mind, “Y/n? You awake?”

His thumb was slowly caressing across the apples of your cheekbones, the touch sending a shockwave through every inch of your body and straight to your chest. When you opened your eyes, he was peering down at you still in his arms with so much emotion behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. He smiled warmly, his dimples, freckles, and crinkles all present in the light. He was looking at you with such adoration that it made your heart skip a beat.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Came his usual greeting, but you couldn’t help but shiver at the gruffness and tone, stealing a glance at his lips. “Did you sleep well?”

Tearing your eyes from his face, you stretched slightly, ���I did. Very well, actually. You’re a nice pillow.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your head, “Yeah, I guess I am. I was gonna move you to bed, but I didn’t want to wake you. And I’ll say, I was quite comfy myself.”

Jensen ran his hands up and down your side and back, almost as if it was second nature to do so, before he moved to sit up. You did so first, giving him the space to swing his legs over the edge of the couch and set to work at the coffee maker. Taking a moment to head to the bathroom and brush your teeth, you smiled finding him with your mug already at the windowsill.

“Thank you.” You said, picking it up and taking a seat across from him.

“Thank you for the sleepover.” He grinned, toasting towards you with his own cup.

After a few moments of chit chat about how happy you both were that the snow had lasted, you made you both breakfast and ate together at your kitchen island.

“So, what are you going to do about Stacy’s idea? Have you given it any more thought?” you asked around a mouthful of bacon.

“Actually, um… yeah. I have.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed that it sounded like he was considering her proposition of getting a girlfriend to help his image, but urged him continue none-the-less, “Oh, yeah?”

“I was—I was actually thinking about it this morning. What if—and you can totally say no—but what if you were my pretend girlfriend?” he proposed, looking toward you nervously.

Nearly choking on your breakfast, sure you’d heard him incorrectly, you stared at him in surprise, “Are you serious, Jay?”

“Well, it was just a thought, you know. The fans think I’m with you, anyway, considering they know how close we are and have always been. You’re all over my social media already and I get a ton of comments about you all the time. It would be a cute story, but I totally understand if that’s pushing things too far.”

Still in shock, you hardly registered the sip of coffee you’d taken before putting your mug back on the counter. Your arms and legs felt like Jell-O as he looked at you expectantly.

“Are you sure I’m the type of girl Stacy had in mind? I mean, you’re you ya know. I’m hardly a celebrity or anything and I don’t have a ton of clout. What would the story be?”

He perked up a bit, seemingly please that you were asking more questions. Maybe that meant you were considering it. “It might be good to play the childhood sweetheart angle, but this would only ever happen if you were 100% okay with it. I’d never do anything that would make you uncomfortable in any way. Then, maybe after a few months, we decide to just stay friends. We wouldn’t even need to necessarily announce it to the world or anything but getting people to talk wouldn’t hurt and we just wouldn’t correct the rumors.” He looked into your eyes and took your hand in his, “Y/n, I swear… if it’s too much you can call me crazy and it’ll be no hard feelings whatsoever. No job or role would ever be enough that I’d jeopardize anything with you. It was really just an idea that I had, and it can be shot back out into the abyss and we can forget it ever came up.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, considering his proposition. It wouldn’t be so hard to fake it for a bit, would it? It’s not like much would change. You were already always together, and yeah, people had been speculating about the two of you for years, especially when you started working on set. “What about our families, Jay? What would we tell them?”

He considered your point for a moment. Both sets of parents had been friends for more than thirty years and would no doubt be aware of the rumors once they started, but again that wasn’t anything new. They’d been answering the same questions about you as a pair since you were kids. “We can tell them we’re together, or not. It would be whatever you choose, but we can always keep things vague for a while. We can even chat with Stacy together and see what would be needed, but it’s all totally up to you.”

Running it through your mind in that moment, it didn’t seem much different than what you and Jensen already were – best friends that everyone, everyone speculated about. Giving Jensen the opportunity to appear he had settled down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?

With a hint of a smile, you nodded, “Okay.”

“Wait, really?” he said, an obvious shock written across his face.

“Yeah… I mean it’s like you said. Not much would be different anyways, right? We can meet with Stacy, for sure, but it’s alright with me.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug, “You’re seriously the best, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m going to treat you like the queen you are for as long as this goes on. You’re gonna get spoiled.”

“Well, then…” you teased, patting his back as he kept you in his arms, “At least I’m getting something out of the deal.”

“Oh, trust me, Y/n. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Suddenly, you thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, given the way your blood began to rush as he shot you a wink.

To be continued...

................................................................................................................................

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It was you

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Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​

[bevioletskies]

love will never do (without you)

summary: Despite his increasingly frequent social visits to Baker Street, none of its inhabitants have been able to convince Kazuma to stay for dinner. Ryunosuke is determined to finally change his mind.

word count: 6.7k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week, day three of seven (prompt: "family"). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Haori, Sherlock, and Iris.

Fic title is from the song Love Will Never Do (Without You) by Janet Jackson.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, Kazuma? I promise Iris won’t be making roast chicken this time.”

Kazuma chuckled, drawing his coat a little tighter around his midsection as he buttoned himself up, though to Ryunosuke, it mostly seemed as if he were trying to avoid Ryunosuke’s pleading gaze. “I’m happy to hear that, but I’m afraid I can’t. Lord van Zieks and I are getting on a train first thing in the morning to attend that conference I told you about, remember?”

“You seem to spend more time with him than with us,” Ryunosuke said, frowning somewhat. “Though if it’s work-related, I suppose it can’t be helped. Next time, then?”

“No promises,” Kazuma said, offering him a regretful smile. “Enjoy your not-roast chicken dinner without me, won’t you? I’ll come by for tea sometime next week, and that’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ryunosuke nodded. “Have a safe trip, Kazuma.”

“Have a good evening, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma replied, bowing his head slightly before disappearing into the carriage that awaited him. Sighing, Ryunosuke lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, watching him go, then turned and headed back inside, back to where the others were waiting for him with hungry bellies and questioning gazes. When they noticed Ryunosuke had returned to the table alone, their curiosity was quickly replaced with disappointment.

“It wasn’t meant to be, it seems,” Sherlock commented blithely. “What a shame; I’d been hoping to continue our conversation on Japanese martial arts. I would’ve loved to hear his opinion on my boxing technique.”

“Oh, I wish he’d stayed,” Iris sighed, slumping in her seat. “I even made all of his favorites! Surely, that should’ve been enough.”

“Unfortunately, Kazuma-sama is a very busy man,” Susato said, patting Iris’s hand in sympathy. “Well, there’s no point in dwelling on it at the moment. I’m sure he’ll stay for dinner someday, just not today. Shall we eat?”

As much as Ryunosuke loved Iris’s cooking, this time, it was hard for him to enjoy even a single bite. Over the last several weeks, Kazuma had inexplicably been coming by Baker Street more and more often despite having spent the last several months politely but firmly rejecting Ryunosuke and Susato’s invitations. Usually, he only stopped by if someone was sick and he wanted to pass on his well wishes, or if they’d had a particularly difficult case together and he wanted to decompress. Both of them had resigned themselves to Kazuma’s apparent desire to keep them at arm’s length, only to be surprised when he showed up one day for afternoon tea. It had become something of a regular appointment ever since. Still, none of them had been able to convince him to stay long enough for dinner.

“Naruhodo-san?”

Ryunosuke startled; he barely remembered finishing dinner and returning to his desk in the attic, only to shuffle mindlessly through his paperwork without reading any of it. “Ah - sorry, Susato-san, were you saying something just now?”

“No, I’ve only just come back up,” Susato replied, looking at him curiously. “You seem...distracted. Is it because of Kazuma-sama?”

“I just...don’t understand what’s going on with him,” Ryunosuke admitted, rubbing his aching temples. “I can’t help but worry he’s caught up in something again. He spent months keeping his distance, and now, he comes round twice a week, only to leave after an hour or two of conversation. It’s...it’s strange, is what it is.” He then sat up, his eyes wide. “Do you think he’s spying on us for someone?”

Susato tilted her head, looking at him worryingly. “...oh dear, I hope not. And I don’t think all of Kazuma-sama’s secrets are wrapped up in conspiracy, Naruhodo-san. As I said, he’s a busy man, so we should be grateful that we get to see him as often as we do. And I’m glad that he’s been so happy and healthy these days.”

“Yes, of course,” Ryunosuke agreed. Kazuma was definitely smiling more, talking more, laughing more, and that was never a bad thing. It didn’t stop him from worrying, though. “I hope he’ll stay for dinner eventually, especially for Iris’s sake. She went to all that trouble tonight, after all.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to guilt him into it,” Susato said with a mischievous giggle. “If Iris were to cry and bat her eyelashes at him, he’s sure to come around!”

“...I’d like to try less underhanded tactics first, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke replied, sighing.

_____

Of course, that wasn’t to say Ryunosuke had any tactics in mind to begin with, short of cornering Kazuma and asking him outright. Every single time, without fail, Kazuma had somewhere to be or someone to see, even when he knew he was coming to Baker Street well in advance. Every single time, Ryunosuke went to see him off while asking him to stay, and every single time, Kazuma seemed to be avoiding his eyes while telling him he had to leave. Then, days later, the same thing would happen all over again.

They’d tried a few different things in the beginning, naturally. Sherlock had offered to spar with Kazuma, and when that hadn’t worked, offered to discuss literature and politics with him instead. Iris had bribed him with tea, then sweets, then science; unsurprisingly, Kazuma only had a polite interest in hearing about Iris’s smoke bombs. Ryunosuke and Susato tried to persuade him with the promise of stories from their brief return to Japan, what with Ryunosuke finishing his formal law education and Susato taking a few turns in the Supreme Court as the elusive Ryutaro. Frustratingly, even that failed to work, and everyone was at a loss as to why.

“Your head appears to be in the clouds today, Ryunosuke. What’s on your mind?”

“I - oh!” Ryunosuke coughed, blushing. “Sorry, Kazuma, I seem to be drifting off quite a bit these days. What did you say?”

Chuckling, Kazuma moved in closer, the side of his hip pressing into Ryunosuke’s. He lifted a hand to affectionately rap his knuckles against Ryunosuke’s forehead. “I said you seem distracted. Is something bothering you?”

Ryunosuke cast a worried glance around the courthouse library, hoping no one could see the strangely intimate stance they were suddenly in, then turned back to meet Kazuma’s intense, albeit slightly concerned gaze; he swallowed. “Are you free this evening, for dinner?”

Kazuma’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Dinner?”

“At Baker Street, with the others,” Ryunosuke clarified. “I think Iris is making beef stew and freshly baked bread, so…”

“Ah.” Kazuma cleared his throat, taking a few measured steps back before turning back to the bookshelf he’d been perusing. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it.” When Ryunosuke motioned for him to continue, he frowned. “What?”

“I was waiting to hear what excuse you had to offer this time,” Ryunosuke replied, his tone harsher than he’d intended; Kazuma looked just as taken aback as Ryunosuke felt.

“Excuse? You think I’ve been making excuses?” Kauma said coldly, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t know you thought so little of me, Ryunosuke. Do you really believe that I’m making things up just to get out of joining you for dinner?”

“I’m not sure what to believe,” Ryunosuke said, more resignedly now. “You’ve been coming over so often these days, but you never stay longer than a couple of hours, and never for dinner. I can only assume that you’ve been told to visit us but not to stay too long, or...or, I don’t know, that you think Iris will poison your food or something.”

Kazuma scoffed, looking away so he could yank a volume off the shelf rather violently. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryunosuke. It’s convoluted thoughts like that that keep us in court longer than we need to be.”

Ryunosuke flinched, hurt. “There’s no need to be so short with me. All I wanted to know is why my best friend has been so distant, but...if you continue to act like this, I’m not sure I care to find out.”

Now it was Kazuma’s turn to appear wounded; he let out a lengthy sigh. “I...I’m sorry, that was unnecessary of me. And…” He inhaled sharply. “You’re right, I have nowhere to be. But I won’t be coming all the same.”

“But why?” Ryunosuke whisper-shouted, frustrated, mindful of the other library patrons who were watching them curiously from a few shelves away. “I understand not wanting to accept every single invitation, and I understand that you’re busy, but you haven’t even stayed once, so...I can only assume that something must be wrong.”

Kazuma visibly swallowed, tucking his books underneath one arm, folding the other defensively across his stomach. “Have a good day, Ryunosuke.” And with that, he swept past Ryunosuke rather hurriedly, disappearing out of sight before Ryunosuke could even fathom what had happened. Groaning, he slumped against the shelf he’d been standing beside; his head was starting to hurt again. He barely even looked up at the sound of Susato’s footsteps.

“I’m afraid they didn’t have the records we were looking for, Naru - Naruhodo-san? Are you alright?” She placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I thought you were with Kazuma-sama.”

“I was, but...I really don’t know what’s happening, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke sighed. “I asked him if he’d be able to join us for dinner, and this time, he didn’t even give me an excuse. Simply told me he had nowhere to be, but he wouldn’t be coming, anyway. I mean, what are we supposed to think at this point?”

Susato’s face fell. “Oh. I...I see.”

“Is it…” Ryunosuke hesitated. “Is it strange to miss someone, even when they’re standing right in front of you?”

“I don’t think so,” Susato murmured, offering him a sad smile. “Because I feel it, too.”

Dinner was a somber affair; the moment Ryunosuke and Susato arrived home, Sherlock and Iris could instantly tell that something was wrong. They seemed resigned, too, especially given that Kazuma hadn’t bothered interacting with them much prior to Ryunosuke and Susato’s return to London. Even Sherlock confessed he wasn’t sure where to begin when it came to deducing Kazuma’s reasons, or worse, his potential ulterior motive.

“And I was so looking forward to having another big brother around,” Iris said, chewing rather despondently on her piece of freshly baked bread. “Do you think he might be mad at us for some reason? I can’t think of anything we’ve done to offend him, but…”

“If he were upset, I don’t think he’d be visiting us at all,” Susato reassured her, though she didn’t sound very sure herself.

Finally, things seemed to come to a head one drizzly morning when Ryunosuke managed to acquit his client rather quickly, ending the trial sooner than expected. As he and Susato finished packing their things so they could join their client in the defendants’ antechamber, Kazuma approached them with a broad smile.

“Well done, Ryunosuke. That last deduction of yours was ingenious,” he said, extending a hand. “I was thinking, instead of visiting Baker Street, we could go all go out for tea sometime and - ”

“No.” Ryunosuke had said it so quickly, so immediately, that all three of them looked surprised; Susato only just managed to stop herself from gasping out loud. “No, I - I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Naruhodo-san,” Susato whispered, aghast.

Kazuma’s hand dropped unceremoniously to his side. His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw taut. “Ryunosuke…”

“I really don’t know what’s going on with you, Kazuma, and...and maybe I’m simply overthinking it, but…” Ryunosuke shook his head, fists clenched. “It just feels as if you don’t care about us anymore. That you only come round for tea to keep up appearances, and not because you actually want to spend time with us. It even seems as if...as if you can’t wait to get away when the time comes.”

“That’s not true, I - ” Kazuma’s lip curled, but even he couldn’t seem to find the words to speak. “I want to, but I...I can’t.”

“Are you in trouble, Kazuma-sama?” Susato said urgently, stepping forward. “If there’s something we can do to help, anything at all…”

Kazuma turned abruptly, his head bowed, shoulders trembling. For a moment, Ryunosuke wondered, panicked, if he was about to cry. Yet, when he turned back to look at them, his eyes were sharp, determined. “...fine. Let’s have dinner, then. Is tonight too soon?”

Ryunosuke and Susato exchanged confused glances. “I’m...sure Iris would be happy to cook for you,” Susato said slowly, uncertainly. “Do you really mean it, Kazuma-sama? You’ll be having dinner with us tonight, just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ll be there, I swear,” Kazuma promised. As much as Ryunosuke didn’t want to believe him, something about the look on Kazuma’s face told him that he could trust him, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Swallowing thickly, Ryunosuke held out his hand. Kazuma instantly accepted, giving it a firm shake. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Ryunosuke echoed numbly.

_____

Hours later, Ryunosuke still felt uncertain as he was getting dressed for dinner. He’d believed Kazuma at the time, but now, he expected to see nothing but yet another empty place setting at the table. And, of course, Ryunosuke couldn’t forget the haunted look in Kazuma’s eyes when he’d accused him of not caring about them - did I go too far? Ryunosuke wondered, chewing his bottom lip worriedly. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, I shouldn’t have pushed it -

“Naruhodo-san!” He startled at the sound of Susato’s voice, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. “Naruhodo-san, Kazuma-sama is here!”

“Wait, really?” Ryunosuke stepped out of his bedroom and promptly almost fell over - again - at the sight of Kazuma, standing at the bottom of the attic stairs, wearing a casual outfit and a radiant smile that actually seemed to reach his eyes. For a moment, Ryunosuke felt his heart stop. “Kazuma, you - you really are here!”

“And I’ve brought a gift for everyone,” Kazuma added, motioning towards the box tucked underneath his arm. He looked cheerful, amicable, nothing like the cornered, wounded animal he’d appeared to be just hours ago. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid, but I hope it will please everyone all the same.”

“I’m sure it will,” Susato said, beaming. “Shall we head to Mr Holmes’s suite, then?”

“We shall,” Kazuma agreed, holding out his hand for her to take. When she accepted with a giggle and an exaggerated bow, Kazuma then turned to extend his other hand to Ryunosuke with a wink for good measure. “Ready?”

“I…” Ryunosuke’s cheeks warmed; he quickly made his way down the stairs and pushed past them, nearly knocking his shoulder into Kazuma’s. “I-I should see if Iris needs help setting the table.”

By the time everyone was seated, Ryunosuke’s stomach was tossing and turning like nothing else. It wasn’t unusual, he supposed, for Kazuma to act like this; he remembered getting a little too drunk with him in their university days, only to find Kazuma’s face a little too close to his, looking him up and down in a way that made Ryunosuke wonder. It had only ever been wondering, though, with nothing ever coming to fruition. Now, despite his current frustration with Kazuma’s erratic behavior, Ryunosuke still thought about it every now and then, about his meaningful glances and his sly, almost suggestive remarks.

“So how’ve you been, Kazzy?” Iris chirruped brightly. “The last time you were here, you were telling us about some of the work you were doing with Susie’s daddy.”

“Yes, Professor Mikotoba invited me to spend some time with him in his new laboratory so I can familiarize myself with the latest in forensics,” Kazuma replied, smiling gratefully when she handed him a generously-filled bowl of soup. “I’m assuming he’s done the same for you, Mr Holmes?”

“Indubitably,” Sherlock said, nodding. “It’s also given me the opportunity to see the wonderful Miss Haori at work as well.” He then turned in his seat, beaming in Susato’s direction. “Of course, I already knew she was perfectly lovely, Miss Susato, but now I’ve seen first-hand just how whip-smart and delightfully curious she is. I can see why you’re so taken with her.”

“O-oh,” Susato managed to say, blushing. “I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear you say that, Mr Holmes.”

“Already knew?” Kazuma echoed, looking at Sherlock curiously. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with her.”

“Oh, Haori stops by for tea and a chat all the time!” Iris said, beaming. “She’s always curious about the different concoctions and inventions Holmesie and I have been working on, you see. She even brings some incredible ideas of her own!...none that have worked out, mind you, but I’m sure that someday, we’ll create the perfect invention together.”

“I...I see.” Kazuma cleared his throat, taking his first spoonful of soup.

Sherlock and Iris exchanged dubious looks across the table; Ryunosuke could only hope that Kazuma wouldn’t notice. “Well, what else have you been up to?” Iris asked as she began to eat as well. “Surely you’re not spending all your time working, Kazzy. Do you have any hobbies? Ooh, or a secret lover, perhaps?”

“Iris,” Sherlock said, frowning somewhat, but she didn’t seem to be deterred at all.

“Susie and Haori are so sweet together,” Iris continued, idly stirring her soup with a dreamy sigh. “And we’ve even had a few of Holmesie’s clients take interest in Ryu, can you believe it? Just the other day, there was this young woman who stopped in, worried about her brother’s dubious business dealings. Ryu happened to be home, so he offered to keep her company while she waited for Holmesie to return. She was so charmed, I think there were literal stars in her eyes - ”

“Iris,” Sherlock repeated, firmer this time. Ryunosuke wasn’t sure his face could get any hotter; he didn’t dare look up to see how Kazuma had reacted. “Now might not be the time for that sort of talk. After all, Mr Naruhodo made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her.”

“He did?” Kazuma’s voice was strangely affected, almost hollow.

“I think I remember her,” Susato said with a rueful smile. “She was quite forward, asking Mr Naruhodo if he’d like to have dinner sometime. Once he understood what she meant, he told her he was flattered, but that he already had someone.”

“A gentleman’s rejection, if I do say so myself,” Sherlock added unhelpfully. “Seeing as Mr Naruhodo has precisely no one.”

“...a kind reminder, Mr Holmes,” Ryunosuke said, sighing. It was only then that he noticed the severe pull of Kazuma’s mouth, almost as if he were clenching his teeth to stop himself from speaking. “Anyway, er, Kazuma, didn’t you want to tell Mr Holmes and Iris about that odd contraption you saw when you accompanied Lord van Zieks to that crime scene in the countryside?”

Kazuma’s expression quickly shifted into a friendlier one, though he still seemed more guarded than ever. “Yes, thank you for reminding me. I wish I’d had a camera on me, it was the strangest thing…”

An hour or so later, after their somewhat awkward dinner had ended, Sherlock elected to put on a record rather than provide the musical entertainment himself, a lilting sort of waltz that had everyone swaying in their seats while they sipped their tea and continued to chat. Susato was in the middle of recounting the plot of the latest novel she’d been reading when Sherlock suddenly pulled Iris to her feet, humming along all the while.

“Quickly, Iris! Here, stand on my feet,” he instructed, grinning brightly.

“Are you sure?” Iris asked doubtfully. “Won’t that hurt?”

“Not at all, not at all,” Sherlock insisted. “You mustn't dawdle, either, for the best part is about to begin!”

Ryunosuke and Susato couldn’t help but burst into raucous laughter, watching Sherlock clumsily guide Iris around the room as the music began to pick up in speed, the heels of Iris’s shoes constantly slipping from the toes of Sherlock’s, her fingers clutching at the back of Sherlock’s waistcoat as she held on for dear life.

“I already know how to dance, Holmesie!” Iris exclaimed through her own fit of giggles. “You hardly need to teach me.”

“Ah, but isn’t it so much more enjoyable this way?” Sherlock beamed. “Naturally, this doesn’t work with everyone - imagine me doing this with Mikotoba, for instance - ”

“And you know perfectly well that Father already knows how to dance,” Susato interjected, still laughing.

“ - but you, Iris, are the perfect size!” Sherlock declared, scooping her into his arms. Iris squealed at the sensation of suddenly being lifted up in the air, giggling hysterically as he spun her around. Ryunosuke and Susato continued to clap and cheer them on, applauding happily as the song came to an end. Sherlock finally set Iris back down onto her own two feet, looking understandably winded. He let out a quiet groan, bringing one hand to cup the small of his back. “We’ll have to do that again sometime, my dear girl. Not immediately, you understand.”

“Oh, perfectly,” Iris replied, glowing. She then collapsed onto the settee, situating herself right between Ryunosuke and Susato, her head dropping to rest on Ryunosuke’s shoulder. “And we must invite Ginny round for it, too. I bet she’d love to join in!”

“And now I simply must see you and Father dance together as well, Mr Holmes,” Susato added, chuckling. “I’m sure the two of you would look positively enchanting!”

Ryunosuke then turned to look in the direction of the armchair. “What about you, Kaz - Kazuma?” But Kazuma wasn’t there; the only indication that he’d been sitting there at all was the saucer on the table beside it. Frowning, Ryunosuke shot to his feet and headed straight to the entryway, ignoring Susato’s startled cry. “Kazuma, are you seriously going to - ” But Kazuma’s boots were still neatly lined up beside his own, his coat still hanging from the coat rack, leaving Ryunosuke to turn and head straight into the kitchen. There, he found Kazuma hunched over the sink, hands gripping the counter a little too tightly. “...Kazuma, are you alright?”

“...I just needed some air, sorry.” Kazuma made a point of not turning around. “My head, it...it still hurts sometimes, and the music was a little too loud. But please, don’t let me spoil your fun.”

“It’s hardly fun when you’re not around,” Ryunosuke said, sidling up beside him. Up close, he could see sweat beginning to form on Kazuma’s brow, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. “I’m sorry to hear about your head, though; shall I ask Mr Holmes to turn the music off? Do you need water, or - or maybe you should lie down.”

“No, it’s...I’m fine.” Kazuma straightened up, smoothing out the front of his shirt and letting out a labored breath that seemed to rattle from within his chest, though he still refused to look in Ryunosuke’s direction. “I must say, it seems I’ve been learning quite a lot tonight, more than I ever expected to.”

Ryunosuke frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I knew of Professor Mikotoba’s frequent visits to Baker Street, of course, but I didn’t realize Haori-san and Inspector Lestrade came by so often,” Kazuma remarked with a dry laugh. “And to hear that some of Mr Holmes’s clients had a keen romantic interest in you...who would’ve guessed?”

“Hey,” Ryunosuke protested softly, chuckling. “I’ve been told I can be quite charming when I want to be.”

“That sounds like the sort of thing a doting parent would say,” Kazuma teased, finally lifting his head to look at Ryunosuke with a warm, inviting smile. What exactly he was inviting him to do, Ryunosuke couldn’t be sure. “Hardly the words of a potential lover.”

“Well, uh…” Ryunosuke’s gaze softened; he moved closer. “...what would a potential lover say?”

“Passionate, perhaps,” Kazuma mused, taking another sharp inhale, though his breathing didn’t sound quite so painful anymore. “Clever, kind-hearted, loyal…” He then smirked. “Gullible, a little cowardly, overly agreeable - ”

“My apologies for being too agreeable - what a terrible character flaw I’ve got there,” Ryunosuke shot back, elbowing him. Kazuma’s sweet, raspy laughter finally rang out for the first time that evening, like music to Ryunosuke’s ears. Still, a sobering thought quickly cut through the sound. “Speaking of agreeable...Kazuma, why did you finally agree to come to dinner tonight, of all nights?”

Kazuma went quiet again. “...I’d like to hear your thoughts first, actually.”

“I…” Ryunosuke swallowed, silently wishing he hadn’t said anything. Now all he wanted to do was go back to mere seconds before, just so he could hear Kazuma laugh again. “I don’t want to think the worst of you, Kazuma, I really don’t. But I can’t help but feel you only accepted our invitation to prove a point. To prove us wrong.”

Kazuma shook his head, smiling bitterly. “I had a feeling you’d think that. It sounds like something I’d do, doesn’t it? But no, that’s not quite it. It’s more like you...like you helped me see reason, in that I finally saw how I was being entirely unreasonable.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Ryunosuke admitted. “If anything, I felt like I was being unreasonable by accusing you of not caring about us. Without evidence, no less!”

“This isn’t the courtroom, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma replied with a faint laugh. “But if you’d like, I can testify. I’ll even be generous and let you cross-examine me.” Ryunosuke wordlessly motioned for him to continue, unamused. “Yes, er...I really do apologize for making you and Susato-san worry about me, for making you doubt my friendship. I swear, I’m not in any sort of trouble. I’ve simply been...evasive of my own accord, not to mention selfish.”

“You’re not selfish, Kazuma,” Ryunosuke insisted, frowning. “Self-important at times, yes. But we know you mean well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Kazuma said hoarsely, slowly lowering himself down onto the kitchen floor with a lofty sigh. “I’ve been terribly selfish, in fact.”

Ryunosuke went to sit beside him, concerned. “How so?”

Kazuma seemed to be staring straight ahead at nothing, evidently lost in thought. When he finally spoke again, he sounded angry, Ryunosuke suspected, at himself. “I was ecstatic when I heard you and Susato-san were coming back to Great Britain,” he began. “I’d spent what felt like a lifetime here alone, talking to almost no one, trusting almost no one. So, I…I started imagining all the things we’d get to do, the memories we’d get to share.”

“Of course,” Ryunosuke agreed. “That’s all we’d been dreaming about since we departed from Japan, too.”

“So…when you returned, I just assumed it would be like old times,” Kazuma continued, smiling ruefully. “Instead, it seemed as if the two of you had made friends with all of London. Between dinners, parties, society events...I never knew you were such a social creature, Ryunosuke. And of course, you have something of a family now, here at Baker Street.”

“Yes, I do. Iris thinks of Susato-san and I as her older siblings,” Ryunosuke replied, nodding. “But...Kazuma, I still don’t understand. No doubt we’ve been busy, yes, but we’ve made plenty of time for you as well. Have you been feeling ignored?”

Kazuma ducked his head. “No, nothing like - you know what? This isn’t...I’m not seeking out your pity, alright? I’m not asking for you to feel sorry for me. I should have never brought it up, so why don’t you rejoin the others before they - ”

“No, I want to hear this,” Ryunosuke insisted, clasping his hand over Kazuma’s knee. Kazuma shuddered, but he didn’t move away. “I want to hear what you have to say. It’s obviously been bothering you for ages, so - please, tell me. Tell me everything.”

“...I wasn’t feeling ignored, exactly.” Kazuma lifted his gaze once more, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “It was more like...I felt as if there was no longer enough room in your life for me. And that you were the one keeping up appearances, being the kind of friend that you are, but...I started to believe you saw me as someone from your past, not someone you wanted in your future. Especially after...well, everything that transpired.”

“I made you feel as if I didn’t care about you?” Ryunosuke asked, his voice small.

“That’s where the selfishness comes in, actually,” Kazuma muttered. “I was too caught up in what I wanted, what I felt like I deserved, that I made everything carry more weight than it actually did. That I made your happiness about me. But…” His smile then softened, bittersweet. “...people have always been inexplicably drawn to you, Ryunosuke. When I first saw you on that stage, giving your speech, I assumed you didn’t have the presence to do it - ”

“...thanks,” Ryunosuke grumbled.

“ - but then I truly saw just how magnetic you really were,” Kazuma continued with a fond chuckle. “So, to bring this back to here and now, I...I wanted to keep seeing you, spending time with you - and with Susato-san, of course - but I didn’t want to stay around long enough to remind myself of how I no longer play a significant role in your life.” He let out a choked sob, dropping his head into his hands. “God, it sounds even more selfish when I say it out loud. I’m sorry, Ryunosuke. Once again, I...I let my feelings cloud my judgment. A terrible habit of mine that seems impossible to break.”

“Kazuma,” Ryunosuke breathed, stunned. “I...I had no idea.” He then moved even closer, reaching over to gently brush Kazuma’s hair out of his eyes. “Kazuma...look at me, please.”

But Kazuma merely got to his feet, knocking Ryunosuke’s hand away from his face. “I really should go before I spoil your night any more than I already have,” he said sharply, suddenly. “Please, give the others my regards.”

“You are not leaving before we finish this conversation,” Ryunosuke insisted, grabbing Kazuma by the wrist before he could disappear into the night. “Not this time.” Kazuma yanked his arm out of Ryunosuke’s grasp, his posture stiff and unyielding, but he didn’t seem poised to run off otherwise. “Kazuma, I - I’m so sorry that I ever made you doubt how much you mean to me. Believe me, I would not be the person I am today without you.”

“Ryunosuke, I really don’t want to make this about me - ”

“You’re my family, too, Kazuma.” Kazuma’s eyes widened. “And I want you here, always. We all do.”

Kazuma slowly turned on his heel, his hands dropping to his sides, the fight seemingly leaving his body all at once. “Ryu…”

“Yes, I - I won’t deny the importance of the friends I’ve made in London,” Ryunosuke continued, his voice trembling as he spoke. “And of course, I’ve got friends in Japan, old and new. But...surely you know that you’ve always meant the world to me, that you’ve always been more than just a friend, a-and you always will be. No matter who, what, or where we are, that will never change.”

Time seemed to stop for a moment, a moment that stretched out into what felt like minutes, hours, even, as Ryunosuke and Kazuma just stood there, staring at each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Then, Kazuma stepped forward, sweeping Ryunosuke in for a hug.

“You might not be the most articulate speaker in the world, but you’ve always had a way with words,” he murmured, burying his face into Ryunosuke’s shoulder. This time, he sounded halfway between a euphoric laugh and a relieved sob. “Thank you, Ryunosuke. You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Then perhaps I should say it more often,” Ryunosuke teased, bringing Kazuma in even closer, his fingers curled into Kazuma’s shirt, refusing to let him go. He was warm, solid, comforting in a way that Ryunosuke had never quite realized until now. “For both our sakes.”

“I’d like that,” Kazuma mumbled; for a split second, it felt as if he’d pressed a kiss to Ryunosuke’s cheek, but he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “Anyway, we really should go and rejoin the others. It’s a wonder Susato-san hasn’t burst in here already, demanding answers.”

“I suspect she knows more than she let on...as she does,” Ryunosuke added, reluctantly pulling away. “Oh, and I’ve just remembered - would now be a good time to open that gift you brought?”

“Is that what you’re really after?” Kazuma asked, smirking. “But yes, I think so. Once I’ve apologized to the others for my coldness, that is.”

Mere minutes later, Kazuma found himself tackled to the ground by Susato and Iris, who were both crying tears of joy, clinging on to Kazuma like their lives depended on it. Ryunosuke and Sherlock stood back, watching on with bemused smiles as Susato then proceeded to scold him for being so distant, while Iris bounced up and down on her heels, begging him to sleep over so she’d have more time to read him her latest manuscript.

“Ryu always says you have a flair for the dramatic, after all,” Iris said, grinning cheekily. “So I’d like your opinion on whether this one particular passage gets your heart racing!”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay the night,” Kazuma said apologetically, taking a seat on the settee this time; his eyes widened slightly in surprise when Iris plopped right down beside him. “I’ve got an early morning meeting, unfortunately. If I were to sleep over, I think any Friday would be a safe bet.”

“This Friday, then?” Iris suggested. “You could set up in Ryu’s bedroom! I’m sure he’d like that.”

Kazuma raised an eyebrow in Ryunosuke’s direction. “...would he, now?”

“Hey, I - d-don’t - Iris!” Ryunosuke spluttered, his cheeks reddening. “Kazuma, your gift? Now?”

“So demanding,” Kazuma replied, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Still, he went to retrieve the box he’d left in the entryway, then knelt on the floor by the fireplace so he could open it. Iris immediately went to peek, while Sherlock only just managed to hold himself back, mostly because Susato had grabbed him by the arm before he could snatch the box out of Kazuma’s arms. Ryunosuke, on the other hand, went to kneel beside Kazuma, his heart racing with sudden anticipation. “Admittedly, I don’t really have an eye for art, but I was working on a crime scene diorama a month or two ago when I was struck by the idea. So…”

Small gasps filled the room as Kazuma carefully lifted out a mid-sized shadow box frame filled with the most beautiful papercraft any of them had ever seen, depicting 221B Baker Street and its occupants in a domestic scene - Sherlock playing his beloved Stradivarius, Iris pouring a cup of tea, Susato reading in the armchair, and Ryunosuke eating sweets by the fireplace, Wagahai nestled in his lap.

“Kazuma-sama,” Susato whispered, speechless, her eyes shining with tears.

“No eye for art, you say? My dear fellow, this is absolutely beautiful!” Sherlock declared, beaming.

“Oh, I’m not the one who made it,” Kazuma said, shaking his head. “No, I used my connections to find and commission one of the best artisans in the country, and this was the result. I thought it would make for a nice piece for you to hang somewhere - anywhere, really. Do you...do you like it?”

Ryunosuke made a quiet, incoherent noise, having clapped his hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying, too. “Kazuma, it’s...it’s incredible! I only wish we’d spoken earlier so you would’ve thought to include yourself, too.”

Kazuma’s gaze softened; he looked pleased, yet embarrassed. “Yes, well...I don’t live here, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate, anyway.”

“Well, then maybe you should!” Iris piped up. “After all, you’re Susie’s brother and Ryu’s partner, not to mention my newest big brother. Why wouldn’t you live here?” Kazuma opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly also at a loss for words. Ryunosuke couldn’t help but silently note that the tips of his ears had gone red.

“I think you might be moving a little fast for the poor man, Iris,” Sherlock said, chuckling good-naturedly. “Let’s start by having him stay the night sometime in the near future first, shall we?”

Susato hastily dried her tears, then straightened up, smoothing out the front of her kimono. “Kazuma-sama, if I may, I’d like for us to find a place to put this up right now before you go. Shall we keep it somewhere in your suite, Mr Holmes, or would you rather we bring it up to the attic?”

“The entryway, Miss Susato, the entryway!” Sherlock was already off before any of the others could blink, in search of a hammer and nails; Iris quickly followed him to ensure he wouldn’t hurt himself in the process. Ryunosuke, Kazuma, and Susato stood stock-still in the middle of the living room, staring after them in disbelief. Then, the three of them couldn’t help but burst into laughter in perfect harmony.

_____

It was pitch black by the time Kazuma readied himself to leave, buckling up his boots and slipping on his coat. He frowned somewhat when he realized he’d already pulled his gloves on, yet had forgotten to button his coat. Before he could remove them, someone else’s hands were on his front, dutifully buttoning him up on his behalf.

“Ryunosuke,” he said, surprised.

“I’m really glad you made it tonight,” Ryunosuke said, doing up the last of Kazuma’s buttons. He then took a step back, offering Kazuma a boyish smile. “As I said, I just wish we’d had that conversation earlier, but...I suppose the most important thing is that we had it in the first place.”

“How surprisingly mature of you,” Kazuma teased, smirking when Ryunosuke’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“We’re back to this again, are we?” Ryunosuke sighed, elbowing him a little harder than necessary. “You never could resist poking fun on my behalf. I’d bet you some of our old classmates are still debating whether you actually liked me or not.”

“It's hardly my fault that no one reacts quite the same way that you do,” Kazuma grinned. Then, he squeezed Ryunosuke’s arm. “Really, though, thank you for hearing me out earlier. I’m not even sure I explained myself properly - honestly, I felt like a complete mess - but you seemed to understand me all the same.”

“I know a thing or two about...what was it? ‘Not being the most articulate speaker in the world’?” Ryunosuke mused, laughing when Kazuma scowled. “Your words, Kazuma, not mine.”

“Yes, well…” Kazuma ducked his head for a moment so he could readjust his gloves. “...Ryunosuke. Earlier, when you said that I’ve always been more than a friend...what did you mean, exactly?”

Ryunosuke’s breath hitched. “Oh, um...well, I-I’d just told you that you were part of my family, too. That you always have a place here, with me, Susato-san, Mr Holmes, and Iris.”

Kazuma nodded, making a noncommittal noise under his breath. “Right, of course. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you on - ” And suddenly, Ryunosuke’s lips were on his, just like that. He barely had enough time to blink before Ryunosuke pulled back, blushing furiously. “...Ryu?”

“Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t - I-I shouldn’t have done that,” Ryunosuke stammered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just about to leave, and - ”

“And if you meant it, you would do it again so I can actually kiss you back,” Kazuma said firmly. It seemed to take Ryunosuke a moment to process, then, he grabbed Kazuma by the coat lapels and pulled him back in for another kiss. Ryunosuke felt Kazuma smirk against his lips, wrapping his arms around Ryunosuke’s waist so he could hold him even closer, the two of them relishing one another’s warmth. “...better. Marginally better.”

“So mean,” Ryunosuke mumbled, sighing as he unceremoniously detached himself from Kazuma’s embrace, though any ill will he felt towards Kazuma and his acerbic nature was quickly quashed when he saw the way Kazuma looked at him - like he finally believed in every word that Ryunosuke had said. “Friday, then?”

“I was going to suggest we meet up for breakfast tomorrow, after my meeting,” Kazuma suggested. “We’ve got more catching up to do, after all. And I was hoping you could get me up to speed on Mr Holmes’ latest exploits before he or Iris starts questioning me the next time I come by.”

Grinning, Ryunosuke gave Kazuma one last kiss before finally letting him go. “...it’s a date.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my third entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! I'm mad at myself for writing this entire Baker Street family fic and somehow completely forgetting to include Wagahai until the very end, especially considering how I include Mikeko in literally every Klapollo fic I possibly can. Anyway, I promise this is the last of my sad Kazuma hours for this week; I know this fic and day one's fic are similar in concept, but the rest of my entries (if I manage to finish them, that is) are established relationship and one modern AU, if that's something you're into!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[cdmagic1408]

19, 18, 20, 25, 30, 12, 6, 17 for you’re Onward ask game. :)

* Quick FYI * gonna go in numerical order for this...

6. favorite background/minor character?

answer coming in next onward ask game post!

12. where in the onward world would you like to travel to?

next stop...ANYWHERE!! lol the whole United Realms needs traveling and exploring! but first and foremost: New Mushroomton! Just take me there first and let the quest begin! 🛣

17. top 5 fanfics you’ve read?

TOP 5?! oh no…there’s no way…I can’t do that. I refuse. I love all onward fanfics I read! 🤩

but from what I’ve read and re-read recently, I liked Corn Children by OceanHeart23, it’s pretty creepy but also very heartwarming and hilarious! read it and you’ll see...

I also really enjoyed I May Not Be Dad (But I Am Still Here) by PurelyAnime, who said in their notes for it that they were thinking about writing more for onward but so far this is their only story, but it’s a great one! a good mix of fluffy and angsty! 

other than that, my other favorite onward fics I’ve read that I still love to this day I talk about in these asks: ask 1 and ask 2 📖

18. if you write fanfic, what’s your personal favorite fanfic you’ve written?

hope you all don’t mind the obvious answer being If You Trust Me cause that’s the only onward fanfic I’ve ever written! but it’s also still without a doubt my best one! ✨✨✨

it’s my personal favorite for a lot of reasons: i spent a lot of time on it (a year and a half!) making sure it was just the story I wanted it to be, it contains a majority of things I’d love to see an onward continuation explore, and I wrote the whole thing during covid and out of my undying love for this movie, its characters, and its world!

and let me say right now that if it ends up being the only onward thing I ever write, if I don’t write anything else, I am perfectly happy with that! 😊 being 33 chapters long, it’s practically novel-length and that’s enough to fit hundreds of one-shots! 

so yeah…for the onward fandom, I think it’s safe at this point to call it my magnum opus ✍️

19. favorite type of onward fanart?

I love it all! it’s why I share pieces of it every Friday! 😉 but my most favorite type of onward fan art might have to be ones where Ian and Barley show off their amazing brotherly bond! here are some examples of that 🖌

20. what’s your personal favorite fanart you’ve drawn?

that’s a great question! I know I definitely write a lot more than I draw, but I do like to draw! I’d say my personal favorite fanart I’ve drawn might have to be my poster/book cover for IYTM (which you can find in my IYTM masterpost)

It took between a month or two to make, and that involved picking the right colors, drawing all the characters and drawing them accurately, deciding which font to use, among other things...and I really love how it came out after all that work! It captures great excitement and gives you some clues on what you’ll run into when you read this story! 👀

25. do you own onward merch? have you created your own?

absolutely! I’ve got a great collection of things! and yes! even things I’ve created myself!

but that's all I'll say about it for now... 😏

30. if you could, would you add to or change something about the film?

answer coming in next onward ask game post!

from mel’s onward ask game ✨

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures preview | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows irritatingly, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to be, until a high school reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin feature in this and they aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, vaguely implied smut but it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: anticipated 15K → a/n: are you ever, like, irritatingly aware of how in love you are with someone? because that’s me while writing this fic. this fic was supposed to be 6-7K in length since it was a commission, but then i kept writing and well... here we are!! i hope to get this out before the end of the year but i thought it’d be nice to release a preview just so you guys know i’m still alive. or whatever. anyway!! enjoy!!

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years. He might have grown taller a little since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair is not dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It is styled differently too: combed over and jelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead on full display. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18 year old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two look as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest dealbreakers in your relationships.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly suckerpunching the offending degenerate in the face. You barely hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret actually holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but the grin is forming fast on your face. This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads up in alarm. You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.