#the-archxr writes

[the-archxr]

forever is the sweetest con

bucky barnes x afab!reader

summary: you and bucky might not have forever, but at least you have each other.

content: 18+, mdni. porn with plot; implied slow-burn, will they/won’t they/right-person-wrong-time bullshit; avoidant attachment behaviour (jumpscare, I know); angst; coworkers/friends to…something more…?; mutual yearning/pining; fingering; semi-public sex—an attempted quickie; love confessions—this shit is very romantic.

a/n: *gif isn’t mine, its from pinterest* reputation, specifically dress, was on repeat when I wrote this. take from that what you will.

word count: 4.6k

main m.list

•••

It had been three years since you last saw him.

Three years, almost down to the day, since you decided that your days as an Avenger were coming to an end.

Sam had donned the shield, and somehow, that was enough for you to officially head into retirement. A final closing of the chapter on your bygone era. For good, this time. No more owed favours or defences left to join.

It was the first time in your life you had ever felt so certain.

Until he asked you to stay.

Three years ago, Bucky—shrouded in smoke and strobing ambulance lights, smelling of diesel and earth—asked you if there was any harm in staying.

His timing was a bit odd, having waited until you were in your car before finally laying it all out on the line.

Or maybe it was perfect.

Because ever since then, you’ve thought about his question—about him.

If your seatbelt hadn’t been fastened, you might not have driven away. You just might have actually stayed.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because of this, you always told yourself that if you ever saw him again, it would be different. He would be different. You told yourself he would not be the same Bucky you traded for a life of peace.

But with the way he’s looking at you now—across the gilded room, eyes finding yours around every moving body—you can’t help but be unnerved.

This isn’t what you planned for.

Bucky looks at you in the exact same way he did all those years ago. Tender. Raw.

A small circle of oblivious partygoers beside you attracts your attention. Their laughter and clinking glasses bubble, becoming one with the rest of the crowd as they stumble off.

With the distraction gone, you finally braved looking back across the room.

Needing to find his gaze, if only one more time, was instinctual at this point. Something you couldn’t suppress, even if you tried.

And fuck, have you tried.

You scan the room, looking at faces and exposed hands, drinks and smiles. But Bucky is nowhere to be found.

He disappeared just as quickly as he had come, and you know that it’s because of you.

Propped up in the corner alone, entirely too sober, and visibly uncomfortable, you become painfully aware of yourself.

But maybe this is your karma. Maybe this is why your circumstances are so unfortunate—you weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place. Technically, the gala invitation had been meant for your boss. But you were eager to impress. Like, somehow you had to ‘prove’ your normalcy.

But you didn’t have to. You had it.

You just became too overzealous.

Icarus flew too close to the sun, and you accepted filling in for your boss on a networking gig that you really should’ve asked more questions about.

And now you have to face the consequences.

“It’s kind of you to hold up the wall.”

Your body goes cold. Erratic fingers now remain frozen in place.

When you turn, you see that Bucky is already smiling at you, two flutes of champagne in hand. “Hi, —.”

You take a shaky breath. “Hi, Bucky.”

Up close, you can confirm that he really looks no different than when you left. You figured that your eyes were just playing tricks on you earlier, imagining things. For your sake, you hoped that if you saw him again—face to face, wandering eye to wandering eye—he’d be unrecognizable.

But, no. He just looks like Bucky—your Bucky.

That fact feels more like a curse than a blessing right now.

The two of you stand in silence, unsure of what to say or if you should even say anything at all. You opt to busy yourself with the lines on the parkade floor instead.

“Thought you’d never be caught dead at one of these again.” He says the words like they’re an inside joke. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“It’s a work thing”, you respond flatly. “I honestly didn’t know it was for you guys.”

Bucky sips at his drink, warily maintaining eye contact with you. “I’m glad you’re here, though,” Bucky eventually says. The shyness in his voice surprises you. “It’s really…really good to see you, —.”

You don’t respond, but you manage to force a little smile. Measured. Pleasant. Evidence of you being on your best behaviour. Besides your roaming eyes, at least.

Unfortunately, they’re not as controlled as you’d like them to be.

But, if push comes to shove, you could always blame tradition.

You and Bucky have an unspoken agreement. A ritual, of sorts, that you rely on during moments like this. Observe and pretend.

If your years in SHIELD taught you anything, it was how to watch and how to see with the briefest of passing glances.

Visual study is light work for trained government agents.

But when it comes to this—when it involves the two of you, and whatever it is that you guys are—it’s not so simple. It’s more than just observing how time passed shows on each other’s skin.

It’s about taking the time to commit everything you see to memory.

To document it all—the slick-backed hair curling behind his ear, the flecks of grey in his beard, the eyes that darken in the moody amber light—and lock it away. Keep it safe for some lonely night in the future where all you can do is ruminate, and the only thing you can think about is ‘what if’.

“…You look good,” you say wistfully. A mindless and stupid act on your part. Heat floods your face, forcing your eyes down. “I-I meant, you look like you’re doing good.”

Bucky chuckles. The sound of it makes you ache.

“Thanks. I’ve, uh, actually been getting some sleep, so I’ve been feeling a lot better.” You nod and take a drink. “You look good, too, by the way. …Beautiful, actually.”

The champagne in your stomach threatens to come back up. Bucky, though, is none the wiser—still looking at you, soft and fond.

With rolled back shoulders and a straightened spine, you clamour to change the subject. “You’ve, uh, been busy, too—lately, it seems.”

Mindless. Stupid.

Bucky clears his throat. “Who knew, right? …One minute I’m wanted by the state, then the next—“

“You’re an Avenger,” you continue. “And a Congressman.”

A sly grin forms on his face. One, he doesn’t even try to hold back. “Have you been stalking me, Ms. —?”

You roll your eyes and bite back a familiar grin. “You wish, Barnes. I just have a strong internet connection and a knack for boredom-fuelled curiosity.”

“A deadly combination,” Bucky hums into his glass.

In trying to suppress the wide smile breaking free, you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. The sting is a good stabilizer.

“So, what about you?”

When you look up to meet his eyes, you realize that the two of you have been gradually getting closer. Another annoyingly instinctual response.

You try not to give the sparking in your chest too much attention.

“—How’s retirement been treating you?” Bucky asks.

You hesitate for a moment, unaware of how to sum up the past three years of your life.

“Um…good.” The word feels wrong immediately. “Quiet,” is your correction.

“Quiet, huh?” Bucky looks away briefly, over to a boisterous group in the centre of the room. From the slight fondness in his features, you assume they’re likely his new team. “Well, that’s—I’m glad. That’s what you always wanted, right?”

You nod despite him not looking your way.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to another, still lost in thought. Then, slowly, they travel back to you and settle on your hands. “And, is it…just…you?”

“…You mean, am I seeing someone?”

Bucky’s shoulders fall back against the wall. He gulps, too, although he tries to hide that more. “I’m just…curious,” he says a bit defensively. “I didn’t—I don’t see a ring. That’s why I’m asking.”

“You were looking for a ring? Congressman…” you tease.

Bucky’s smile is genuine, but it still doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just happened to notice. Don’t flatter yourself, doll.”

The nickname—a simple word that, at the end of the day, you’d hate if it came out of anybody else’s mouth—hits you hard. It makes your stomach twist, and your hands shake, and your mouth go dry.

It also makes you want to beg him to say it again.

You polish off the rest of your drink, which at this point has gone flat. Then, quietly, you say, “No, I’m not seeing anyone—not right now. …Not anymore.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Bucky stiffen. A fist clenches at his side, and his eyes shut for a few seconds before he seemingly releases himself. Guilt cramps in your stomach at the sight.

A guilt for what? You’re not entirely sure.

You don’t even know if you should be telling him this. If it even matters. If at this point it’s morally right to do so, or just plain cruel.

All you know is that you’ve never been able to hide anything from Bucky. Even when your insides scream at you to turn away, to run and hide, to forget you ever saw him.

“…His name was Connor. We, um, dated for two years.”

Bucky’s silent. You wait. It’s painful. Your lungs can’t hold onto air for the life of you, and your fingers are sore from being constantly picked at.

“Was he…” Bucky takes a harsh breath. “Was he good to you?”

His words force you to pause and collect yourself. “Yeah. He was. Actually, Connor was kind of perfect, in a way. He was kind, a-and attractive, and funny, and he always tried to bring me breakfast in bed on Sundays. …He just…he had a wonderfully quiet life.”

Bucky hardly makes a sound, but you know that he’s listening. You know that he’s just taking the time to digest all that you’ve said.

Out loud, speaking of Connor feels like admitting to a long-kept secret. And the thought makes you sick. He was the longest relationship you’ve ever had—by no means a secret. You lived together. You had a life together.

But it was a life that Bucky didn’t get to witness. A life you made sure he wasn’t a part of—in any capacity.

That fact alone nearly disables you.

Bucky has his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth, gnawing on the flesh nervously. His voice cracks when he goes to speak. “Why’d you break up? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“We stopped understanding each other, I guess. He wanted to do more with his career, and…after everything I’ve seen and done, the plans he had, they just… Like I said, we didn’t understand each other anymore.” Your voice trails off. You unintentionally end up mimicking Bucky’s slumped figure.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers.

You shrug plainly. “It is what it is.”

A waiter comes by, collecting both of your empty glasses before hurrying off into the party. You end up going back to spinning the gold ring around your finger. “What about you, Barnes—are you seeing anyone special?”

You offer Bucky a friendly smile, even though the thought of him with someone else makes you physically ill.

“No.”

Your heart leaps. Shame immediately crawls in from behind your ribs.

“No one?” The shock in your voice is evident. “…Not even dating?”

Bucky shakes his head gently. “I think in the past three years, I’ve been on a total of…two dates? Neither one got very far.” Your jaw falls open just enough to grab his attention. “…Is something wrong?”

“N-no! No, I just…I’m surprised, that’s all. Surprised that no one would…you know…”

He turns against the wall on his shoulder, closing whatever distance was left. The air was thinning; muddled with all the nagging thoughts and feelings you keep stifling.

“I never said I didn’t date because no one has been interested in me,” Bucky says simply. “I don’t date because I don’t want to.”

You can’t help yourself from asking ‘why’. And, at this point, you’re convinced your curiosity has a mind of its own. Like it’s completely set on orchestrating your downfall.

Bucky hesitates, gears visibly turning in his head. Until his eyes flash to yours, something sure and smouldering within them. “I guess I’ve just been too busy holding on.”

“Holding on to what?” You echo.

“Hope.”

Your mind skips—a broken record, a preemptive warning.

Turn away. Stop. Go back. Turn away.

“Hope is a dangerous thing to have,” you find yourself saying.

“It’s a damning thing to have,” Bucky concludes. Between you, a calloused hand attempts to reach out; fingers brushing your knuckles without any hesitation. “It’s hard to want someone else when I’m hoping for you.”

It’s not that time slows down or speeds up in that moment. You just become more aware of it.

As if, suddenly, your body is completely and wholly cognizant of everything. Of where you are, of what you’re wearing, of the blood pounding in your ears, of the pinky touching yours, of the earthy scent that makes your chest contract.

You’re exposed, and it’s because of him.

It’s all because of him.

When you first became friends, you found it kind of funny that you got along so well, that you guys just clicked. He understood you better than anyone else had before, and he’s been the only one to truly know you like that ever since.

Hope is a damning thing—his words.

The light refracting from the chandelier above is dimmed by Bucky’s shadow. It looms over you, but never cages you. He’s still giving you the chance to run.

The freedom only makes it that much harder on you.

Blinking back an onslaught of tears, you will yourself to look him in the eye. “Do you…remember what I said to you—that night, wh-when you asked me to stay?”

A pause.

“You, uh…you said we were ‘too smart’ for ideas like that,” Bucky answers quietly. So quiet that you’re surprised you can still hear him.

You’re nodding before you speak. “Well…that’s what I’m saying to you now.”

A loud roaring laugh passes by your sheltered corner. It kills you a little to see people so elated while you stand here and break the love of your life’s heart all over again.

Bucky holds his breath. You see it in his chest—the expansion, the stillness.

“—…”

“No—Bucky, please.” You wince. “…It doesn’t work out for people like us. Right? You—you know that…”

The man in question frowns, a sad acceptance.

You always swore you had a strong resolve. A thick backbone. You had to in order to be a SHIELD agent-turned-Avenger.

Whether your time out of the game had turned you soft, or if it was just Bucky’s presence, you’re not sure. But as you acknowledge yours and Bucky’s hurt, your resolve crumbles.

It hurts to encourage the pain. But you reason now—as you have had to many times before—that it’s for the best. That this is the right thing to do.

The responsible thing.

“Because of what we do, who we are, this—this would never work. It has never ended well. …We’d only be hurting ourselves in the end, Buck. It’s—it’s not worth it.”

“…Connor was worth it, though, right?” Bucky’s words are sharp, cutting. They scar you right where you stand.

“Bucky—“

“I’m just saying, —. You sit here and talk about being smart a-and how distance and all that is good. You know, sounding exactly like how I used to—“ At this point, the man is gasping for air. “But…but you fall in love with someone else? Two years of your life, —; was that not worth it?”

“It was worth it! Because at least I knew that every time he left the house, he was coming back,” you snap.

Silence.

Bucky’s eyes are a marvel: big and watery and as wildly blue as a stormy ocean. “What makes you think I wouldn’t come back home to you?”

The sound you make then is agonizing. “You can’t guarantee that.”

Without warning, Bucky places a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re right,” Bucky whispers into your hairline. Your eyes involuntarily flutter, as if doing so could allow you to feel the gesture tenfold. “But I can promise you that I would try.”

You want to tell him that it’s not enough. Being an Avenger doesn’t allow for the same liberties as everyone else. Death and loss, and irrevocable change are all part and parcel. Commitment, partnership, love—they don’t belong in that lifestyle.

At least you and Connor had the luxury of stability, of reassurance. But with Bucky, the act of being in love is a terrifying one.

Loving Bucky is easy, despite what he says. But being in love with him, consciously choosing to love him, takes a lot of inner strength.

But you’re selfish.

You’re selfish to fall in love with someone while they’re falling in love with you. You’re selfish to test the waters, only to run in the other direction at the first sight of a rippling wave. You’re selfish to hope, even slightly, that Bucky would wait for you after all this time.

“If I allow myself to love you, I won’t be able to let you go.” Your lowly confession successfully slips through the chinks in your armour. It hangs heavy in the air once it’s free, and you’re entirely too tired to rein it back in.

Bucky hands still on your shoulders, holding you as he tries to meet your eyes.

“I don’t want you to.”

He looks at you like you’re everything. You look back at him because you know he is.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Since when did you become good at having emotional conversations?”

“Since you became so damn bad at it," he replies without missing a beat.

Bucky’s smile almost triggers yours. Almost. You’re still terrified of the reality that stands before you.

It’s a scary thing to care about something this much that you innately anticipate losing it.

Because those two things—love and loss—go hand-in-hand. They’re inseparable. One can’t exist without the other.

“…Will we regret this?”

Bucky sighs. “Maybe.” Hands delicately cradle your face. Careful, yet unafraid. “…But not right now.”

His face is so very close to yours, champagne lingering on his breath. You expect to move, to cross that line. But he doesn’t.

He waits.

Your mind fires off reservations, fears, worries, unaddressed concerns and technicalities that you’re sure you’ll feel tomorrow.

Not right now.

The first kiss is soft. A feather-light touch; skin on skin. It’s hesitant, not scared. An effort of held-back anticipation rather than apprehension.

Bucky, the old-fashioned gentleman that he is, is the first to pull away. He keeps a safe distance: far enough where he gets to measure your reaction, yet still satisfy whatever desire he has to be as close to you as possible.

It’s you who pulls him back in.

The second kiss is firm. It exhibits a hunger, a desperation that could only be triggered by starvation. With a few nips to his lower lip and your hand clawing at his chest, you hope to tell him just how badly you need this.

Bucky backs you up into the wall, both hands—hot flesh and cold metal—holding your face still as he prods at your mouth. You scratch at his face, letting the thin skin of your palms become familiar with the feel of his scruff.

You want to feel more. You need to feel more.

But you’re also acutely aware that your environment isn’t ideal.

“Buck,” you kiss the warning into his upper lip. He chases you with his mouth. Another kiss. “Congressman, we’re in public.”

Bucky groans. It’s hearty, it reverberates. It instantly shoots down to your core. “‘M not waiting. Don’t think you want to either, doll—not with how you’re kissin’ me.” Teeth nip at the edge of your ear.

The whole thing is disorienting. Enough to make you rip his clothes off then and there, without a second thought.

Except, fucking like rabbits in the middle of a government-funded gala wasn’t a responsible thing to do.

That didn’t mean fucking was completely off the table, though.

“You have any other ideas, Barnes…?”

•

In a matter of minutes, after a balancing act of evading his team, Valentina, and a few mostly sober government officials, you and Bucky find yourselves in a bathroom on the other side of the building.

The area had been roped off, guarded by two golden posts corded together, with a sign that read “entry prohibited”. And, based on the sight of the oddly lavish bathroom alone—forest-green walls, dark gold faucets, and glittering black tile—you expect the sign was up for good reason.

Not that it really mattered to either of you.

Bucky had half a mind to lock the door, but he took far too long for your liking. He shakes the handle—just to make sure—while your mouth wanders.

“Looks who’s impatient now.” Lips slot against yours, teeth clacking and noses squished.

You huff. “Shut up, Barnes.”

Bucky takes a turn mapping your neck with his slick, open mouth. “I’d like to make it known, by the way, that this”—a kiss under your ear—“isn’t”—another to the hollow of your throat—“how I imagined our first time to be.”

Intrigue, and maybe a bit of pride, pull at your face like puppet strings. “You’ve thought about this before?” You hum as Bucky kisses the hyper-sensitive junction of your neck. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Congressman.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” is Bucky’s gruff reply.

Without warning, thick arms come up under your thighs and lift you onto the sink. Bucky acts like it’s nothing, manhandling you like that. You, however, aren’t so nonchalant. What once felt like molten lava in your veins had now become a raging fire.

It was a trigger for your more feral desires. Resurfaced thoughts and primitive sensations that only cared about what else he could do to you.

God, you wanted him to do it all.

Impatient fingers start to work at his clothes—peeling off his jacket, loosening his tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. You then yank on his belt and pull him towards you.

Except Bucky is quick to cover your hands with his. “Doll, I need to make sure you want this,” he whispers. “—That you want this as much as I do.”

He gives you the chance to take his request to heart, but you know you don’t even have to think twice about it.

Realized by the weight of him between your legs, you have the sense that you two are freakishly and inexplicably right. After all this time, it honestly feels silly to have imagined the two of you as anything other than inevitable.

“Need you, Bucky. Need you so, so bad,” you whine and kiss the tip of his nose.

He’s back on you in an instant.

As his tongue explores your mouth, his fingers begin to toy with the thin straps of your dress. “Want this off.”

You help him out a bit and slide the satin down your torso. As your bra is revealed, Bucky’s stare intensifies, carefully tracing every curve and clean line.

“There are no straps,” he mumbles eventually.

You shift under his gaze. “Um…what?”

“The straps,” he says. An inquisitive metal finger comes up to the edge of the garment, right where the cup ends and the rounded flesh begins. “Where are they?”

“You—you’ve never seen a strapless bra before?” You giggle as he shakes his head. “It didn’t come with any, Buck. That’s the point.”

“I don’t understand—“

You laugh some more, lazily carding your fingers through his hair. “I’ll tell you more about it later, yeah?” Bucky, although still stumped, nods and lets you guide his head forward.

When you kiss him, he lets out a puff of air. The reaction forces you to smile into his mouth. You try to deepen the kiss, to take charge and move his limbs around you as you please—but you don’t get very far.

The second he picks up on your plan, he becomes committed to leaving you breathless. Even when he abandons your mouth and makes his way down to your chest, you’re practically gasping for air.

With your back arched, desperate for a slight reprieve, you angle your hips forward. The slight movement has you firmly pressing into him.

Bucky groans.

Even between the too-many-layers of fabric, you feel him. All of him. It’s a promise that makes your mouth water and your toes curl.

You roll your hips then—an experiment that has you whining and Bucky going rigid.

“Don’t”—his teeth gritted—“start. We don’t have the time for that, doll.”

Against the arm that aims to keep you still, you move your pelvis over his bulge again. Bucky growls.

“Doll,” he warns.

“God, Buck, just—shit—just do something.”

Upon your command, one hand grabs a fistful of your dress. The fabric is roughly lifted until it’s pooling around your thighs.

Your eyes curiously travel down your contorted body, stopping right where Bucky’s arm—taut flesh over strained veins—disappears.

And then you feel it: thick fingers pulling aside the drenched seam of your underwear.

The man’s forehead rams into yours. “Fuck, you want me dead, don’t you…”

You don’t respond, but not for lack of trying.

He’s just so…warm…and he’s everywhere.

He’s all muscle, and weight, and languid pressure—and god, your heart feels like it’s swelling beyond capacity.

You gasp when he slides a finger through your folds.

Your brain urges you to do something. Tease him; spit out a smart quip. Hell, even slide off the counter and get on your knees.

But you can’t.

Two fingers slip into you then, curling just at the knuckle before partially pulling out, and you go limp. A pliable mess of his doing.

It’s embarrassing how close you already are.

It only becomes more embarrassing when the pad of his thumb starts rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The entire lower half of your body tightens, almost instantly. You’re shaking, panting, and desperate for more.

More Bucky. More friction.

More.

You’re so consumed with needing more, your hips start rocking back and forth on their own accord.

“Buck,” you whimper.

The man in question looks up from the mess he’s made of your chest, and you nearly come on the spot.

Swollen lips, glossy with his own spit. Hazy eyes that are nearly black from blown-out pupils. A cherry-red flush paints the rest of his face.

Fucked out—that’s how he looks.

Content. Blissful. Like he’s somehow enjoying himself more than you.

A muscle in his arm twitches then. What quickly follows is a new pace, a new force in his thrusting fingers that has the knot in your stomach contracting.

“Take whatever you need, doll. Whatever you need, it’s yours,” he says, finally adding a third finger. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Let go, —. I got you.”

Everything within you seizes.

For a moment, it feels like you’re floating. Entirely weightless, as Bucky’s hands help you ride out your orgasm.

As you come to—aching hips stuttering to a stop, vision slowly clearing—Bucky wipes the sweat from your forehead. He keeps his metal hand there like a cold compress, all the while planting delicate kisses into your cheekbone.

“Are you okay?”

You nod despite a frown beginning to brood. “You…you didn’t—“

“Wasn’t the point, doll,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. His nose affectionately bumps yours.

You shake your head. “Want you to feel good, though.”

Bucky just smiles—all dopey and light. “I do feel good. …Really, really good.”

“But—“

“Why don’t we make it up later? Can show each other just how good we feel…” his voice lowers, returning to that gravelly tone that makes you ache all over again.

Your first instinct is to fight him on this. But, instead, you bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you say. “As long as I get to make it up to you first.”

[ichorkurt]

ficrecs masterlist.

welcome to my ficrecs masterlist! find my main blog @ichorai. find my own fics here.

below the cut includes marvel, game of thrones, house of the dragon, dc, star wars, the boys, friends, bridgerton, bullet train, the gray man, the walking dead, arcane, and succession fics!

marvel.

ೃ⁀➷ bucky barnes.

be still, my indelible love by @pellucid-constellations​

code words by @cinebration​ 

cookies and tea by @han-writings​

counting by @/pellucid-constellations

depth of a shade by @softlybarnes

dreamscape by @wkemeup​ 

first date by @melwilson​

flight risk by @/wkemeup

guiding light by @/wkemeup

harmless by @shurisneakers​

henleys and hairties by @lovelybarnes​

if without you by @rassvetsky 

it will come back by @shedobewritingalittle​

i've got you by @majestyeverlasting​

keep you warm by @heavenlybarnes​

lavender by @/wkemeup

lilac wine by @nexusnyx​

looped by @/softlybarnes

nostalgia for the new by @real-jane​​

safe by @hailhydra920​

sleeping on the floor by @duckie-bee​

snow days by @bucky-bucket-barnes​

the sound of your heart by @jobean12-blog​​

stairs by @/lovelybarnes

time after time by @intrepidacious​

two sides of the same coin by @anonymityisfunwriter 

under oath by @ugh-supersoldiers​ 

untitled by @vanderlustwords​

valentine by @/softlybarnes

waiting waiting waiting by @/wkemeup

the way he loves by @/lovelybarnes

whatever happens, wherever i go... by @foreverindreamlandd​

ೃ⁀➷ charles xavier.

gravitational pull by @lazydoodlesandfanfic​ 

ೃ⁀➷ eddie brock.

exchanges by @whirlybirbs 

ೃ⁀➷ frank castle.

wherever you go, i go by @amhrosina​ 

ೃ⁀➷ jack russell.

come back to me by @/cinebration 

a good night by @noforkingclue

untitled by @ruby-dragon​ 

ೃ⁀➷ jake lockley.

bad days by @gooddaysmeanwritingdays​

the jake problem by @bensolosbluesaber 

keep the secret? by @mkfluffluv​

trouble sleeping by @the-butterfly-blues​

ೃ⁀➷ kate bishop.

this is a hospital by @alotofpockets​ 

ೃ⁀➷ logan howlett.

blast from the past by @lune-hime 

the breaking point by @stardustdreams-andcaffeine 

dating logan howlett would include... by @chiefdirector 

i don’t mind by @siren-and-faies-writing 

family outing by @/lune-hime 

forever winter by @luna-writes-stuff​ 

if you’ll have me by @make-me-imagine​​ 

laura saw you two making-out... by @ellana-ravenwood 

logan headcanons by @n1ghtw1ng01 

reluctantly here by @moonlit-imagines 

tragic endings by @buckyseddie 

world on fire by @cobbvanthsblaster 

ೃ⁀➷ marc spector.

bad days by @gooddaysmeanwritingdays

a future without you by @/mkfluffluv

halloween again by @/softlybarnes 

jealousy by @stevenspector

just let me dream a little more by @the-archxr

lavender kisses by @kiwicider​ 

loss by @b6cky 

sleepy thief by @slightlypossessed

trouble sleeping by @/the-butterfly-blues

untitled by @/softlybarnes 

untitled by @/softlybarnes 

ೃ⁀➷ m’baku.

lord of the mountains by @/foreverindreamlandd 

ೃ⁀➷ miles morales.

corazón despeinado & cielo en la miente by @parkerflix​ 

ೃ⁀➷ namor.

safest place in the world by @legends-of-apex​

sanctuary by @eunsuri 

until the waves call me home by @harrysweasleys​ 

ೃ⁀➷ natasha romanoff.

lazy days by @alotofpockets​​ 

penguin by @luthorgarbage​

ೃ⁀➷ peter parker.

banana split by @/kiwicider

caviar and cigarettes by @curseofaphrodite​ 

ೃ⁀➷ pietro maximoff.

at the end of the day by @acciopietro 

peter with an s/o who’s too nice by @takenbypeter​ 

waking up with pietro maximoff by @angelltheninth 

ೃ⁀➷ steve rogers.

as you wish by @rookthorne 

bridges break by @/shurisneakers 

hide and seek by @earth616variant 

parade by @rodrikstark​

surname by @withbuckybarnes

a threat beneath the nice veneer by @witchywithwhiskey​ 

untitled by @blushstories​

ೃ⁀➷ steven grant.

10.21 am by @brockify​​

bad days by @/gooddaysmeanwritingdays

cuddling headcanons by @bowieandqueen11​​

heaven's cloud by @/brockify

jealousy by @/stevenspector

loss by @/b6cky​

trouble sleeping by @/the-butterfly-blues

untitled by @forever-rogue​

ೃ⁀➷ wade wilson.

untitled by @thebisexualdogdad​ 

wade hitting on you, clossus’ sibling by @/moonlit-imagines 

game of thrones / house of the dragon.

ೃ⁀➷ aegon targaryen.

pretty when you cry by @/kiwicider 

ೃ⁀➷ aemond targaryen.

and what of your love? by @endless-ineffabilities 

the campain by @sapphire-writes

can’t help falling in love by @lauraneedstochill 

can i sit here? by @aemonds-war-crime 

citrus by @aemondx 

devotion by @milliesdiary 

the dance between dragons by @house-strong 

dragons, knights, and princesses by @runningmunson 

education by @oneeyedvisenya​

haven’t i been good to you? by @cosmoeticss 

heartbeat by @spideymatcha 

i’d rather be sad with you, than anywhere away from you by @jasonsmirrorball 

i’m a damsel, i’m in distress, i can handle this by @valeskafics 

in a week by @/oneeyedvisenya

in dreams by @/oneeyedvisenya 

in the beginning by @avtrbee 

judas by @s-brant 

just kill me and be done with it by @targaryenrealnessdarling 

a mother for a son by @/targaryenrealnessdarling

nectar of the gods by @aemndx 

now i draw a luxury nxde by @xfancyuu 

not at all in love by @/oneeyedvisenya

one eye open when i’m sleeping by @just-some-random-blogger 

persuasion by @aemonds-sapphire 

practice makes perfect by @1800-fight-me 

she was lovin’ me, she was wantin’ me by @astrumark 

a song of flames and fury by @/sapphire-writes 

a stranger by @/targaryenrealnessdarling 

time can’t stop me quite like you did by @/jasonsmirrorball 

tipping point by @/oneeyedvisenya 

touch starved aemond by @aemondsbeloved 

unexplained illness by @warmfieldofgrass 

the warrior princess by @theold-ultraviolence

whispers unsaid by @/theold-ultraviolence 

unnoticed by @/aemonds-sapphire

untitled by @/aemonds-war-crime 

untitled by @/aemonds-war-crime

untitled by @themotherofhorses 

ೃ⁀➷ daemon targaryen.

in the shadow of your heart by @/endless-ineffabilities

puppy love by @/just-some-random-blogger​ 

ೃ⁀➷ jacaerys velaryon.

the dance between dragons by @/house-strong 

love, parents, and truths by @/house-strong 

under the weirdwood tree by @targaryen-jpg​ 

unexpected visit by @jacesbeloved 

ೃ⁀➷ jon snow.

the jealous type by @ninjasawakenedmystar 

the making of a man by @januaryembrs​ 

moon of my life by @depends-on-the-sellsword 

a northern light by @fallatyourfeet 

snow by @l4verq

ೃ⁀➷ robb stark.

robb stark being protective would include... by @imagines-all-day-everyday​ 

ೃ⁀➷ sansa stark.

warmth by @megsironthrone​​

dc.

ೃ⁀➷ adrian chase.

complex simplicity by @bingoboingobongo 

my favorite girl by @vigilvntes 

now or never by @/whirlybirbs 

on her majesty’s supersonic service by @training4theapocalypse-backup​ 

ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne.

convenience by @imaginingmarvelandeverything 

lingering shadows by @/foreverindreamlandd

middle of the night and shadows in the night by @hollandorks 

i won’t drown, batman by @twinklelilstarkey 

the way down by @whats-rambled-rambled 

a world alone by @/vigilvntes

world’s greatest detective by @bkwrm523​ 

ೃ⁀➷ dream / morpheus.

darling by @daddyjackfrost 

the deal by @spideybatsy 

exit light, enter night by @clints-lucky-arrow 

how to mistakenly summon an ancient being & keep him by @writethrough 

imagine being the one who releases morpheus by @undiscovered-horizon 

love game by @/avtrbee 

playing with morpheus’ hair by @paradiseinaverno 

the mixup by @7-wonders​ 

morpheus’ love languages by @auroraborealyss 

saving grace by @/avtrbee

today i bury you in me by @the-darklings 

star wars.

ೃ⁀➷ poe dameron.

the f-word by @the-little-ewok​

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional​

officially unofficial by @thelovelylolly 

one last dance by @loud-mouth-loser 

peacetime by @lomlpoedameron​​​

untitled by @starryeyedstories​​

the boys.

ೃ⁀➷ black noir.

domestic by @mlmxreader​ 

in your dreams by @seeds-and-sins​

friends.

ೃ⁀➷ friends.

how the friends characters would react to you asking for their pronouns by @lanawinterscigarettes 

ೃ⁀➷ joey tribbiani.

the one where you’re dating joey by @charliewritesfanfic 

untitled by @maximoff-pan 

bridgerton.

ೃ⁀➷ benedict bridgerton.

365 days of you by @promenadewithme​ 

as a kite by @saintlike78 

benedict bridgerton and marriage by @iliveiloveiwrite 

en garde by @delphispoeticals 

forgive me by @benedictscanvas 

invisible string by @purelyfiction 

it is just tea by @leahsficemporium 

knight in shining armor by @magpiencrow 

matchmakers by @siempre-bucky 

muse of mine by @murswrites 

my heart, my future by @/make-me-imagine

pall mall by @tontattletale 

paint with me by @/magpiencrow

the princess and the lord by @ficnacs 

that’s my wife! by @wysteria-clad 

they’re not the only ones by @/maximoff-pan

this and the next by @/iliveiloveiwrite

whatever the poets say by @cressidaclearwood 

bullet train.

ೃ⁀➷ tangerine.

all in a days work by @fookinfandoms 

bathroom b!tch by @keravnous​ 

confessionals by @dragoneye01 

crazy in love by @danny-cordray 

tangerine comes home to you asleep by @magicchai 

the gray man.

ೃ⁀➷ court gentry / lloyd hansen.

only the lonely and stop all the clocks by @charnelhouse​​ 

the walking dead.

ೃ⁀➷ rick grimes.

rick protecting you would include... by @joelsgeetar​ 

arcane.

ೃ⁀➷ viktor.

all nighter by @shimmerforall 

aphrodisiac with academy student viktor by @zaunitearchives 

forgotten by @ficfanatictrf 

human testing by @the-hidden-pages 

rest by @writingmysanity​ 

a theory by @gaybybirth

untitled by @astudyincontrasts 

viktor with a sleey s/o headcanons by @kitt357 

wet dreams by @/gaybybirth 

succession.

ೃ⁀➷ roman roy.

bear hug by @richeeduvie

the blood pours by @bowieandqueen11 

cuddling with roman roy by @/richeeduvie 

date death by @/richeeduvie

heartbreaker by @the-west-meadow 

hit me by @/the-west-meadow

jump then fall by @lukas-matsson 

just close your eyes by @/lukas-matsson

like a leopard’s tongue in the mouth of a snake by @z3nitsusgf 

neck and neck by @/richeeduvie

out of control by @jaebeomsbitch 

phone line by @/richeeduvie

pining and anticipation by @aprilthearcher​ 

the poison drips through by @itsasainz 

red bird by @wildlunar 

resolved issues by @/bowieandqueen11

roman roy being jealous would include... by @/bowieandqueen11

roman roy x age-gap reader headcanons & part two by @missscarlettangel 

roman roy smut headcanons by @succcession 

romeo take me somewhere we can be alone by @/missscarlettangel 

romulus by @/richeeduvie

sneakers by @/richeeduvie 

steamed by @/richeeduvie

sunlight by @/bowieandqueen11

this slant of light by @/richeeduvie

touch me (i’m sick) by @/richeeduvie

untitled by @/richeeduvie 

untitled by @/the-west-meadow

untitled by @/the-west-meadow

untitled by @/z3nitsusgf

what’s an office crush? by @/missscarlettangel

when he’s gone by @/the-west-meadow

while you were sleeping by @/richeeduvie

[campingwiththecharmings]

*These weren't necessarily written and/or posted in March, but that's when I read them so*

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

🔥Rite (Din Djarin x F!Reader) - @laters-gators

Bullseye (Din Djarin x SpacePrincess!Reader) - @lesbianhotch

kar’taylir (Din Djarin x F!Reader) - @the-archxr

🔥Enkindle (Din Djarin!F!Reader) - @oscarseyebrow

The Dance (Din Djarin x GN!Reader) - @the-little-ewok

Get Well Soon (Poe Dameron x GN!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Undoing (College!Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @groguspicklejar (rec-ing this again because there's a part ii 🤭)

You Are in Love (Modern!Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @alwritey-aphrodite (rec-ing this again because we got another chapter in March 💖)

Significant-verse drabbles (Din Djarin x GN!Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥Denial (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @welcometostayingawake

🔥Spotchka Sloshed (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @laters-gators

Dress (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @starryevermore

Penitence (Poe Dameron x GN!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

There’s only one bed (Poe Dameron x GN!Reader) - @writefightandflightclub

🔥Wasteland, Baby (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @crimm-trent

Triple Frontier

🔥Worth the Risk (dbf!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

The Necklace (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) (Part of I'll Be Back Again to Stay) - @alwritey-aphrodite

🔥Better Than I Thought (bfd!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Exhale (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot

Feels Like Home (Santiago Garcia x GN!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Moon Knight

Party Favor (Steven Grant x GN!Reader) - @in-between-the-cafes

Tales Untold (Marc Spector x Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥One, Two...Mmm (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

����A Bit Dodgy (Professor!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Cariño (Jake Lockley xF!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Dark Necessities (Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (rec-ing again because there's a part ii 😇)

The Last of Us

🔥So My Darlin' (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @psychedelic-ink

🔥Adjustments (Joel Miller x F!Teacher!Reader) | 🔥Settled (Joel Miller x F!Teacher!Reader) - @softlyspector

Ex Machina

🔥Sober Words, Dirty Thoughts (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @midgardian-witch

🔥What’s Mine is Yours Mine (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @writefightandflightclub

Uninvited (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @writefightandflightclub

🔥Being Maid of Honor with Best Man Nathan Bateman (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

Sucker Punch

🔥Not So Solitary (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Beg (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Stay Still (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @outlawsredemption

Batman/The Dark Knight

Buried Secrets (cb!Bruce Wayne x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional (this is a Choose Your Own Adventure fic and it's honestly one of the coolest things ever)

Yellowstone

🔥Write Off (Kayce Dutton x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[makeadealwithdean]

makeadealwithdean's friday sunday fic list - stranger things

here's the fics i've read this week (09/02/22) and yes, this is supposed to happen on friday, but work kicked my ass this week, so here we are on sunday night. my bad! anyway, as always, writers, if you don't wanna be on here, let me know, and i'll take you right off! and most of these are gonna be smut and 18+ only, so minors dni!!!

steve harrington:

mommy? sorry. mommy? * by @hawkins-losers

more perv!steve * by @creelteeth

just like in the movies * by @the-archxr

two idiots by @huffle-pissed

are we more? by @keeryshouse (my note: omg I LOVE THIS FIC so much— 100% a comfort fic of mine)

eddie munson:

shy!reader smokes with eddie * by @indouloureux

three men and a baby by @queenimmadolla

needy * by @thisishellfire (my note: this made me SCREAM)

fake it * by @fan-fantasies

stress relief * by @evergreencowboy (my note: OH I AM FERAL BYE)

eddie helping you out of a panic attack by @ddejavvu

friction * by @faeology

eddie’s horny in the middle of the night * by @hellfirehoe

other (including ships):

brusk manners * by @latelyanobsession (billy hargrove x reader)

teasing billy while he's working * by @prrttycrier (billy hargrove x reader )

fuck the hate away * by @dckweed (billy hargrove x reader)

living after midnight (rocking to the dawn) * by @mourntheantagonist (harringrove)

billy hargrove x reader smut (and the first 2 parts) * by @bluesfortheredj

this sweet harringrove blurb by @ariesbilly

eddie and y/n tease steve at work * by @lilacletter (steddie x y/n)

head rush * by @deedoop (harringroveson, eddie x steve x billy)

three inch rule by @fanatics4l (harringrove + hopper) (my note: would just like to add that this fic prompted an hour long discussion with my bestie and my s/o bc i just loved it that much)

harringroveson plays d&d by @biillyhargroves

found family by @cherrydreamer (harringrove)

single dad!steve goes to cali by @cherrydreamer (harringrove)

you're my king, baby * by @writer-in-theory (harringrove) (my note: this fic had me screaming to my bestie about how good the WRITING is, like the symbolism and imagery. like yeah it's hot, too, but WOW it's so good)

harringrove childhood friends au by @thatharringrovehoe

last week’s fic list

go give these talented writers some love! and remember to reblog and comment if you can- it really helps creators <3

and i feel like i shouldn’t have to say this, but i’m going to as a precaution— yes, you might not like some of these fics because of the ship or character they’re about, and that’s fine!! but simply don’t read them! please do not send hate— whether it’s about writers or characters. thank you <3

[cozykali]

Caught in the Act

Part 2 can be found here. Same story but from the Moon Boys' POV (which makes it even better imo) Pairing: Steven Grant x fem reader, Marc Spector x fem reader

Rating: Smut! 18+ minors DNI

Warnings: established relationship, kissing, swearing, fem solo play, oral (fem receiving), face-sitting, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, rough sex, mild choking, spanking, biting, begging, unprotected p in v, squirting, mention of a safe word, mild dirty talk, after care, some fluff, dom marc, switch steven

Word count: 2.6k

Disclaimer: This is my very first fanfic and also the first time I have written smut. Although, I have read a lot of it. Please give me your honest feedback. I saw another post somewhere (now I can’t find it, I'm new to Tumblr) with a ‘what if the moon boys walked in on you’ prompt and immediately started to write this. GIF is not mine, I know it’s from Life Itself but it works here.

Edit> I found the post that inspired this! It’s from @the-archxr !

You wake to the gentle breath of the wind fluttering through the sheer drapes of your bedroom window. How long was I out for? you wonder. The last thing that you remember you were reading in bed, waiting for Marc to come home from a another mission for Khonshu. You must have dozed off around 3 AM. You roll over to find him sleeping peacefully beside you. The sunlight is gleaming on his soft curls, illuminating them a chocolate brown instead of their usual raven color. He’s so beautiful, you think to yourself.

You can see dark bags under his eyes. He hardly gets any rest being the ‘protector of the travelers of the night’ while also wanting to spend as much time with you as he can during the day. He is lying on his stomach. His bare back is exposed and looks tanned against the stark white sheets. He softly snores. His mouth is slightly open with a small puddle of drool forming on the pillow below his lips. It is taking everything in you not to wake him up just to feel his kisses on your skin. His back rises and falls as he breathes. Your eyes scan Marc’s body. You feel a warmth growing inside you as you glance at his plump, round, backside that is covered by his tight boxers.

You run your hand along your stomach, then under the waistband of the silk shorts that you wore to bed as you think about everything he will do to you when he wakes up. You start to massage yourself, slowly at first, then with more intensity as the warm feeling inside you increases. It continues to build as you try not to move too much. You don’t want to wake him. He really does need his sleep. You close your eyes and let out a small squeak as you feel yourself close to release. Your other hand hastily covers your mouth to silence the moan that you know is coming.

“Just what do you think you are doing, Y/N?” A soft, sweet, unmistakable, British voice whispers in your ear. Steven. You reactively pull your hand out of your shorts.

“I… I didn’t want to wake you up.” You can feel that your cheeks are red hot and you are unsure if they were already like that because of what you were just doing, or because you are embarrassed that you were caught.

“You didn’t think I would want in on this fun then, yeah?” He says. His brows are furrowed and there is a slight frown on his face, as he slowly sits up on the bed beside you. You open your mouth to reply but before you can say anything his index finger is pressed against your lips. “Shh. Let me help you finish what you started, love.”

His hand moves slowly away from your mouth to cup your breast through your shirt as you move to sit up beside him. Both of your backs are resting against the bed frame. You grab his face with both hands and crash your lips into his. His hand moves lower, exploring your body until it’s pressing on the same area you were just focused on. The soaked silk material of your shorts acts as a barrier between your body and his touch.

“Y/N” he groans into your neck as he feels how wet you are through your clothes. You grab onto the waistband of your shorts and start pulling them down but he grabs your wrist to stop you. “Allow me.” He crawls over your and removes them while kneeling in front of you, your eyes meet.

There is a longing, a hunger, in his dark eyes that makes your stomach flip. Until now, Steven has always let you have control, obediently complying with every command you give him, weather it be verbal or nonverbal cues. He’s not the one to call the shots, or is he?

Without breaking eye contact he lowers down to kiss your thigh just above your knee. He does the same on the other side. He moves his head up your legs, slowly kissing from side to side. Your head falls back to rest on the rails of the bed behind you as you reach your hand down and grab a fistful of curls, pulling him closer. He pauses.

“Steven,” Your lips tremble as you exhale his name, “please.” You never thought that this man would make you beg for it. He’s always so eager to please.

“You should have woke me up.” He says softly. You can feel his hot breath, right there, so close to where you want him to be. You know that making you wait is just as agonizing for him as it is for you. Finally, he lowers his head, his lips finding the swollen bundle of nerves that crave him. An involuntary gasp escapes you as his tongue starts to lap.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaim. Hearing your excitement, he burrows into you more. His entire face pressed right against you. “Steven, right there, you’re doing great.” He whimpers in response to your praise, his voice muffled. He slips his hands under you as you close your legs around his head. You rock your hips, matching his rhythm, as your orgasm quickly builds. “Don’t stop!”

It hits you like a wave crashing ashore. The edges of your vision are blurred as your mouth falls open, releasing a long primal moan. It seems to last minutes, but even as you finish, Steven doesn’t stop. He grabs a hold of your thighs with his arms and rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. You grip onto the rail of the bed to support you as he is now positioned underneath you. You hover over him trying to squirm away, just for a moment to compose yourself, but he grabs your hips and pulls you down onto his face. His nose is pressed flat against your pelvis, his tongue is still flicking away.

You realize now that this is his way of punishing you for trying to get off without him. At first, you were relieved that Steven found you touching yourself, instead of Marc, but now, you are not so sure. You’re not confident that he is even able to breathe anymore as you grind into his face. But the hold he has on your legs, pulling you down, lets you know he doesn’t want you to get off of him.

“Steven!” You cry as a second orgasm rips through your body. You hunch over, your forehead resting on the post of the bed. You feel like you are going to blackout. A moment later, you roll back and sit at the top of his chest. You look down at his face between your knees. He’s gasping for breath but smiling, almost laughing. His lips and nose are red and swollen from the friction and his chin is slick with your wetness.

You roll off of him and collapse onto the bed and stare at the ceiling in shock. Your t-shirt is clinging to your body, now sticky with sweat. You feel the bed shift beside you as Steven rolls over so that he’s on top of you now, laying his body against yours. You can feel his erection press against your thigh through his boxers.

“Y/N?” he says as he buries his face into your chest. You lift your head to look at him. “Do you think you can give me one more? Please? You look so pretty when you come.” This man is trying to kill me with pleasure.

You playfully push him off of you and defiantly roll onto your stomach but he takes this as another invitation. He places a hand on each of your calves and moves your knees one at a time towards your chest. Your head is still laying face down on the pillows, but your ass is up in the air, exposed. You don’t move.

“Hey,” Steven says with a bit more concern in his voice. His face is right beside yours now, “Do you want me to stop? Are you okay, love? Do you maybe need a time-out?”

“No.” You said firmly, turning to face him while stroking his cheek. “I’m okay, baby. I can give you one more.”

“Alright then.” Steven nodes and makes his way back down the bed. You can’t see what he is doing back there. You expect him to take off his boxers and fuck you but instead, you feel a finger enter you, as his mouth latches on to your clit once more.

“Steven.” You say with slight urgency.

“Yeah?” He perks up. His finger is still inside you. “Everything fine?”

“I want you to come too, baby.”

“You weren’t too worried about that when I was sleeping beside you, now were you?” Without giving you time to respond, he slips a second finger inside you and puts his mouth back to work. Holy Shit. Who is this man and what have you done with my sweet Steven?

You can feel your inner walls clenching around his fingers as they move in and out of you. You can’t see what he’s doing but the suckling sound his mouth is making is enough to make your eyes roll back in your head. “Steven. Baby. I’m close”. Suddenly he stops. There is a long pause.

“Steven?”

“Y/N.” A baritone voice with an American accent startles you and your eyes shoot open as you push yourself up on your hands.

“Marc!” You gasp as you realize you're on all fours in front of him.

“Steven told me what you were doing when I was asleep.” He growled while harshly grabbed your hips. “Do you really think you can please yourself better than I can?”

“Marc, Please. I can explain,” you start, “you looked so peaceful when you were laying there and…” Suddenly you feel Marc’s hand reach around your throat and lift you up off the pillows. You're kneeling in front of him now. Your back pressed against his chest. Your knees are shaking on the bed. You realize he is no longer wearing his boxers. Steven must have slithered out of them while he was working on you from behind. Oh fuck.

“Steven can’t even fully undress you before he fucks you, hm?” He says as he tugs on the neck of the shirt you're still wearing before ripping it off over your head, then pressing you back into the bed face down.

With no warning he thrusts himself deep inside you. You cry out with a mix of pain and pleasure. Instead of Marc pulling back to pump in and out, he stays there. You feel yourself tighten against him and arch your back for more.

He spanks you, hard, causing you to squeal .You can’t see it, but you know there is a raised handprint on your ass based on the stinging sensation you feel. “Don’t move.” He says under his breath. He slowly starts to grind his hips into you. Hardly moving in and out.

“Marc, please!” you beg.

“Please what?” He demands.

“Please, fuck me,” you answer quietly.

He pulls your knees back while spreading them, lowering you further onto the bed so you're stretched out with your face, stomach and thighs pressed into the mattress. The full weight of his body is pressing down on you, causing you to struggle for breath.

You lock your ankles together behind his ass and press him into you squirming to feed the need you have for some kind of friction between your legs.

He immediately bites your shoulder, almost to the point of drawing blood. A whimper falls from your lips as your eyes squint shut. His teeth scrape against your skin. “I told you not to move,” he hisses in your ear. You lower your legs in response and lay still for what seems like an eternity feeling his fullness inside of you.

“Good girl,” he says and he finally, but slowly, starts to move in and out. The white hot fire burning inside you is almost unbearable. You want to arch your back, grind your body against his, you want him to go faster, harder, but you don’t dare to move.

“You wanted your own hands over this?” He whispers in your ear through gritted teeth. His voice vibrating against your ear drum almost tickles. Then he picks up the pace causing the heat inside you to blaze brighter. “I’m going to show you that I can make you feel better, better than your hands, better than Steven, better than anything else in this world.”

You feel like you're going to explode. “Marc, I’m going to..” but he immediately pulls out and sits up on the bed, leaving you empty.

You slam your fist into the pillow in frustration before you feel a hand grip your ankle tightly and drag you to the end of the bed.

“You don’t get to finish that easy, baby. I’m not done with you yet.” Marc grumbles before flipping you onto your back.

He’s standing off the edge of the bed now towering over you. He spits in his hand and rubs his saliva against your folds before grabbing your legs and throwing them up over his shoulders. He enters you again, slowly this time. Inch by inch he fills you until his hips are pressing against yours so hard you feel bruises start for form.

He grunts as he starts to thrust. The angle he’s entering you hits a spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know was there. He increases in speed and intensity. The smacking sound your bodies make against each other is making you dizzy. You reach down to touch yourself but he smacks your hand away. He places his thumb on your clit instead as he slams into you, over and over.

“Marc!” You scream. But this time he doesn’t stop. His own lust for pleasure overrides his desire to deny you of yours. You finally release and clear warm liquid shoots out of you. Soaking the sheets beneath you. Every nerve in your body tingling as you convulse.

“Oh fuck, Y/N!” Marc groans in return as his thrusts become sloppy and disoriented. You see him seize over you, his eyes tightly closed, his mouth open. Sweat beading off his forehead to his brows.

You move your legs from his shoulders to his side and pull him down onto you. He buries his face in your neck. “I love you” he mumbles.

“I love you too.” You whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. Marc lays against you, heavy, unmoving. Suddenly, his head pops up with a worried expression on his face.

“Oh, my love, what have we done to you!” Steven immediately jumps off you, almost falling over then sits on the bed holding his face in his hands. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have told Marc what you were doing when I woke up.”

“Steven. Baby, it’s okay,” you motion to get up but he stops you.

“No, don't you move. I need to get you all cleaned up.” He scurries away but is back in no time with a warm, soapy cloth. He gently wipes you down and picks you up in his arms to move you to a drier spot on the bed. He inspects you carefully like an artifact at the museum. He kisses the bruises on your hips, ankle and neck; as well as the bite on your shoulder, and handprint on your butt.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” his eyes grow misty with tears, “I hate when he hurts you.”

“Oh, Steven. I like it when Marc does this to me. He would never really hurt me. That’s why we have a safe word, right?” You pull him close so his head is resting on your chest. You can tell he’s still exhausted from the night before and all the excitement from earlier. You run your hand through his soft curls. His eyes grow heavy and his breathing slows. You think he might finally be sleeping.

“Y/N?” He says softly, his eyes still closed.

“Yes?”

“Can you promise to wake me up next time?

(Read the same story from Marc and Steven's POV here)

[1donoow]

STAR WARS REC Pt.1

......

♡ - smut

...... Latest update; Edited; 03/30/25

obiwan kenobi

Poe dameron

Din djarin

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

obiwan kenobi

@galaxysiegefics - fluff headcannon

@absolutelyferal - bouquet

@dameronology - obi wan + a chaotic s/o

@underratedcharactersimagines - Being in a secret relationship with Obi-Wan would include

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Poe dameron

@plainemmanem - your mine

- ___

@queen-of-elves - you think im cute?

@budcooper - ___(medic!reader)

@starryeyedstories - ___

- ___

@dameronology - I'll push you back

- the one where you have to babysit the child

- to all the pilots i've loved before pt.1

- the one where he's your safety husband

- random poe hc

- insomnia

@poedamern - headcannon/scenario

- you need practice, sweetheart

@dailyreverie - let me know if there's anything I can do

- how long are you staying for

- seeing you in a new dress/suit

- the knife

- trick or treat

- ___

@supernovafeather - the hidden nest

@ozarkthedog - ___

@writefightandflightclub - A cut above the rest

@spilledkauffie - asking you out

@geo-winchester - ___

- wait for it

- best friends

@usercecilia - at ease

- dating Poe Headcanon (Solo!Reader)

@ichorai - golden age

@starrys-night - nsfw alphabet

@stormkobra-5 - ___

@spider-starry - level of concern

@just-a-bit-of-a-nerd - that's not mine

@maeby-bby - smut headcannon

@multific - some kind of fairy

@beeslibrarycorner - poe dameron dating hc

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Din djarin

@buckyhoney - early morning

@the-archxr - kar'taylir

- daylight

@makrokosmuss-blog - the mandalorian falling hard for you would include

- soft for you

@star-whores-a-new-hoe - headcannon

@writerlyhabits - headcannon

- ___

@thefuckinsandes - headcannons

@mandelirious - more than a feeling

@forever-rogue - ___

- ___

@whirlybirds - reunion

- reunion

@lavendertales - tempter

@misscampacyn - Imagine Omera doesn’t know that you are engaged with Din

- Imagine you and Din take off your gloves for the child

- Din wanting you to talk to him.

@blkgirl-writing - as you wish

@spilledkauffie - dad!din djarin

- the pearl princess ch.1

@maeby-bby - smut headcannon

@kyber-kisses - children of wrath pt.3 (jedi!reader)

@oliviajdjarin - comfort headcannon

- warmth

- breathe

@fabricated-misslieness - ___

@current-interest-writings - grogu learns first aid

- every baby needs a mom pt 2

@pedrito-friskito - sweet like sugar ♡

@firstofficerwiggles - grogu's teacher pt.4

@agremlinwrites - a mother ch.1

[thecamerons]

Steve Harrington fic recommendations

✰ two parts or series

Almost paradise - @hawkinsindiana ✰

Always be my baby - @danny-cordray

Anyway the wind blows - @ladymercury8

Aye aye captain - @sunflowerdjarin

Bitter - @strawberrysodaslut

Bribery and a movie - @luveline

Bring me back - @river-fics

Can’t deny my love - @wheelersdealer

Cinnamon - @just-my-fandom

Count the ways - @iliveiloveiwrite

Crushes, chaos and confessions - @quin-ns

Dangerous waters - @songbirdsingingthings

Don’t you - @starberryes

Enigma - @runawaymunson ✰

Everywhere - @magicchai

Exiled - @erin-bo-berin ✰

Good old-fashioned lover boy - @lurkymurker ✰

Grand gestures - @loove-persevering

Hawkins heat & hypocrites - @redrebecca

Heart on fire - @maxmybeloved

I got you - @daisysliv

I’ll follow you everywhere - @withlovemark

It’s a date - @stilinskiparker

Just hold me - @masterkenobi

Late night drives - @1986harrington

Life debt - @theeoriginals

Long time coming - @parkerslatte

Loving you is easy - @finalgirleddiemunson

Matilda - @cryonme

Me and you - @kiss-inthekitchen

Morning kisses - @pillow-titties

Nuggets - @spideystevie

Operation love me - @justburningdaylight

Over and out - @writingdumpster

Pancakes for two - @the-archxr

Pillow talk - @sinclaiirs

Pretty boy - @virgoyves

Reminiscing - @mrsharrington83

Sorry, not sorry - @mackenzie-is-loading ✰

Strange - @damn-stark ✰

Tell me you love me - @ladylannisterxo

The aftermath - @starcourtsteves

The dive - @moonlightsolo

The story of us - @scarlet-star-witch

Unambiguous love - @ohtobeleah ✰

When did Steve get so hairy - @steves6nuggets

Without a clue - @hairrington

You make it easy - @upsidedownwithsteve

10 things i hate about you - @redahlia-writes

7 minutes in heaven - @hawkins-losers

[inknopewetrust]

Fanfiction recommendations!

Below is just a small list of my recent favorite fanfics that I’ve read over the past few weeks. I encourage you all to check these wonderful authors out and take the time to show them some love.

I have so much more to read, catch up on, and publish myself, but if there is anyone who would like to promote their own works, let me know and I’ll add them to my list!

Poker // @aniqua // 18+ minors DNI

~ this whole series. wow. just wow. Aniqua has been writing on here for some time now and it’s an absolute honor to call her a mutual of mine. Poker is a fantastic series that melds dark themes with smut and captured the characters in such an interesting and unique light. I love the dynamics between Steven x Reader x Marc and how the strain of deep, intimate feelings can create ridges between people. Aniqua, you absolute QUEEN! There has never been a fic I’ve disliked, you knock it out of the park every time.

Sting // @laters-gators // 18+ minors DNI

~ maybe one of the best, if not the best, stand-alone marc spector x reader fics out there. I see so much praise for it and there is nothing more to say except: so so so well deserved. Sting is spicy, juicy (no pun intended), full of everything I freaking love about smutty fanfics and just so well written. Bravo Jas, you splendid peanut, bravo.

It's Worth It, It's Divine // @the-archxr // 18+ DNI

Holy. Shit. There are few fics that take my breath away (in a great, smutty way) and this is certainly one of them. This is not only brillantly written, but it's full of passion and you can really, really tell how much effort faith put into establishing a reader who has substance and a complicated connection to Marc through being an avatar herself. It may be highly niche in your perspective girl, but let me tell you, those of us who have indulged just. want. more! Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

The Truth is Rarely Kind // @starks-hero // View Warnings

This is a part 2 of Ali's other fic Smoke and Mirrors and I just love them both to bits. Angsty fics are my absolute favorites and the dynamic between Marc x Reader x Steven is great. I think there are a handful of people who write on here that have it down, the dynamic, and this fic is definitely one of them. It's so freaking good and heartbreaking and beautifully written. Well done, Ali.

They're Not the Only Ones // @maximoff-pan // Part I of III

~ Gia has written and absolutely perfect pining pic of Benny B and Reader being absolutely oblivious to their love for each other. I love the intentional involvement of moments from each season thus far, including a hypothetical scene between Pen and Colin where Reader and Benedict have the chance but miss it every time. The end is so cute and fluffy, which is often hard to write but this author does it flawlessly.

Forgive Me // @benedictscanvas // View Warnings

~ Ciara said this is her first Bridgerton fic and tbh, you'd never realize it. Holy smokes was this good! And by good I mean absolutely amazing, amazing, amazing! Friends to lovers is such an iconic trope and so tempting to read every single one but this fic, this fic has such wonderful qualities to it that makes it hard to 1. find a fic that compares and 2. not be sad when its over. READ THIS everyone who loves Benedict as much as I do. READ IT! (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Nine // @foxilayde // 18+ DNI

This one… this is maybe my favorite fic of all? I know it seems superficial to say it but I just love the way this is written. It's long (which is perfect imo), smutty, romantic, filled with a billion human emotions that it's so nice to see in a reader and Poe. The reward of smut with all the world and relationship building is so unbelievably fantasic and it's incredibly witty which is so, so hard to write. There is nothing more to say other than 1. Danny, beautiful job and keep writing and 2. GO FREAKING READ IT! I cannot stress either of those two points enough. (Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader)

Starfish // @cinewhore // 18+ DNI

I read this months ago and go back and re-read it for fun. It's such a good little fic about a show that has a lot of potential and a small, but growing base. Also, I never found Jake Johnson attractive until I watched Minx and now… welp… here we are. Tish does a wonderful job weaving angst, fluff, and smut with a reader character that has her own motivations and wants, not simply a one-dimensional product of the position she finds herself it. I just love this fic so much and I will be re-reading it until the end of time. (Doug Renetti x Fem!Adult Reader)

Also, Sympathies of a Wife??? Bloody amazing. I truly hope there are more coming one day (I know how hard it is to write so no pressure) but it's literally amazing and deserves its own spot. (Nathan Bateman x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist of Oscar Characters // @writefightandflightclub // View Warnings For Each

This entire masterlist, actually, their entire collection of writings, are perfection. I adore them all! I have been a fan of that man's characters for a literal decade so reading fics on Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales, and some of his more popular ones like Duke Leto and Santiago Garcia is the best feeling in the world–especially when they're so incredibly well done. There is not a fic on the masterlist that I dislike, rather, freaking love them all. Each are crafted with such exquisite writing and the variety in types is awesome. Luna I love them all. I re-read them all the time and to be a follower of your writing is an honor.

[charnelhouse]

Hey bestie do you know of any other din blogs? I need more of him in my life

i answered this post the other day, which will be helpful. i think most of those peeps write for din.

if you want some others then: @mandocrasis @thewayofthemandalorian @221bshrlocked @no-droids @tuskens-mando @pedros-mustache @javierpinme @the-archxr @anaaaispunk @whirlybirbs @mandoblowmybackout @oliviajdjarin @cannedsoupsucks @stardust-kenobi @mandosmistress @asta-lily @janghoefett

[the-archxr]

Dear readers,

Holy shit it’s been a long time—three years, I think, or something like that. I don’t know, I could be wrong; I was never good at math (the curse of having ADHD and Dyscalculia is a great one).

Anyways, how have you guys been? Taking care of yourselves, I hope!

I wanted to take the time and space here to give all of you an update:

I’m coming back. Well, sort of.

This year, on top of school and general life shit, I’ve started a personal project. It’s reignited my love of writing, and while I am very excited to share it with everyone, it’s still in the very early stages, so, as of right now, I won’t divulge too much.

But I will say, this project has sort of given new life to my once-inanimate pen. As I continue to move forward with this and further develop my skills, methods and practices as a writer, I will be returning to this blog. Sort of like an interim palate cleanser to keep me writing and motivated and not falling down the ADHD paralysis slump (more than I already do, at least).

While I will be writing here once again, please understand that it will certainly not be as much as I’ve done in the past. Though, I’lll still try to maintain a rather consistent(-ish) schedule, considering that’s kind of the whole point.

To get back into the swing of things, I will be accepting requests for imagines/drabbles, headcanons, and the like. However, I won’t be accepting requests for full-length fics.

Before I continue rambling, I do have a quick disclaimer:

When I first left, I wasn’t too sure if and when I’d be coming back, so I ended up deleting all the remaining asks in my inbox. I apologize to everyone who sent something in—they were all wonderful, and I deeply appreciate/ed the engagement. I was just becoming incredibly burnt out and couldn’t keep up with all of them. So again, thank you, and I’m really sorry that I didn’t respond.

Likewise, I’d like to mention that while my current masterlists won’t be going anywhere, I am not updating the Moonknight one. Meaning, I will no longer be writing for or accepting requests regarding him. But, I am still accepting asks for Steve Harrington (if you’ve been here for a while, you already know what’s up) and Din Djarin. I’m also into writing for a certain mcu, metal-armed super soldier, if that’s something you guys would be into…

(Oh my god, I’m so sorry for the massive fucking info-dump. My brain kept adding things to mention mid-ramble, so if this post is all over the place, please pretend that it isn’t, for my sake.)

And finally, all of this to say: I’ve missed our little community so very, very much, and I’m so very, very excited to be back.

Stay tuned.

Faith 🏹

[littlemisspascal]

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@the-archxr​ @ahsokalives​

New Works Added ✨

@toomanystoriessolittletime Pero  In My Dreams

@writeforfandoms Pero  Blood in the Water

@write-and-buried Ezra  Trinkets

@studyofawearymind Dave  Moonlit Gaze

@forever-rogue Whiskey  Proud

@floraandfrost Din  Shut Up Kiss Me

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let me know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

[the-archxr]

just like in the movies

steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: yours and steve’s friends with benefits situation becomes a whole lot clearer. alternatively, steve promises to fuck you until you realize just how much he loves you.

a/n: *gif isn’t mine, it’s from pinterest* this. THIS IS THE ULTRA SMUTTY SHIT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. WHEN I GOT THIS IDEA I STARTED SWEATING BUCKETS CAUSE HOLY FUCK. ONE OF THE SMUTTIEST THINGS IVE EVER WRITTEN (I listened to a lot of the weeknd, so I’m not surprised).

warnings: +18 content, SMUT CITY, minors dni; unprotected p in v; use of 80s sex toys (steve bought her a vibrator); jealous!steve/romantic!steve/dom!steve; size kink (steve has a monster schlong); hair pulling kink; biting; overstimulation; praise kink; boob play; masturbation; dirty talk to the fucking MAX (steve calls her a slut); mentions of multiple orgasms; use of different positions; rough sex; oral sex f receiving (cum eating); steve’s breeding kink; mentions of porno movies (this is also prolly the plot of a porno honestly 🙃) lil’ bit of fluff

word count: 7.1k (of pure smut babyy)

main m.list | steve harrington m.list

part one (can also be read on its own)

•••

To say you were unsatisfied would be an understatement.

The understatement of the goddamn century.

An hour ago you drove to Rick’s house, where he proceeded to have sex with you, only to cum within the first five minutes of hardly-there foreplay. You hadn’t even realized he finished until he was shuddering into the condom, stroking your hair as though you were a prized possession. A sex toy to let out his lack of stamina on. You had pretended to cum while he was still lost in his high, hoping that you wouldn’t have to deal with the eventual lecture of how it was ‘you’re fault’ that you were ‘too tense’.

Rick wasn’t your first rodeo for guys like that, but part of you hoped it would be different for your first time. That he would be different. He would be caring and attentive and make sure you came first.

You hoped he’d be like Steve.

You hoped that he’d kiss your knuckles and rest his face in your neck as he came. You hoped that he would’ve mumbled praise after praise in your ear as he slowly brought you to that edge before tossing you off with a bite on your collarbone.

Or…

You hoped that he would’ve at least, lasted longer than twenty fucking minutes.

But no. The little shit didn’t even give you a chance to build up your arousal whatsoever. Not even to the point where you would at least be able to finish in the safety of his bathroom.

Thinking back on it, you’re not even too sure he realized you had faked it. That the shitty, high-pitched moan you let out was false, and that he wasn’t in fact ‘giving it to you’, regardless of how many times he mumbled that above you.

The entire thing was stupid. Silly and irreparable and downright annoying.

Because an hour ago you left to go have what was supposed to be really good sex.

And a half hour ago you came home to sit on an empty couch, in your empty house—extremely horny and far hungrier for something that wasn’t microwave mac n’ cheese.

You needed to be fucked. Properly, until you were drooling and unable to speak.

So really, without a second thought, you left your dinner plate on the kitchen counter with your keys still stuffed in your pocket and a new sense of determination.

•

The drive to Steve’s apartment was familiar. A second nature route that guided you from one end of town to the next, up the stairs of his apartment and to number 38. What wasn’t familiar though was the locked front door.

Regardless of the monstrosities—the mind flayer, the bad men, Billy—Hawkins, Indiana was still Hawkins, Indiana. A boring small town in the middle of nowhere full of endless country dried up plains and empty streets.

This meant that other than hicks, and the occasional sense of the end of the world, there was nothing to even be remotely afraid of. And really, nothing that would warrant your friend to lock his door: something he has never once done in all of the years you’ve known him.

There’s a part of your mind that prickles with nerves.

So you knock.

It’s loud and curt and would leave enough room for you to hear the sounds of padding feet. Or any sign of life for that matter. So you wait. You wait for one, two, nearly four minutes and yet you hear nothing.

So you knock again, only to be met with dead silence again.

You go to knock for the third time, but then your ears pick up on a whimper. A low sob which is hardly discernible until it’s accompanied by a crackle of television and a creak of the floor. Putting your ear to the door, you concentrate on trying to pick up on any other sound you can.

But after nothing happens, you choose to dig through your pockets until you come across the spare key he gave you.

Pushing it in, you slowly turn the lock until you hear a soft click and the door falls open. His apartment is dark. Pitch black, with the only semblance of light coming in from the thick curtains covering the living room window.

“Steve?”

Quiet.

“Steve?”

The agitation that tickles you at the back of your neck morphs into fear. Because Steve is usually a light sleeper. One of the lightest sleepers you know, easily woken up by something as soft as the sound of rain. So with no response and a locked door, your heart jumps at the possibility of something horrible.

Gone is the thought of your needy arousal. Now you worry about your friend's life and what you’ll find when you come across his body.

If you come across his body.

You’ve had nightmares like this. All eerily similar to the current events playing out. It all begins like this with you walking through his kitchen and down the main hall, only to end in the worst.

The bedroom door is closed, having been forced shut without any lock on it. The air surrounding you—frigid and nail-biting—feels like death. Completely lifeless other than the light of the tv bleeding out from under the door.

The faint sounds come back, but as hard as you try to listen, you can’t make them out at all. And though that still concerns you, it doesn’t deter you. Everything acts like a magnet, drawing you closer to the source of the noise and the end of the mystery that causes your heart to slam against your ribs.

Your hand grabs ahold of the doorknob and as you open the door slowly, you start to realize what exactly you’re hearing.

And what you’re seeing.

Through the small space, you can see…a movie. It takes you a second to understand what you’re seeing, but when it finally clicks, you can’t help but feel flushed. There are flashing images of a woman bouncing on what looks like a guy dressed in a pizza delivery costume. Over-exaggerated echoey moans are then met with softer noises. Ones that sound as though they’re coming from right beside you. Instinctually you look to your left, only to find Steve in a compromising position. He’s lying on his bed in the corner of the room, spread eagle, pants by his ankles and cock in his fist.

His hand is tight around his length, pumping quick and hard as his hairy thighs flail around. His head is flat on the pillow, jaw wide open as he mumbles incoherently, twitching every time his thumb runs over his tip.

You gulp at the sight, legs tightening together both at the perversion of watching him and in hope of bringing some sort of relief.

He looks beautiful like this.

Granted, Steve Harrington is always beautiful. Pretty beyond words. Soft hair and honey eyes and strong hands covered in moles and freckles and the evidence of a life lived.

He’s like a deity. A demi-god of sorts, like the kind you learned about in your junior year ancient history class. Hercules and Perseus. Man and god, divine and mundane.

Beautiful and otherworldly.

You can tell he’s close, chest rising in shallow puffs of stunted air. His fingers tighten against himself; squeezing the base and dragging upward, only to repeat the motion again even faster.

You shouldn’t be watching this.

But you can’t look away.

“Steve?”

You scare him shitless. He jumps, nearly ten feet off the bed only to flop on his stomach and onto the ground. He seemingly disappears, the only thing visible of him being a hand that frantically searches for the remote.

“Jesus fucking Christ, —!” He shuffles around on the ground for a bit, yanking on his pants as he grabs a pillow and covers his hard-on. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Throwing your hands up in the air, you turn on the bedside lamp closest to you, yellow light warming up the room as your eyes readjust. “I—I thought you were hurt!” You stutter.

“Hurt? What do you mean hurt?”

Huffing, you force yourself to keep looking at him and not the incredibly dirty image paused on the tv screen. “Your door was locked.”

His eyes widen. “…what?”

“Your door was locked, Steve, your doors never locked. I was worried.”

“So?” He yelps, taking the remote and permanently turning the tv off. A red flush deepens across his face, swirling down his neck and blooming beneath the collar of his shirt. “You don’t just walk into someone’s house when their door is locked.”

“You gave me a key, and you didn’t respond when I called out for you.” You roll your eyes, averting your gaze to the floor as embarrassment starts to take over. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you were jacking off?”

Groaning, Steve falls backward into the bed, hands flying up to cover his eyes. Shaking his head, his palms dig into his eye sockets. “Gross, don’t say that—“

“What? Jacking off?!”

“Yes, it’s—it’s just—“

“That’s what you were doing!”

“It’s my home!” He whines, looking away to continue avoiding you. “If I want to jack off with my door locked then that’s what I’ll fucking do!”

You blink at him in bewilderment, anxiety running you both to the ground as you try to ignore the other. With a long sigh, Steve crosses his arms and blinks up at the ceiling, giving way to the silent dance you both are partaking in. It isn’t until he’s running a large hand through his sweaty hair, that he exhales deeply. “What are you doing here anyway? …Thought you were out with Dick.”

“Rick,” you correct.

“Same difference.”

“It’s really not,” you snap. Wringing your hands out, you lean against the wall, jitters running up your arms as the tension in the air slowly begins to disperse. You feel incredibly exposed, the memory of why you’re actually here coming back to the forefront of your mind. Shaking your head, you bit at your cheek. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter now ‘cause it didn’t end well. Probably won’t see him anymore.”

If Steve has any reaction, any thoughts or comments or feelings on the matter, you don’t see them. His expression is unreadable. “Is—did he do something wrong?” He finally says.

You laugh. A half-hearted chuckle as you fall onto the edge of the bed, much like you’ve done a million times before. “It’s more like what didn’t he do.” He doesn’t respond, but his gaze does shift over to you. He waits for you to continue; eyes imploring you to do so while he sits there. Groaning, you lie down beside him. “Well I went there to y’know…we were going to…anyway… We’re doing it, right? Like we’re getting ready and then—then he ends up coming like the second he puts on the fucking condom.”

“…Jesus.”

“Right?” You grit your teeth at the memory. All the frustration from earlier bubbles over into word vomit; things you weren’t exactly planning on telling Steve but can no longer stop from escaping. The proverbial cracking dam. “And then, oh, and then the fucking kicker! When he’s done pretty much fucking himself, he has the audacity to ask me if I came. Ya know the whole—“ you lower your voice with a cough. “‘Was it as good for you as it was for me?’ type bullshit.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Steve's grimace. “Gross.”

“Ugh, I know!” You cry, squirming in your spot on the mattress. “Like shit, I didn’t even want to go over, but I was lonely and…and I guess I thought that maybe it would be different?” You let out a sigh, an exasperated sound as you stretch your body out. “But Jesus, if I knew what I know now I wouldn’t have even wasted the fucking time.”

The two of you sit in silence again; shoulders touching with your fingers dangerously close to intertwining with the other. There’s a different kind of strain on the situation—a different feeling that graces both of your equally frustrated selves.

Steve still holds the pillow over his crotch, fingers digging into the corner of it every time he shifts his hips; a gesture that you’re intensely aware of and acutely turned on by.

Except you reason that maybe you lost the moment.

Maybe you imagined too much for tonight, and you jeopardized everything.

Your original purpose for being here was lost to time, mixed up in enough confusion and shock to shadow your moody arousal. And now, you’re just sad. A painfully lonely person who’s just beginning to realize how painfully lonely they are. Pathetic to the point where you have to go to your friend to try and get your rocks off, only for him to not want you either.

You don’t even try to stick around to ask him if he wants you.

Part of you thinks maybe he fell asleep, but then he stirs as you get up and stride toward the door. “Where are you going?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tug at the wrinkles in your shirt. “I’m sorry, I—I just wanted to talk. But I…I should go home.”

Steve’s hand wraps around your forearm pulling you towards him. He doesn’t say anything, though, with the way he strokes circles into your elbow, you consider that he doesn’t have to. “Why are you here, —?”

“I told you,” you sigh. “I was lonely. I just—I needed to talk. But we talked and you’re…you’re clearly busy, so it’s okay. It’s okay, Steve, I’ll see you tomor—“

“Are you still lonely?”

The even pace of your heartbeat stutters. “What?”

He gulps then, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes squint together. There’s something he’s concentrating on or something he’s holding himself back from. You can’t exactly tell. But you can see that it’s bothering him. That whatever he’s thinking is especially troublesome as it hangs in the balance between you. “Are you still lonely?” You frown.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ste—“

“Cause I think you are.” He mumbles, pulling your hand closer to his face, twisting and turning it delicately in his grasp as he inspects you. “I think you need the company, sweetheart.” He places a butterfly kiss on the main vein on the inside of your wrist. “And I also think you need a good fucking orgasm.”

Oh.

The pit of your stomach opens wide at his words. A gaping hole that plummets with the fire of his touch, with the way his hair falls in his face, and with the way he looks at you.

He looks at you like you’re everything. Like you don’t really exist, and you’re nothing but a mirage.

One that is only tailored to him.

You’re still when he stands up, not even moving when his hands come up to your shoulders and his mouth lands on your cupid’s bow. You softly exhale. “…And not just from some rich douchebag…” his knuckles stroke your forehead, face’s already slanting together—an assumed position as your body complies with him. “You need to be fucked by someone who cares, honey.”

You roll your eyes and grumble, a surge of confidence washing over you. “Like who? …like you?”

He smirks at your quip, at your ability to bite back even in the heat of the moment. Pressing his lips to your mouth, he hums. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Kissing him back, your hands smooth over his chest, down his stomach and to the edge of his Henley. You’re already breathless, having all the air in your lungs been kissed away in a matter of seconds. He has you against the wall, making a mess of your mouth as he sloppily kisses you. “Well then show me…” you nip at his upper lip and sigh into him, taking the time to breathe and examine the solemn look on his face. “Show me how much you care.”

You don’t even need to ask him twice.

Instantly, Steve undresses, guiding you to the bed with wandering pesky fingers tugging at the hem of your own shirt.

His mouth is everywhere, bruising kisses searing into every span of skin; every body part revealed as he removes your clothes piece by piece. Slow. Tantalizing. A mix of having intense control over himself, and none at all.

As though he can’t make up his mind when it comes to you.

His lips are wet, red and raw as they glide over your chin, down your neck and to your collarbone, only to mouth at the flesh above your bra.

Wherever his mouth isn’t, his hands are.

One palm lays flat against your knee, forcing them apart so that way he can nestle between your thighs, legs dangling precariously off the bed. He kisses you like his life depends on it, going back and forth between your face and your chest as he moves the strap of your bra down your arm.

Holding your jaw in place, he squeezes your cheeks until your mouth is wide enough for him to jam his tongue into. His kisses are filthy, frenzied and passionate, yet slow and steady all the same. He’s doing everything and nothing as he works you. The slow start-up of an engine. Preparation for a long fucking night.

Your tongues battle for dominance as your hands card through his hair, holding him in place as you begin your own assault on his lips. Tugging on his head by his roots, he moans loudly before jutting his hips into yours. Pulling away, your spit covers his lips only to be smeared along your neck as he sucks a bruise right below your ear. “You’re so fucking pretty, ya know that? That guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Your heart thrums at his words. At the angsty confession that sounds a lot like what you’ve been wanting to hear, yet being nothing of the sort.

Contrary to popular belief—to the rumours spread through the halls of Hawkins High and what you’ve overheard from a string of dates leaving Family Video—Steve Harrington is a romantic at heart. And part of you has always known that. Has always assumed his hidden desire to have someone need him as much as he needs them. You could see it everywhere you went; in the longing looks he’s sent to couples walking out and about, to Nancy and Johnathon when they get so easily wrapped up in each other on movie night.

The girls that left him all complained to you and Robin about him being ‘preoccupied’; too caught up in the idea of love to appreciate what was actually in front of him. Apparently, too caught up in the idea of another person to truly care about them.

The notion always seemed silly to you. The idea that Steve couldn’t and wouldn’t give his hundred-and-ten percent to the person he was with, when he oh-so-desperately wanted them. It was stupid. Entirely blind on their part to not see how incredibly devoted your friend could be.

And that was never more the case than when you actually started hooking up with him.

It was a random night, one where you both were lonely and a little too pent up to handle yourselves, that you decided on it. At the time it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Something you could move forward with, without any fears or doubts or worries.

Steve made you feel safe. And somehow, someway that fact only increased whenever you had sex. There was a point, in which Steve had gone down on you for the first time, subsequently pulling two orgasms from you in a matter of minutes, that you realized you would never feel more protected than with him.

It was a daunting thing when you finally decided to become friends with benefits. Part of you knew from the get-go it would ruin your perceptions of other people. But the other part couldn’t be bothered at all, especially not when you entertained yourself. Because you dreamt about it sometimes. You dreamt of another world where you and Steve had no boundaries, where you were free to be as you were, free to be with each other in every way as you wanted.

Your body freezes at that.

Steve hasn’t noticed, too caught up in suckling at your left nipple while his thumb and index finger roll your right one around. Your bra is long gone, discarded to the floor along with both of your shirts.

Your mind, which had been empty other than mulling over your thoughts on the man biting at your breast, has now drifted to the realization.

Did you want Steve like that?

The question sits on your tongue; tasting of burnt ash and trepidation as your eyes roam over his body. He’s crooning into your skin, hips rolling with every whine, rutting his hardened length into your still fully clothed core. The moon shines on his back, tracing over the muscles rippling beneath the skin, veins growing taut in his forearms as he holds your body still.

You love him.

And it’s not necessarily an astonishing conclusion. If anything, there hadn’t been a point in time where you’ve looked at Steve and hadn’t felt immense love. Because knowing him and not being hopelessly in love with him was impossible.

This was Steve after all. Your Steve.

The one who fights for his friends and loves aimlessly and has a big heart that begs to be nurtured because he’s never had that. He’s the one who cares for Dustin—his friend and his brother. He’s a shoulder to cry on and a lover and a fighter.

But most importantly, he’s quite possibly the love of your life.

You don’t realize he’s stopped until you catch him blinking at you. His thumb which had come up to your cheek, runs along your cheekbone and wipes at your temple in the most tender of ways. “Everythin’ okay?”

You want to say it. You want to tell him everything you’ve just realized. Every conclusion and emotion and thought that he incurs in you. You want to tell him that you see him. That you love him. That you want him and need him in ways he may never understand.

Because with the way his hips jerk forward, practically dry humping you as he looks up at you with the biggest doe eyes—innocence and erotica all rolled into one—you realize you may not be able to control yourself. You need him to fuck you, but you also need him to know how loved he really is.

So you tell him.

“I love you.” He halts, lifting off of you slightly in a daze. He looks you dead in the eye, disbelief and shock shrouding his features. Offering him a lazy smile, you choose to let go of everything. “I love you so goddamn much, Steve.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he shakes beneath you. His breathing is shallow, fingers nervously trembling against your sides. For a second, you worry that he doesn’t feel the same. Mistaking his silence for disinterest, you begin to shuffle up the bed, worrying that this was it. That in moments you had fucked everything over.

“Holy shit, —.” He mumbles, fully sitting back on his knees. His gaze doesn’t meet yours, but it never leaves your body. You can’t tell if he’s happy or upset or scared, and the feeling eats away at you. “…You can’t…you can’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, throat closing up in impeding sobs. “I’m sorr—“

“You can’t…” letting out a groan, Steve crawls back up your body, caging you in between his broad shoulders and the bed. You can see his eyes now, the way he stares you down and the way something darker floods his irises. Though, his expression is the all-too-familiar look he always seems to give you. Leaning down, his lips curl around the edge of your ear, hot breath invading your senses. You take note of how he smells of citrus and mousse, how nice the concoction is as he lets out another shaky breath. “You can’t say stuff like that and not expect me to fuck the shit out of you.”

…Well, fuck…

“I mean…” Steve hops off the bed after planting a kiss on your forehead and walks to his closet. He talks to you as he rummages through his things, determined to find the exact thing he’s looking for. “I mean you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that, baby.” Taking a box from the top shelf he walks it over to you and places it on the nightstand. Then, with just as much ease as before, he swoops down and captures your mouth in another mind-numbing kiss. Except this time, there’s an added urgency behind it. One he’s never had before. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

While nipping at your chin, he opens the box and pulls out a small and colourful cylindrical object. It’s pale purple with a series of buttons on the bottom of it. You frown once you see it.

“Stevie, what’s that?”

He can’t control the wolfish grin spreading across his face. Nuzzling further into your throat, he sucks and licks and bites until you’re too distracted by your own sighs. “It’s um…it’s my surprise for you, honey. Got it the other day. Saw it and immediately thought of you.”

“What…” another breathy moan as he bucks into you. “What does it do?”

Clicking his tongue, he gropes your boob, massaging the tender flesh. “Something fun,” is his only reply.

Placing it beside your head, he leans back and begins to unbutton your pants. You stiffen a bit, as he works wordlessly to relieve you of your other clothes. Your interest only seems to spur him on, make him work quicker as he pushes you down flat to the bed. There’s a sudden string of melodies that escape then, as though he’s fucking singing to himself. Content and relaxed as he pulls your jeans down your legs.

You think it’s Wham!, maybe Careless Whisper if you tried to listen hard enough. But you can’t particularly focus when he looks up to you and beams like that. Evident excitement making his body stretch upward and his dick twitch in the tent of his pants. “God, you’re gonna love this, baby. Need you to relax though. M’promise I’ll make you feel good.”

Whining, you grab his shoulders and pull him down to your level. “Why don’t you just fuck me already, Harrington?”

“Patience is a virtue, babe.” Grabbing the device he presses the button, triggering a high whirring sound to emanate from it. “Besides, gotta loosen you up first.”

And with that, he presses the head of the object to your cunt, reeling in the way your eyes widen and your jaw falls slack.

The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It isn’t the comforting feeling of your fingers gliding over you or of Steve’s tongue flicking at your hood. Instead it’s a steady vibration that rumbles your entire body, catching your arousal in its grasp instantaneously.

There’s a sharp gasp lodged in your throat, fighting to be released as you grapple for oxygen. Steve’s body still hangs over you, eyes transfixed on the way your face contorts with every movement he controls.

Sometimes when he flicks his wrist, moving the massaging head of the device to your already fluttering hole, you let out a long strangled moan. But the other times, when he presses the device right into your clit while his mouth wraps around your nipple and his other hand massages your lower belly, you can’t help but whine repeatedly.

Your thighs have begun to quiver as he slowly increases the pace of the object (which you didn’t even think was possible to begin with). Your hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging into the muscle as your head falls back.

“You like that, honey?” Steve growls into your chest as he hitches one of your legs over his hip. “‘Course you do. My little slut likes anything I give her, don’t you?”

You nod erratically, back aching as he presses the beating device harder into you. “Just…oh my god, Steve, please, I…”

“Look at you… Can’t even fucking talk, you feel so good.” A broad hands runs down the expanse of your stomach, running over your hip before slightly smacking the curve of your ass. You fly forward, sitting up completely as you try to trap his hand in between your thighs. “Told you this would be fun.”

You cry out, heart pounding against his as you press your breasts into his chest. “Stevie, please. Wanna cum so bad.”

He chuckles, resting his chin on the top of your head as his hand continues it’s descent down your body. “I know, baby, I know.” His knuckles circle your entrance before two thick fingers jam themselves into you.

“Fuckfuckfuck—“ you whimper as you bite at the tendon in his neck. Your toes curl in tandem with the fingers he moves along your walls, continuously hitting that sweet spot within you.

“Come on, baby, come for me… Come on.”

Your orgasm slams into you at what seems like new heights. Gripping his body tightly, you arch into him body rocking on the device with every wave of your high. Coming and going, back and forth until your knuckles are white and sweat lines your back and the sheets beneath you.

You shake violently in his arms, heavy pants racking your chest as dizziness clouds your mind. Your gaze stays stuck on the ceiling as you try to come to, your own feeble attempt to ground yourself. You feel the bed dip as rough hands smooth over the bones in your hips, rubbing small, tight circles in the skin above your mound. “That was—that was good, baby. Did so good for me.” His voice draws you back to reality, your gaze drifting around the room to find his. He peeks over your body, messy hair and hooded eyes that darken as he stares ahead.

Your hand—which feels limp hanging in midair—flies to his skull, gripping the roots of his hair and tugging him forward. “Steve, I…I want you to…please, want your cock.”

“Mhm,” he inhales the scent of you, nose just hitting your swollen clit. “And I want this pretty pussy of yours.” Deep brown eyes flash up to you, a powerful sneer morphing the lines of his mouth. “Good girls wait their fucking turn.”

Your head lolls back the second he begins to lap at your core. A shrill sound, something close to a cry but still not quite, escapes you. He mouths at the space between your clit and your hole, groaning into your folds as he adjusts his grip on your legs.

A puff of hot air hits you, spine trembling as his lips tug at your hood. “Oh my—fuck, Steve. Steve, please—“

“Please, what? I’m doing what you asked, pretty girl.” Another lick—a smooth and slow flat press of his tongue. “I’m fucking you like you deserve, so just…” he groans, removing himself from you before spitting on your cunt and diving back in. “Just. Fucking. Take it.”

Dammit, this man was going to be the fucking death of you.

He eats you out like he’s starved. Like he’s been locked away for days, weeks—shit, years—and is just finally getting access to a good meal. A bountiful feast, all for him and only him.

His stubble burns you as you jump his face, gnawing at the inside of your cunt and thighs until they’re raw. The pressure builds yet again, deep within your gut and permeating your bones. You hold him there, smothering him entirely as he either gulps for air, or for more of you. Regardless, he’s tasting every inch of you and soon he’s sucking at you even faster.

“Ste—Steve, just—oh my god, right there. Right there, please, please, please!”

Your second orgasm slaughters you where you lie. The pleasure is blinding, almost intangible as you ride his mouth. An endless slew of moans and sharp intakes of breath accompany your convulsing body. Somehow he’s still breathing, still soldiering on as he eats up everything you have to offer him.

It’s incredibly dirty. Raw and pornographic. A purely sleazy sight of him enjoying himself on the orgasm he just pulled from you.

Eventually he lets go of you, leaning up on his forearms and wiping away at the dripping cum on his chin.

He licks his lips then, a free hand trailing up to his messy hair and pushing it out of the way. Steve licks his lips, like a murderous predator eyeing its next prey; toying with its meal as it rolls in delight. “You taste,” he sucks yet another hickey into your breast. “So good.” He moans out the words, rolling his bare hips into you. He’s completely naked now, having taken off his pyjama pants sometime between unfurling his fingers in you and latching his mouth to your clit. He completely engulfs you, member sliding between your slick folds; twitching at the wonderful tension he’s been building. The friction is unbearable, deliciously combining with the taste of yourself on his tongue.

He kisses your mouth in the same way he kissed your cunt. Slow and lazy, an attempt to devour you whole.

“I love you so fucking much, y’know that?” Taking your hand he kisses each finger, your palm, the back of your hand and then your knuckles. “Loved you for a long time. A long, long time.”

You sigh into his chest, tears of relief burning at the corners of your eyes. There’s a gaping feeling within you, deep in the pit of your belly that carnally craves him. Despite already having had two orgasms, you’re hungry for another; for whatever he’ll give you.

You want his cock, want to feel him fill you to the point where you’re breaking in half. You need to feel the burn in your pelvis and the cured ache in your core.

You need him.

So, so fucking bad.

“Want you,” you grumble. Your throat is hoarse, pained from all the whines and the screaming and the moans of pleasure. You’re clawing at him, yanking and pulling at his limbs until he’s impossibly close. “Please, please, please, want you.”

Steve is unfazed as he keeps kissing you. Nearly every spot on your body is touched by his mouth, caressed by his tongue and bit by his teeth. Somehow, as much as he’s been grinding into you, as much as you can tell he wants to fuck your abused hole, he controls himself.

Tapping on your nose with feather-light touches, he gently kisses your eyelids. “Want what? Gotta use your words if you want my cock, baby.” Pumping himself above your stomach, he presses the underside of his dick along your belly and drags it, right above the spot where you want him most. “You want my cock, hm? Want me to fill you up like the good little slut you are?”

You don’t even nod. Instead, you just widen your legs and open up to him even more, pouting as you blink at him. “Want your cock so bad, Stevie. Wanna be yours. Please, please give me…just, fuck me hard.”

Smirking, he runs a hand up and down your thigh. “Are you mine?”

Your feel your face contort, confusion twisting your features as you gasp for air. And though you’re partially confused, a little curious and a little too far gone to fully understand his request, you simply smile.

“Yes. Yours. All yours.”

Steve growls, actually growls before taking two fistfuls of your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach. “Up, pretty girl,” he gestures to your lower back.

You do as he says, unable to stifle the smile of elation as he manhandles you. Pressing your head into the pillow, you push your hips up only to feel him directly behind you. His hand rests on the globe of your ass, tenderly stroking the curve of your spine as he gets you into position. He’s up on his knees, adjusting himself to fit your slit as he pulls you back into him.

“Wanna know what I was thinking about before you caught me earlier?”

You groan. “Jesus Christ, Steve, just shut up and fuck me already.”

He laughs, then lays a smack on your bum before shoving the fat head of his dick into you. Crying out you fall forward, frantic to feel him further. “You need to learn to stop being so impatient, —.” Pushing himself by another inch, he stops and stays there. Him stretching you out is a torturous event, one that pains you as your hands ball up the sheets. “Anyways, as I was saying…” his hand smooths down your back and to your neck, holding you in place by the nape. “I was thinking about this. ‘Bout you underneath me.” He kisses you in between your shoulders. “…Was thinking about fucking you from behind… Like this.”

With those words he slams into you, the tip of him hitting your cervix while his hips remain flush with yours.

You gasp, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex as you shake around him. “Oh my god, Steve, I—holy, fuck, that’s good, feel so good. Fucking me so good, Stevie.”

He takes a minute to breathe, to collect himself before completely bottoming out and shoving back in. Your walls clench around him, the heavy drag of his length making you shiver as he starts off at a slow pace.

Steve’s always been big. You had assumed as such from the rumours spread around school that there was something a little extra special about Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. But it wasn’t until when you first had sex with him when he had rid himself of his pants and stood before you entirely nude that you realized that he definitely had something to show for it.

At first, you were nervous, weren’t entirely too sure that you could take him in the way you wanted so much.

But then when he finally entered you for the first time, and every other time after that, you came to the conclusion that you wouldn’t want anything—or anyone—else.

He stretches you out perfectly. An amazing fit that only increases every time you feel his bulge in your lower abdomen. “Faster.” You pant. “Harder, fuck, harder.”

His hand fully circles your neck, gently pulling you back with just enough pressure to make you see stars. The harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling, obscenities spilling out of you as your third orgasm comes and goes. It all happens so quickly, to the point where you can’t even process the fact that you came yet again.

And although it feels good—fucking great, even—it’s still not enough.

You’re incredibly sensitive, eyes rolling into the back of your skull with every thrust. The sound of balls slapping against your ass fill the air, a medley of noises—just like the ones coming from the tv earlier—keying you higher and higher.

“Christ, you feel so good, honey. So good… I’m so fucking in love with you.” Another thrust rattles your body. Your bones are weak, muscles so sore that you can’t even keep yourself up. And Steve can tell, has half a mind to help you out.

Hooking one arm around your stomach, and with the other still, on your neck, he pulls you up into his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his thighs as he bounces you up and down on his dick. His back is pressed tightly to you, allowing you to hook your arm around his neck until his chin hangs over your shoulder. “Steve…Steve, I’m gonna cum. Fucking me so good, so, so, so good.”

He roughly kisses the side of your face, mouth hanging wide open on your cheekbone. “I know, baby, I know… No one fucks you this good, huh? No one—no one makes you cum on their dick like I do.”

“Oh…ohmygod, ohmygod. No, no one fucks me like you do, Steve. Please. Please, fuckfuckfuck.”

Pushing his hand into your abdomen, he holds you in place as he spears into you. Fire, an aching burning passion, licks at the base of your spine as heat pools in the knot of your belly. It feels so good it hurts; so numbing that you can’t do anything but sit and wait for your climax to crash over you. Because, painfully, you’re right on the edge. Steve strains behind you. “Gonna’ cum too, baby. Gonna fill you up, fill you up until I’m fucking spilling out of you.”

You’re babbling into the air as your head falls backward. With your eyes screwed shut, your hand falls to Steve’s knee while a fourth orgasm rips through you. You scream at the feeling of him annihilating your insides and sending you into orbit. It’s almost like you’re in space, gravity falling from your weightless body as Steve rams into you in a brutal rhythm.

“So, so beautiful, baby. Look even prettier with my cock in you.” At this point, he’s rotating you down onto his lap instead of thrusting up into you. Sweat beads down his forehead and onto your chest as his groin tightens. His dick grows bigger, swelling inside of you while he grunts and growls and lets out the prettiest sounds into your ear.

“Gonna make you a mom one day, baby. Fuck you until you’re round and full and everyone, even fucking Rick, knows you’re mine.”

He moans ‘I love you’s’ into your shoulder, biting down onto the junction of your neck as he empties inside of you. Ropes of warmth spread throughout your cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm.

His chest heaves as he falls forward with you, collapsing onto the bed in a frenzied mess of aching limbs and satisfied hums.

He catches his breath quicker than you do, contended sighs and soft kisses along your spine as you both settle down. He moves down your body until he lands on your hips, before gliding his mouth back up to your cheek. He kisses you for the millionth time that night. “…Were you serious? Ya know, did you mean what you said?”

You smile into the blanket, using what little strength you have left to roll over onto him. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you mouth at his neck and collarbone, kissing Steve tenderly in the way he truly deserves.

“Every word.”

•••

Steve Harrington Taglist (+18)

@freaky-dcaky @spideyssunflower @detectivecarisi-1 @superfanmixromancepony @bookfrog242 @spectorfilms @serrendiipty @keepingitlokiii @v0idl1nq @blindedbyyourgrace17 @mrmoonman @emileebert14 @wordle233 @demirunner @randomlyblue @sad-innit @smarie7543 @scoopsahoyharrington @moonknightyws @imanilizabeth @gracie-marvel @liltimmyst @asbisexualasitgets @heihei2221 @thirstynymph @bludhavents @steveslittlesunflower @tiaamberxx @crying-caro

[the-archxr]

your sex is on fire

steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: after defeating vecna, you and steve reunite in the best way possible.

a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from pinterest* why did this take me forever? who tf knows. also in regards to the song inspo, the title says it all (if you know, you know). for the longest time, I was stuck between writing this one and another one that wasn’t smutty, but then I had a big brain moment and decided to combine them :)

warnings: +18 content; SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT, nothing BUT smut (THIS SHIT RATED…PORN); fluffy; hella passionate sex; we survived the end of the world and now we gotta fuck sex; graphic sex; multiple orgasms; light teasing; over stimulation; switch!steve; face-sitting (oral sex, f receiving); cum-eating; hair-pulling kink; praise kink; dumbification kink?; unprotected p in v sex; creampie; LOTS of dirty talk (but it’s full of love)

word count: 4k

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•••

“Jesu—fuck, —.” Steve sighs. “I’m tryna’—fuck, you want us to crash?”

Your mouth drags along the side of his throat, a rogue hand slipping down his chest and to the waistband of his pants. You hardly touch him, nothing more than feather-light touches as you palm him through his joggers. You’re restraining yourself as much as possible, and yet? The poor boy shakes beneath you. Whether that’s the adrenaline from nearly dying and subsequently surviving, or simply from the way you nibble at the skin under his ear.

Either way, you need each other.

Desperately. Insufferably.

Huffing, you bite at his jaw. “Just, dammit Steve, just park the fucking car.”

“We’re almost home, —.” Letting go of his dual-grip on the wheel, he picks your hand up from his crotch and puts it in your lap: a silent and unspoken warning as the car accelerates. “I’m already breaking so many traffic laws here, babe. Won’t be able to control myself if you keep doing that.”

You hum. “That’s kinda the point, Harrington.” Leaning over the console, you kiss the corner of his mouth. “Want you now, Stevie.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whimpers, eyes rolling into the back of his head like slot machines.

Even in his attempt to increase the distance for the sake of his better judgment, the heat rages on. And you suppose, as the realization falls upon both of you, that’s what spurs him on. All while maintaining his grip on your wrists, he spins the steering wheel harshly. It’s a sudden movement that rattles your unbuckled bodies around as the beemer rolls down the street. Then, down the darkened stretch of road, your apartment materializes, and instead of slowing down, Steve presses on the gas until the car is haphazardly parked.

From that point, everything blurs together.

Never mind whatever the fuck happened within the past four hours. The only thing you could focus on was the feel of Steve’s hand around yours, the cold press of the elevator wall against your back, and the sensation of sharp teeth on your shoulder.

He kisses you then: hot and heavy and full of strangling anticipation. With one hand on your jaw, he snakes the other down to your thigh, hitching it up to his hip and securing it there. His mouth opens wide; an attempt to devour you whole as he grinds into you.

“Steve…” Tilting your head to the side, you expose the wide expanse of your neck to him. “Steve, please…” The tip of his tongue peeks out, getting lost in his own ministrations. In the mirror on the opposite wall, you watch as he tenderly licks at the soft curve of your collarbone until purple bruising appears in his wake.

The elevator dings, prying a reluctant Steve off of you. But for only a moment. Because as soon as the doors open—and he determines the coast is clear—he’s towing you behind him towards your shared room.

You stumble over your own feet; excitement sending jitters all throughout your body as Steve pushes you through the threshold and up to the wall.

And then similar to the elevator, your boyfriend juts a knee between your thighs and places your hands on his face. He kisses you deeply, instantly robbing you of any breadth as he groans into your mouth. “Was so scared for you, babe.” His teeth clamp down onto your bottom lip. “So fucking scared.”

You kiss him back with just as much fervour; soaking in the intense smell of gasoline, soot, and the remnants of his shampoo. “I’m right here.” Another kiss. “Steve,” you meet his gaze with the free hand that grips his chin. “I’m right here. I’m okay… We’re okay.” His face is sombre, the melting tension of nearly losing your life turning into dried tears and rushed kisses. Tears that are embraced by loving hands and delicate forehead kisses.

“We’re okay,” he reassures.

Your hand falls down his chest until your fingers find the skin of his abdomen and then you press a slow peck into his cheek. “Steve, if you—want you to touch me…” Gripping the edges of his shirt, you pull him into you. “Want you to fuck me, honey.”

His face ducks and disappears into your chest, the dirty curls nuzzling into your equally dirty shirt. “You sure? Cause I—fuck, baby, I don’t know if I can be gentle right now—“

Carding your fingers through the roots of his hair, you yank his head up to yours, eliciting a low whine that shoots right down to your cunt. “I’m sure.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, but a new kind of determination glazes over his eyes. Pools of warm honey darken into the colour of molasses as he pulls you from the wall and chucks his jacket onto the couch. His shirt is next, tearing itself from his body, with adventurous fingers trailing down to yours. Soon you’re both in your underwear, falling into walls and tables, knocking over vases and picture frames until you finally make it to the bed.

Steve flops down first, the old mattress creaking beneath his weight and your sudden movements as you clamber on top of him.

Knees settling on either side of his hips, you lean down to his neck. Kissing and sucking at each mole and every freckle, you soothe the bitten areas with your tongue. Taking hold of his hand you bring it up to your back where he unclasps your bra. The fabric falls over your shoulders and onto his chest, breath faltering at the sight of your entire upper half completely bare for him.

His hands glide up your rib cage, smoothing over every dip and every curve until he has a firm grip on your torso. Sitting up, he presses his chest to yours and allows his knuckles to descend over the underside of your left boob. “You’re stunning, ya know that?”

You smile. “You tell me every day.”

Steve purrs, lips capturing your nipple in his warm mouth. “I know,” he grumbles into your chest. “But today was almost the last day where I would’ve been able to.”

You frown slightly, the bittersweetness of it all beginning to dawn on you.

“Which is why I’m gonna say it more often. Can’t have you leaving this earth without knowing how much I love you.” Butterflies bloom in the space behind your ribcage, tying intricate knots around your beating heart and flying away with it towards him. It’s an earth-shattering, death-defying force that binds you to him. It’s a force that kept you both alive long enough to see today.

And it’s that same force that makes you want to ride him into oblivion.

He bites at the sensitive flesh, kneading your other breast in his hand as he rubs onto you. He’s painfully hard—a thick heaviness resting against your bare thigh that twitches in his boxers with every shift. “Which is also why…” he begins, two calloused hands coming around your back, holding you close to him. Impossibly, and breathtakingly close. “I suddenly realized what I want before I die.”

You whine at the weight of his hips bumping into yours; at the feeling of your resolve growing sluggish by the minute. You have half a mind to respond to him, although the sound you make could simply be mistaken as one of pleasure.

But regardless, he answers it. His very own personalized call and response.

“I realized that before I eventually go…” he lies back down, hair billowing out from behind his head onto the pillow. “I want you to sit on my face at least once. Want you to cum on my tongue, babe.” Shock cuts through every sensation as your eyes widen in his direction.

His proposition makes electricity prick at the goosebumps along your skin.

He wants you to sit on his face.

Steve’s eaten you out before—many times before. Quite possibly, it’s his favourite thing to do. A fact he so gladly owns up to. And in doing so, he’s had no problem pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you that way. But you’ve never sat on his face.

Part of you up until now didn’t realize you could do that. That your partner could want that.

You almost protest. Almost mumble out something about how if you sit on his face he might die earlier than you both would’ve liked. But then you see him. The faint colouration of the streetlight outside of your window, along with the reflection of the moon, illuminates him.

It highlights the rigid line of his cheekbones; the way his mouth pulls into a tight grin; the way his hair falls softly around his face and the shadows casting over his gaze—a line of sight that hasn’t once left you.

He’s beautiful.

A renaissance painting come to life. A Da Vinci model plucked out of time and placed right here before you, under you. An offering. One that commits a lifetime of undying love and passionate sex.

You almost miss the slight nod of your head, if it weren’t for the look of surprise that tugs at his features.

It doesn’t last long though because then he’s helping you out of your underwear and up his torso until your body rests in midair just above his face. You’re incredibly exposed; a different kind of trepidation drowning your veins in freezing cold water.

And then in a moment of confidence, you lower yourself just enough for you to feel his hot breath on you. You stay there for a second, surveying how you’re going to do this, and how you think Steve wants to do this. But soon, without any warning whatsoever, he’s pulling you down completely. He smothers himself until his nose is pressed into your clit and his lips rest around your entrance. You gasp at the close contact: high-pitched and sharp, reverberating off the walls of your room.

Which is when he starts to move.

His hands smooth themselves down your hips and over your thighs digging into your skin as he holds onto you for dear life. The act almost seems self-soothing, like a child rubbing their arm in an attempt to calm themselves during a storm. Though as he kisses the hooded part of your pussy, followed by the agonizing drag of his tongue between your folds, you realize that him touching you like this is just a sign that he’s enjoying himself.

And fuck, you are too.

You should’ve done this fucking ages ago.

Steve starts off with kitten-licks; gently exploring the new parts of you that have gone untouched, nose bumping over and over again into your pelvic bone as your hips shift.

There’s a sudden vibration against you, low in energy and baritone in sound. At first, you mistake it for a moan, but then you hear it again. This time it’s a little stronger to the point where you feel it in your belly and in your kneecaps. And then you understand he’s trying to talk to you.

His eyes, which look up at you from between the space of your thighs—a sinful sight that you nearly cum on the spot from—are expressive, as the muscles in his face contort. With what little strength you have, you grab onto the headboard and lift yourself off of him.

His stunted intake of breath manifests in sheepish embarrassment as you look down at him. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head, tendrils of damp hair sticking to his forehead. “Absolutely never fucking apologize, babe. I was just tryna ask how you were doing up there.”

Laughing, you run your fingers through his hair and push it off of his face. “Good… It feels good.”

“Good,” he grins, sliding back down to reposition himself all over again. “You taste fucking good, too.” Sighing, you attempt to steady yourself with your grip on his head. “You might wanna hold on, sweetheart. I’m not stopping until you cum.”

With as much energy as when you were taking your clothes off, Steve dives back into you and not once does he let up. You do as instructed, white-knuckling both his hair and the wall as he bobs against you.

He’s ruthless in his efforts.

Utterly ruthless.

The sounds that emanate from him rumble the lower half of your body. A divine mixture of sultry groans and hums, all tongue and teeth as he feasts on you. By now you’re completely riding his face; humping his nose with ease as your slick spreads across his mouth.

You’re a whiny mess. The feeling of your throat and fluttering hole closing simultaneously is suffocating—enough of a reason to drive you downright mad. Pressure builds in your belly, the beautifully taut knot of your nearing orgasm growing tighter; keying higher and higher with every suck of his mouth, and every grind of his chin.

“Steve…Stevie, baby…” your free hand flies to the roots of his hair, pinning him in place as you buck wildly against him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum, Steve…”

His voice is still muffled by your cunt when you realize he says something along the lines of ‘come on, pretty girl’. And that’s when the coil snaps in two, forcing your knees to close around his head and sighs to tumble out into the air.

Your orgasm seems to leave just as quickly as it came; dispersing through your veins with a painful gasp, and aching limbs finally falling limp. Steve’s quick to move out from beneath you as you collapse forward, colliding into him out of early exhaustion.

You’re panting heavily, fingers desperate to find purchase on the loose bedsheet; to ground yourself to this realm. As you calm down, the numbing sensation slowly dies down. Steve kisses you then—your taste being the only thing on his tongue, and the only thing you can truly recognize.

“You did good, babe. So very good.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “Can’t believe we almost died without doing that first.”

An echoey giggle escapes you, hushed into his bare chest as your fingers toy with the edges of the bandage wrapped around his abdomen. As your consciousness cements itself to your body, a sadness suddenly befalls you. A sadness that you don’t quite acknowledge until he mentions it. “Hey,” tucking your head over his shoulder, he presses his nose to the shell of your ear. “Don’t do that, yeah? I’m still here. We’re okay, remember?”

“…I know, it’s just…” for a moment you consider entertaining the tenderness in the air. You both could sit down finally and truly talk about all the shit that had gone down the past couple of days. You could address the losses—Max and Eddie, and the pain you aren’t too sure Dustin will ever get over. You could address the fear you experienced watching Steve get pulled under, and the reality that if those vines had just pulled a little tighter you would’ve all died.

These are things you know have to be talked about eventually. But that’s just it.

Eventually.

You two always figure it out. There’s a time, and a place where you and Steve will always reunite; will always meet in the middle and will always be there when the other needs to talk.

But right now you need each other for different reasons.

You are each other’s lifeline; the saving grace that you both achingly need. And all you want is to drown in it, and in him.

So that is exactly what you’ll do.

Clearing your throat, you sigh. “…It’s just I wanted to make sure you could handle it. Ya know, for what’s gonna happen…”

A smirk forms on his face at your suggestion. “‘For what’s gonna happen?’” You nod into him, acutely aware of how he attempts to take his underwear off with you still on him. Sitting up, you move down his chest until your hips meet his; nearly joined completely and awaiting the inevitable green light.

It’s a moment of silence in which neither of you can operate properly. You both are far too caught up in the feel of each other to process what dysfunctionality even means; to understand the implications of how lucky the two of you were today.

Your hands cross over his chest until you’re stable enough to hoist yourself up as he aligns his dick with your entrance. The silence is deafening: thick as a sweltering fire and as deadly as oxygen. It isn’t until you see the way Steve’s chest heaves, powerful and rugged as he stares up at you through thick lashes, that you quickly exhale. “Think you can handle me, Harrington?”

He doesn’t spare a beat.

Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he waits—abdomen constricting with every daunting inhale. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pulls you towards him, holding you only inches away from his face. “Think you can handle me, —?”

It’s that single sentence that sets off the chain reaction. A tumbling domino effect that begins with him jamming his tongue in your mouth at the same time he shoves inside of you. You let out a repressed gasp, one that he swallows without a second thought. He takes the time and the opportunity to suck on your tongue until your tastebuds are swollen. He bites at the sound of your moans, moving against you in continuous motions as your mind slips into darkness.

Steve doesn’t give you time to adjust to him in any way. His hips, desperate to feel you, and desperate to fuck you, already begin moving. Everything, from your surroundings to the man before you, works in tandem to wind you up just that much more. From the sound of Duran Duran playing faintly from your downstairs neighbour to the grip he has on your neck—everything collaborates until a blinding symphony. It’s an obscene, disgustingly pornographic view. One that only worsens when Steve’s intent gaze falls to where he pistons into you; spearing you on his cock until you're fucked stupid.

You watch the vein in his neck strain against him as he controls himself. “What were you saying…a—about me being able to handle it, sweetheart?” He grunts out.

Gritting his teeth together, he peeks out from behind a curtain of fallen hair. “As far as I can see…” he gives you one particularly hard thrust, connecting your hips and allowing for the tip of his cock to kiss that spongey part within you. “You’re the one who’s cock drunk, babe.” He lays a gentle smack to the globe of your ass, earning a whimper from you. “Not that I mind. Wanna’ show you just how much I fucking love you.”

Keeping up his tempo, Steve soldiers on. Pulling your head back farther and farther with every thrust, he marks up the skin along the column of your throat. Crying out, you screw your eyes shut and dig your nails into his biceps. Neediness gets the better of you, tricking your body into rocking him in your very own pattern. “Stevie…”

With a shaky exhale and aching hands, you make a feeble attempt to hold onto him. “I—fuck, Steve, I wanna, I wan—oh my god.”

Your second climax hits you immediately. The barely-there build up bleeding into a crashing high that leaves no room for coping.

You are still around him, inner walls squeezing him like a vice. Your toes have begun to curl in response, your body having lurched forward as you try to string words together to form a coherent sentence. Though, with the way, he’s been fucking you…

And if he keeps fucking you like this…

You consider you may never be able to speak again.

He kisses you for the thousandth time that night, hushing your uncontrollable babbles as his hips pick up speed. “Don’t need to say anything, pretty girl, already doing so good.” His large palm keeps your hips still as he drives into you, the incessant panting in your ear making you wet all over again. “So,” another snap of his hips. “So,” and another. “…fucking good.”

You whine as your vision goes cloudy—evidence of yet another orgasm taking charge. “Think you can give me another one, babe? I think you can… Fuck, I know you can.” Steve’s voice drifts in and out of your ears. Part of you thinks you hear him, and the other part, the one lost to time and space, can’t hear him at all.

With your limp body still in his arms, and with his pace unrelenting, Steve leans back into the headboard with a loud thud. Entangling your limbs as close as possible with his, he presses hot kisses into the side of your head, hooking his chin over your shoulder. He takes a second to readjust your body on his before speaking. “You’re gonna give me another, okay? Want you to cum one more time.”

“I don’t think I can,” you lie. It’s a half-baked one. A shitty excuse of an attempt to alleviate your delicious suffering. Your pussy is swollen. Abused and puffy and probably, undeniably red. It’s gratifying and damning all at once. Which is why you lie. Though the flames of satisfaction; the culmination of adrenaline, arousal, fear and desire, lick at your belly and swirl in the pit of your stomach, you lie.

You’re overstimulated.

Incredibly so.

But you know he won’t stop, because you couldn’t trick yourself into thinking you even wanted him to.

“Yes, you can.” It’s a breathy command. Quiet and slow, an opposing force to its true intention. The words are out in the open, the ground rules set in stone and presented on a silver platter. But you can’t tell if he’s talking to you, or himself, making the already complicated situation that much more complicated. Sweat makes his fingers slip, and makes his body loosen beneath you as he tries to maintain his grip. He’s struggling at this point; the feeling of him swelling in you growing more and more apparent. You can tell he’s close. So fucking close.

And you are too.

You’re right. Fucking. There.

“Almost there, baby. Just a—“ he slams you down onto his lap. “Just a bit more…”

Moaning erratically, your nails scratch down his back, your body not being able to do much else as he moves you in place, up and down on his hilted shaft. “Oh my god, yes. Yes, yes—fuckyes—right there.” A cry rips out of your throat as your upper body falls slack. “Fuck, Steve, yes!”

Your third orgasm shatters you completely. In every way, it destroys you; locking up your muscles and your mind, and ridding you of anything that isn’t white-hot pleasure. You scream in response, the record-scratch sound taking with it every last ounce of energy from your bones until you’re a pliable heap of arms and legs.

You feel as though you’re floating; the mindless darkness of earlier morphing into blotches of bright colours and glittery stars.

It’s all-consuming. All-encompassing as time passes on in what seems like a different universe.

Yet even in your haze you know Steve’s not too far behind.

“God, I love you. Love this—love this fucking pussy. Love you. Fuck.” Holding you in place, he loses control as his own high dominates him. The dam breaks, and his hips come to a stuttering stop with his own climax. Warmth pooling in your cunt as he flops on top of you, still holding you close as you take each other in.

There’s a nagging part of you that pressures you to acknowledge what happened today. To confront Steve about it; to act on it like a healthy couple does. But the sight of him nearly asleep makes you weak. And so you decide to trade in the stress and pain of today for peace as the two of you lay there; breathless and spent as you slowly renter your bodies. Bringing your legs up to Steve’s hips, you wrap yourself entirely around him, until all you can smell is fresh sweat and old smoke.

“Have I ever told you that I’m in love with you?” He kisses the area where your heart rests, canting his body so that he’s comfortably cuddled up to you.

You laugh softly. “…A time or two.”

•••

Steve Harrington Taglist (+18)

@freaky-dcaky @spideyssunflower @detectivecarisi-1 @superfanmixromancepony @bookfrog242 @spectorfilms @serrendiipty @keepingitlokiii @v0idl1nq @blindedbyyourgrace17 @mrmoonman @emileebert14 @wordle233 @demirunner @randomlyblue @sad-innit @smarie7543 @scoopsahoyharrington @moonknightyws @imanilizabeth @gracie-marvel @liltimmyst

[the-archxr]

she needed more than me

steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: i’m friendly and thoughtful and quite awfully pretty, but she needed more than me.

a/n: *gif isn’t mine, it’s from pinterest* I’m sorry, but this bitch is sad. I’m on my period and I’m very fucking emotional and I was craving some pining angst so here we are, I guess. based off of ‘illicit affairs’ by taylor swift, ‘she needs him’ by hers and ‘tears over beers’ by modern baseball. also if this does well, a smutty part two is in the very near future. (hint, it’s very fucking graphic.)

warnings: sadness; pure fucking heartache; one-sided pining; self-deprecation; obliviously in love; idiots in love; eventual fluff (the tooth-rotting kind); jealous!steve; best friends with benefits but it’s messy; just steve lamenting on how he loves you; swearing; mentions of sex, but nothing super explicit (I’m savin the goods for part two)

word count: 2.2k

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part two

•••

Steve Harrington has always needed you.

It’s a pathetic thought: the idea that the solution to one person’s problems is simply the presence of another. But it’s the truth. One of the hardest pills he’s had to swallow, and one of the harshest realities he’s had to live through. From the moment you saved him from those demodogs in senior year, to when you helped him look for a place after his parents kicked him out, he’s needed you. You’re the lifeline to his solitary island. The one constant in his new life that keeps him grounded, keeps him sane.

Steve Harrington will always need you.

But you don’t need him.

It’s a painful realization that he may never get used to. One that he knows he’ll never get used to. He’s been able to live with that knowledge, understands that you couldn’t possibly need him like that and he should be okay with that. But some days, when he’s lonely and hurt, and all he wants is you, that fact is a little hard to cope with.

Especially now.

You’re asleep by the time he’s done in the shower. The sounds of your falling breath rising over the faint noises of the tv alert him of the fact. His reflection in the mirror is foggy, distorted as a mop of brown hair falls over his eyes. The strained ache of his muscles releases with every roll of his shoulders as he inspects his neck. A bruise, a litter of discolouration dots his collarbones—a delightful constellation of where your mouth was and where he wanted you most. Even as his finger caresses the tendon in his neck, he can still feel the electricity of your mouth, the energy of your hand in his and your hot breath on his face. He could get lost in the feeling, he has on more than one occasion. It’s an addictive drug; a feeling of relaxation and ease that swirls around him in a thick, silently deadly fog. If he stays there and just takes a little longer to admire your work, maybe he could get lost in it all. In your spell. In this fantasy world, he’s created. The one he maintains and waters and cares for as it awaits your sporadic return.

The air-conditioning hits him, remaining beads of warm water freezing on his exposed skin as he tightened the towel around his waist. He steps into his room, standing still in the doorway as he looks around. Flashes of staticky blue and white and red paint the walls, the furniture, and your figure. You're lying on your stomach, naked back exposed to the light as the messy sheets rest on your hips.

You look peaceful. Safe, sound, and protected in the cocoon you’ve made of his bed. Turning the tv off, darkness overtakes the room. A swell of black drowning everything other than your face. You're illuminated by the moon filtering in through his window; soft curves and delicate features loosened as your body rises with every breath. Kicking the towel to the corner, he tugs on a pair of clean boxers before climbing into the space beside you.

He moves slowly, careful not to disturb you as he lies down, pulling the sheets up with him. He covers you first; the sight of goosebumps on your spine leading him to wrap you up as he tries to get comfortable.

Turning on his side, he takes a moment to look at you. Your face is squished into the pillow, creases forming on your cheek with the bunched-up fabric, hair falling everywhere.

You look so beautiful like this.

Granted, you’re always beautiful. Steve can’t remember when he looked at you and didn’t think you were utterly breathtaking. But right now, in your most vulnerable state, you feel safe with him. Safe enough to sleep beside him like it’s your typical routine. As though this is your home, and this is your bed, and the man beside you is yours. And that in and of itself is beautiful.

The idea of being yours is beautiful. It’s the desire for something he’s wanted for what seems like forever—the ability to love you in the way he wants. In a public display of love as opposed to a private affair. To show you that all the words he says when he’s on the verge of coming are real. That everything he promises in the heat of the moment, all those tender words and passionate kisses are for you. Only you.

Everything he is, and everything he does…it’s all for you.

It’s just that you don’t notice. Or maybe you do, and you just don’t bring it up. Whatever it is, it’s never addressed. You and Steve find solace in each other in the quiet, in the lonely moments where the nightmares become a little too real and you can’t possibly turn to anyone else.

It seems that whenever you show up on the other's doorstep with your hands in each other’s hair and hips rutting together, that’s the only time you allow yourselves to honestly want each other.

After all, you always say it. Right as Steve lines himself up at your entrance, head hung low with his hands on your hips, chest stuttering with anticipation. I want you.

You always want him then. You want him and his body and you want him to make you cum.

But Steve wants you in other ways, in ways he isn’t allowed.

So when he can, he indulges you. Guides you up to the peak and throws you over, only to walk you up all the way again. He hopes, although incredibly naively, that all those times he swallows your moans, every time he shudders as he feels you squeeze him in further, that it’s enough. He hopes that it’s enough to tell you everything he can’t, and won’t say.

He just…

He wants you to know.

He wants you to know that he’d carve his own heart out if it meant he’d get to keep yours; that he’d sacrifice himself a thousand times over if it kept you safe; that he’ll keep making love to you as long as he gets to see your pretty face because the sight of you coming is enough to make him say ‘I love you’.

Steve Harrington wants you to know that he needs you more than anything.

His blood, and his bones, and his body are all yours. There’s a golden tattoo, a brand on his heart, in large, loopy letters that spell out your name.

He’s yours.

But you’re someone else’s.

And he knows this. You weren’t exactly dating Rick, nothing set in stone or real enough for you to be monotonous.

But that moment, the teetering cliff of something else, was drawing closer.

Steve didn’t like Rick, though it was nothing against the guy himself.

He lived alone, in a nicer apartment than Steve’s just outside of Indianapolis. He had a nice car, a bank job that gave him a steady paycheck, money that he spent on you constantly. He had friends and a good relationship with his parents, full of weekend barbecues and restaurant outings he invited you to more than once.

You never said yes, but Steve could tell you would soon. With Rick, a 6’3 sight of tanned skin and warm eyes, it was only a matter of time. Because first came the gifts and the dates, then came the titles and the weekends at his house until you would eventually move in, with the promise of marriage and children and a large suburban house in your joined future. All the while Steve would be left in the rearview mirror. A broken pile of kicked-up dirt from your tires and a heart bloodied by your raging fist.

Everything was barreling toward an aggressive end; an agonizing conclusion to your relationship. The story of Steve’s demise and his replacement.

Rick was the one person who could take you away from Steve. The only person who could drag you away from this hell hole before Steve could even get a chance.

Except in hindsight, he can’t really blame Rick.

Because he considers that he’s already had a chance.

The universe has given him plenty of chances. There had been millions of little moments over the past three years for him to finally tell you everything. Even now. As he watches you sleep, with your hand subconsciously curling into his side as you snuggle closer to him, he wrestles with himself over possibilities and chances and miracles.

He could wake you up. Could kiss you in the way he’s been holding back, tell you just how much he fucking loves you before rolling into you until you’re coming all over him.

He’s had so many chances. So many times has the little voice in the back of his head told him to take the plunge. To leap into your gravity and kiss you in front of everyone, in front of Hawkins and the world, in front of Rick.

He’s not too sure if you’ve had sex with Rick yet. And really it’s not his business. But part of him can’t help but preen at the thought that you two haven’t; at the thought that he’s the only one you’ve been fucking. Ego spreads through his veins at the sight of his marks on your neck, on the bruises that adorn your breasts, and the way he memorized the feeling of your slick-covered thighs.

He’s been everywhere; over every stretch and dip of skin, from the tip of your head, down to your toes and to your pulsating cunt. There’s a map of his love, of his affection and his adoration decorating the alter of your body, and not once had he seen evidence of another partitioner.

Jealousy, possessiveness and pride lick at where his hand strokes your shoulder. Although all ugly emotions and feelings Steve knows you hate, he can’t help but pardon them.

Steve knows you in ways Rick never will. In ways, he never could.

Rick could give you the world. Give you a cushy house and money and stability and a life full of comfortability.

But Steve could give you love. Steve could give you his body and his soul promises beyond the physical as a sign of his devotion. Steve has given you his life. His attention. Gone are the days full of random dates, much to yours and Robin’s teasing. Steve has given you his heart. His home, the place where he lives and breathes you.

Everything is you.

And he’s sure, no matter how interested that dickwad might be, Rick will never need you the way Steve does.

You’ve rolled over onto your side, your left leg entangling itself with Steve’s as your head falls to the space beneath his chin. Warmth blooms within the cavity of his chest, rattling his ribs and his heart to the point where he’s sure you would wake up from the sound of beating alone.

A sense of sadness eats at his body as his arm comes to cradle your back. In the morning you’ll wake up, apologize to Steve over your ‘penchant for cuddling’ then get dressed for work as though it never happened. And he’ll shake his head, tell you it’s alright with a laugh even though you’ll never know the true extent of his words, before getting ready for his day.

Because he’s had countless opportunities. Hundreds of stolen glances, burning touches and desperate moments where he could be brave.

But bravery could lead to calamity. You might not want him the same way. And Steve knows you will never need him the way he needs you.

You need more than Steve Harrington.

But you're all he needs.

So as long as he gets to keep you if he has even the slightest chance of keeping a rope tethered between the two of you, he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever you can give him.

So for once, he indulges himself.

His head dips down to yours, a gentle press of his lips kissing the top of your head. You smell like vanilla and coconut, his detergent and his cologne—a concoction of scents he’s become accustomed to. The smell of home and sanctuary. Of hushed moans and pleasured groans, of laughter and silent whispers of 'I would die for you'.

His home.

Rolling onto his back, he tucks you under his arm, enough room to hold you close but let you go when you inevitably leave.

His eyes droop with sleep, tiredness beginning to finally possess his body as he melts into you. If he can’t have you the way he wants, he’ll take this.

Pressing another kiss to your nose, he closes his eyes and breathes you in one last time. He can feel the thrum of your life beneath his palms, and it’s that alone that makes him swoon. “…I love you, —, you know that?”

The last bit of weight lifts off of his chest at the confession, of the finality of being unleashed into the open without repercussions. You don’t respond, not that he expects you to.

But at least he gets to live in your silence.

At least he gets to pretend for just a little bit longer.

•••

Steve Harrington Taglist (+18)

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[the-archxr]

just let me dream a little more

part one.

marc spector x female!reader

summary: after a long night of patrol in search of harrow, marc begins to head back to his hotel until he hears a sound he hasn’t heard in years. your laughter brings him home, and he just can’t help himself.

a/n: I fucking love moon knight, and I wanted to write a fic (cause good god, oscar isaac is a different breed), so after episode 3, I decided I was in my feelings and needed to bust out the saddest fucking thing ever (so, sorry in advance). Also, I may write a part two??

warnings: major angst, yearning, a fuck ton of yearning, like nothing happy happens, swearing, mentions of violence, a bad breakup, allusions to sex, idk spoilers?? (but nothing major ya feel) this does not have a happy ending

word count: 3k

main m.list | part two, part three

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•••

He almost doesn’t hear it.

The sound itself is so faint and so common that it could be easily mistaken for anything.

Maybe it was the laughter of a drunken club hopper. A police siren blaring way off in the distance. A cat rummaging through a garbage can in an alleyway. Or maybe it was just the wind—whistling and mocking him.

He could’ve mistaken it for any of those things. But he doesn’t.

Because when he hears it…truly hears it, his heart involuntarily contracts. Squeezes with everything it has and then releases.

He could blame it on the tiredness. The stress from the way Khonshu practically breathes down his neck; searching for Harrow; trying to locate Ammit’s tomb. It could all contribute to his recent lack of self-preservation and inability to focus on a single task. His body, right down to the marrow deep in his bones, aches with the exhaustion of the events of the past two weeks. So, it wouldn’t exactly be far from accurate to blame this moment simply on a rotting mind.

But his body, no matter how many days, weeks, or years it’s been, knows that sound.

He could recognize you anywhere.

He tells himself that he really shouldn’t look. For his sake. If his eyes don’t see you, then you don’t exist here. For all he knows you’re somewhere far, far away where he could never find you again. And if he doesn’t look, that’s where you’ll stay. It wouldn’t be hard to forget all about this; he’d be able to move on with his life. Get out of this fucking suit, slip back into his hotel room and drink himself until he crashes.

He’s done it before, he can do it again.

But that sound; that nagging in his chest; the recognition of your laughter alone tells him to stop.

Stay.

Look.

Just one peak, is all you need.

He’s still in the suit, that much he’s conscious of. So he’d have to stay here, tucked away from the rest of the world. After all, a mummy with a cape isn’t exactly something people expect to see, especially in the middle of the night. But he realizes, at least, you wouldn’t see him. If you were to catch his gaze and look into his bright white, glossed-over eyes beneath the mask, you wouldn’t recognize him.

You can’t see him.

So he risks it.

Creeping low to the rooftop, he inhales deep—cringes at how shaky it sounds—then looks over to the street below.

At first, he doesn’t see you. Instead, he watches what is a regular Saturday night in Cairo.

For a moment, he considers, that maybe he really has gone off his rails.

Bonkers, he can practically hear Steven quip.

But then he hears you again. This time, it’s clear as day. Loud and echoey, reverberating off the stone walls and his ribcage.

And when his eyes find you, actually see you for the first time in years, he finds he can no longer breathe.

“You really should quit, ya know.” You’re in a silky purple dress (it was his favourite colour on you, but that’s not important) leaning against the wall, looking at a dark-haired woman in a black dress—your friend, he assumes.

She pulls the cigarette out of her mouth and blows the smoke in the wind away from you.

“Well then maybe you should stop fuelling my addiction. Wouldn’t that make you a bad friend?”

The air between the two of you is teasing, but he bristles at the comment. Bad friend, my ass.

You are the furthest thing from a bad person.

Annoyance pricks at the back of his neck, until your easy reaction to the comment settles him in an instant. You shrug softly, probably used to the remarks; a sense of comfortable familiarity in the closeness with this stranger. And then he makes out, even in the pale moonlight and the dusty streetlights, the upward tick of your lips.

“I bought you dinner…and drinks.” You shuffle on your feet. “Wouldn’t consider that to be something a bad friend does.”

“Well I’m covering tomorrows hangover breakfast so…even?”

You laugh again, the sound carrying itself in the wind and smacking him in the face. Then the two of you say something he can’t decipher—the sudden loud music from the club drowning out the sound of your voice (he won’t care to admit how quickly he scrambles to hear you again). You kiss your friend on the cheek, squeeze her shoulder and wave goodbye.

You turn in his direction and he panics, crouching down even further to the ground beneath him in a shitty effort to conceal himself further.

He hardly recognizes himself, and it’s at this point he tells himself he needs to leave.

This position, one of panicking and trepidation and painful yearning is something he let go of a long time ago. And even though, really, he doesn’t respect himself, after all the shit that’s been going on, he has enough respect for what’s left of his mind.

He thinks, if he were to leave now, he could forget about you eventually.

He got a little taste. Confirmation of what your life is like now. It’s a stolen snapshot of something that he didn’t deserve to have, but it’s confirmation. You're okay. Better, without him. He could live off this feeling. At least for a while. Enough to tide him over until you once again, fade into a memory he can only reach in the slipping edges of his dreaming mind.

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

But he knows, no matter how much he wishes, no matter how hard he hopes, that’ll never happen now. He fucked up. And he fucked up bad.

He’s too far gone; too caught up in a moment he hasn’t given himself the right to have in a long time and—and you’re by yourself. Walking home alone at night. Jesus, why are you doing that?

He could watch you. Just for a little bit longer. Stand from the top of hidden buildings and make sure you get to the safety of your home before abandoning you one last time.

He owes you that much.

And so he does just that. He pretends, as he starts to follow you, that this isn’t a pathetic excuse just to keep looking at you. To get one final good look at the real you, not some false hazy version that materializes before him when he’s drunk.

You walk with purpose, a very clear set destination in your mind as you navigate the maze of streets from the club. You then turn a corner out of nowhere, catching him slightly off-guard. But he’s quick to gather himself, becoming swift in his movements as he goes from building to building; rooftop to rooftop. At one long stretch of street, he finds himself walking in tandem with you, gait mirroring that of the other unwittingly and unknowingly.

The realization holds him hostage.

He’s a fast walker, always has been. It was one of the things you’d tease him constantly for. Especially when he’d get caught up walking in inner-city markets and you’d berate him for making you run to catch up. He can see the two of you now. You playfully punch his shoulder telling him that one day he’s going to run all of his pairs of shoes into the ground. And he—instead of responding—leans down and kisses you. Every single time. Then, when you’d pull away (because he never could, he’s far too touchy for that) you’d smile and hold his face before grabbing his hand and walking away. And every time, somehow magically, he would slow down without even trying.

He smiles at the memory, naturally falling into a well-paced rhythm where he’s never too far ahead, or too far behind. He doesn’t want to miss the sight of you beside him. Even if you’re yards away, he can pretend.

Hopefully, your home is still a couple blocks away.

You then come to a stop—clearly frazzled—as a taxi rips down the street. His body reacts before his mind and he almost catches himself jumping off the building; fully prepared to collide with you and sweep you out of harms way. It’s a fantasy he almost indulges in. He imagines what you’d feel like pressed against him, if you’d recognize his touch even after all this time. He imagines you holding him back would trigger a response from somewhere deep within his psyche that would take your hand and run. He contemplates it. Truly.

But no.

He can’t do that. He shouldn’t do that.

He’s better than that. Smarter. Stronger. Wiser.

Besides, when you would inevitably see him for him; when the suit would dissipate to reveal the shell of the man you once knew—you wouldn’t be happy. He’s sure of that. And he’d have to see you the way he never wanted to.

It’s why he left you all alone like that, isn’t it?

He couldn’t possibly stand to see you look at him with anything that wasn’t love; with tears in your eyes and anger in your face that all pointed to a broken heart. The best way, in his mind, to avoid that was to leave while you slept—in the middle of the night before the sun could rise over your sleeping figure. Before he could second guess himself. That way he could remember your face as he loved it. Not as how he mourned it.

There are a couple more cars that pass by, and as you move beneath the light emanating from the windows behind and above you, he freezes.

Ever the realist, he never believed that someone could freeze from the sight of another. That a heart could stop, then stutter back to life once it grounded itself: once it latched onto reality. It was physically impossible for that to happen.

But then again, he was convinced seeing you again was also physically impossible. And here you are, as his heart fails to beat.

The light shows him everything: how you’ve naturally aged and grown. Your hair is darker than he remembers and he can see the way your features have begun to mature beneath the weight of a good life. But your smile, a faint grin that he was once so familiar with, remains unchanged.

You’re just as beautiful as the day he left; as the day the two of you met, and all those days in between. Though that doesn’t surprise him. After all, you’re a mirage; a sparkling oasis that promises everything all at once. A sight meant for those with sore eyes to see, but never touch. And he has the sorest eyes.

He follows you like that for a couple minutes more. Just…staring. He fights with the thoughts of how watching your ex-fiancée walk alone in the dark is fucking creepy. But…he can’t help himself.

You’re just…

You’re so close. And so far at the same time.

And he’s right there.

He wants to bang his head against a wall until it cracks and bleeds. At least then he’d know he was still breathing.

You then turn another corner and at this point, you’ve started to slow down.

He slinks to another building, quickly scans the surrounding area for any danger (he has to act like he’s at least here for a good reason), then focuses on you walking to the door to your apartment building.

You disappear for a few seconds and that’s when he starts to panic again.

He worries that you walking inside was the last of it. That he was too caught up in the sight of you to say goodbye. A real goodbye. Not the one you deserve, but the one he wants. Because he’s selfish. Always will be.

A light flicks on and he sees the window is almost parallel to where he stands.

He finds himself leaning over the edge—dangerously close to falling (although figuratively he already has). He’s desperate and he holds his breath until, by pure luck, he sees you again. You’ve placed your purse on your kitchen island and he can see you’re rummaging around in your fridge, probably sober enough to know you need some water to combat the booze and the residual desert heat.

You look…peaceful. You look at home.

It’s a bittersweet feeling.

You turn around—you’re facing a space he cannot see—and then you’re smiling. Wide and toothy, and he thinks maybe you finally got a dog. You always talked about getting one: a German Shepherd you’d name Jenna. He wanted one, too. He never had a pet growing up, but it was something he promised you for when you got married. It was supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Spector and their dog Jenna. A family.

He smiles painfully. He hopes you got the dog.

But then he sees that it’s not a dog. You’re hugging someone. A guy. A tall man with warm skin and dark hair that has tucked himself in the crook of your neck. And soon you're laughing that wondrous laugh of yours.

His smile falters quickly as he watches the other man’s face rise to yours and…

You kiss him. It’s slow at first, but then you’re holding his face—the same way you used to hold Marc’s—and you kiss him hard.

He knows that kiss. Has been on the receiving end a thousand times. It’s the kind of kiss where you put your whole soul into it because he was having one of his self resentment episodes. Where you had to show him how deserving he was of love. Of your love, specifically. (He’s never been deserving of love, but he would never tell you that. He hated the thought of making you upset). It was a kiss that the two of you would lean into over time. The kind of kiss that would lead to his hand gently riding up your shirt before you’d tap him with a smile and kiss him again as you let him take you right there because God knows you two could never make it to your bedroom.

He wonders if the two of you have a similar routine. Do you have to kiss him to reassure him that you want him, or does he just know? Is he broken or is he whole? Does he look at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted?

Do you ever think about him?

He forces himself to look away as the light flickers off and the two of you disappear into the shadows.

He’s not too sure what he’s so upset about at this point.

It’s been a long time. Of course, you would have a life laid out by now. He reasons that just because it doesn’t include him doesn’t mean it isn’t real. You deserve everything.

And he wasn’t everything.

He wishes he hadn’t heard your laugh. Hadn’t been so eager to follow you like he did. Hadn’t seen what he just saw.

But once again, he’s fucked up. Seems to be all he can do at this point.

“Why are you just sitting there?” The voice comes out of nowhere and he almost screams. Of all the moments the fucker has to show up, it has to be right now.

Clenching his jaw, he inhales deeply. “I was just leaving. Relax, okay?”

Khonshu stares at him for a moment—taken back by the sudden aggression. But then he follows Marc’s not-so-subtle line of sight to the darkened building.

He knows. Somehow, he just knows.

“She’s happy. You don’t need to worry about her.” Khonshu says matter-of-factly, then turns away unbothered. Marc, who is very bothered, rises from his knees and tries to steady his breathing.

He doesn’t want to leave. The irrational part of his brain begs him to stay. To bust down your door and tell you he’s sorry, and that even after all this time he still fucking loves you.

But this God is still staring him down, and as he comes to realize his current situation (in a life contract with the ancient Egyptian God of the Moon), he thinks if he hadn’t deserved you then, he sure as hell wouldn’t now.

He was able to dream for a little bit though. Had time to fantasize. To stare. To admire. To fall.

Really, it’s all he can ask for.

But it’s time for him to come back to reality. He is in no position of being worthy enough to say he misses you, and you clearly don’t miss him.

He really can’t blame you for that though.

With a spin of his heel, he starts running back the way he came. Focusing on the shadows his body makes as he flies further and further away from you for the last time.

•

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Your boyfriend looks at you from your shared bed. He leans on his side, and you can see the concern on his face, even under the glow of the moon.

You turn your attention back to the window, staring at the rooftop across from you. Only moments ago, as you were getting settled, you watched shadows dance and flicker along the top of the building. It was enough to distract and pull you out of bed to further inspect the strangeness of it all, but only proved to be nothing.

It went as quickly as it came, and you assume it’s just your hazy mind playing tricks on you—mistaking the inky grey clouds hovering in front of the moon for something more.

But you could’ve sworn you saw someone.

Shaking your head, you climb back into your bed. You smile down at the man beside you and touch his cheek softly. “Go back to sleep, honey. It's nothing.”

He kisses you quickly, before lying down again. He drifts off immediately, as he has no problem falling asleep at the drop of a hat. You, unfortunately, don’t have that luxury. It always takes you a little longer to fall asleep, but tonight it takes you forever.

You decide to watch the moon until you fall asleep.

[the-archxr]

c’est ça l’amour

steven grant x reader

summary: during a harmless night of trying to take the edge off, steven’s faced with the moment he’s been desperately trying to avoid. but as you spin around to old french music, he realizes he can’t help himself.

a/n: I refuse to accept the ending of the newest episode, so I wrote this. my headcanon is that steven listens to old french music and you cannot convince me otherwise. translations will be at the end of the fic, in order of mention, because I’m canadian and had to learn french for the better part of my life so I know some stuff.

warnings: steven slow dancing (yes that’s a warning because it’s cute), UBER FLUFFY, steven speaks french, two idiots in love, honestly this is just cute

word count: 3.8k

main m.list | moon knight m.list

join my taglist!

•••

The room smells of daisies and mango. Florals and citrus notes float out of the bathroom and cloud up the mirrors, and his mind, with condensation.

The room smells like you.

You had just gotten out of your shower when he showed up at your hotel room door, stressed and unable to sleep. He told you that he just needed to talk to someone—be in the comfort of another human being that wasn’t the man in the mirror, or the angry pigeon looming over his shoulder. He’s had to deal with quite a lot over the past few days, so he was in desperate need of some peace and quiet.

At least, that’s what he told you. And yes, there was a semblance of truth there, but really, it ended up just being you he needed. It was just you he wanted.

Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He’d rather get hit by a trolley than ever tell you that.

But regardless of what you did and did not know, you still let him in, without a second thought or any questions asked. You had done that for him quite a bit, practically the entire time you’ve known each other. You were just going through the motions; the follow-through of a familiar routine the two of you always found yourselves in.

Taking a spot at the end of your bed, Steven allows his eyes to nervously look around the room. He notices that, inherently, your room is identical to his. But in presence, it was nothing alike.

His room was right beside yours and had the exact same layout. Everything from the linens to the desk in the left corner by the open window was the same. Except his room was far messier. You walk through the threshold, and it looks as though a wild bull decimated everything within its path as it passed by (which he considers isn't entirely far from the truth). The floor was littered with empty liquor bottles—courtesy of Marc—and strewn over items. Steven had attempted time and time again to clean up the mess but gave up quickly when his efforts kept proving to be fruitless. Which was roughly three days ago, when more bottles appeared beside his bed and the lamp ended up on the floor. His room was reflective of his life; the current emotions both he and Marc shared in regards to their rather shitty situation.

But your room somehow reflected you. You, at its truest point.

It wasn’t just your sweet smell that drifted around the room, but your clothes had remained folded in open suitcases; jackets were hung over the tops of chairs and your laptop and phone were neatly organized on the table. Everything—even the occasional random book—was accounted for. You had even tidily separated the curtains, exposing the warm glow of your room to the deep blue of the evening sky.

A breeze rolls through, making him shiver as it rustles the ends of the bed sheet that lay haphazardly on the ground (he assumes that’s why you left the curtains open: to enjoy the cool air of a desert night before bed). Everything about the way you modified the room reflected you. The way you lived your life so effortlessly...the normalcy of it all. Within days you had taken the space you were given, and made it your home. No matter how temporary, it was yours.

He was envious of you for that.

Granted, he was envious of you for a lot of reasons.

A lot of reasons that he once again, was not open to sharing.

“Steven,” your voice is soft as you call out to him. His eyes flicker up to you and the sight makes his stomach flip. He watches your fingers work themselves through your hair as you braid it, gently moving down until you tie it off with a band. You then pad over to him before sitting beside him on the bed, and it takes everything not to hold his breath.

You sit cross-legged, in sleep shorts and an old band shirt. He recognizes it as your favourite Nirvana shirt. The one you’ve had for years apparently. You told him once that you had it all throughout college and by the way the hems have begun to fray, he can attest that the shirt is, in fact, well-worn. Well-loved. He wasn’t familiar with the band when he first met you, never really opting to listen to music that wasn’t instrumental or reminiscent of an old French cafe. But you liked them. And truly, that’s all that mattered.

Because the day you told him you liked their music, Steven went to the public library and googled everything he could. Every piece of accessible information, he familiarized himself with. Later on, he went out and bought one of their CDs (because he didn’t and still doesn’t really know how to work technology or cell phones, a thing you tease him for constantly), without really knowing what he was looking for. And so, when he got home after he fed Gus and made himself dinner, he put it on and listened to it as it began to rain.

It wasn’t his favourite thing in the world. But he listened to the whole album nonetheless. Because if he could live off of the way you looked at him the next day for the rest of his life, he would.

Your smile could light up Camden in a heartbeat.

And yeah, it may just be a little pathetic, he thinks. A mess of a guy who’s never on time and works in the museum gift shop falling for the new extremely organized and professional intern.

He was a fool. A hopeless fool dying for the attention of someone beautiful.

And now, the most lovely person he’s ever seen in his entire life is looking at him with a certain type of sadness that makes his heart ache.

He hates that look on your face. Hates the frown, and the way your bright eyes dull at whatever is causing you displeasure.

He hates it.

The two of you stare at each other for a couple more seconds before you’re inhaling deeply. “Steven, why are you here?”

He freezes. His brain, which is already pretty buggered to begin with, seems to blow up. A short fuse that has just burst. He tries to rattle his brain for a response, or even a meagre understanding of your question. Until he realizes.

You’re annoyed with him.

You’re tired of his intrusion, and why wouldn’t you be? It’s late, you’re getting ready for bed—he can see how the exhaustion from the day has hit you—and all he can do is knock on your door and expect solace. A moment to sit in the only presence that comforts him. He reasons that if you held him if he actually touched you maybe he’d find that peace quicker, but it’s a preposterous suggestion. Hardly even a proper thought.

“I—I’m sorry, I—“

“Aren’t you headed to bed?” He wasn’t expecting that.

Steven flounders at your question; at the way you look at him with so much sympathy; at the way, your shoulder practically touches his.

His eyes drop quickly to take note of how close you are to him before he looks back up at you.

Wow, you…you really are something else.

“What do you mean by that?”

You scoff, though it isn’t out of malice. Untucking your legs from beneath you, you lean back on your hands, all while maintaining eye contact with him. It makes him nervous—the way you hold his gaze. The way it seems like you want to hold his gaze.

Don’t be irrational, Steven.

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

He sighs. Oh. “…enough.”

“Enough?” Is your automatic retort. There’s a twinge of aggression to your question. You implore him to continue, but he already knows how this is going to play out. The two of you have danced this dance a million times before. You and him and routines.

“Steven,” your voice is a soft whisper as you frown at him again and he feels as though he could die right there. He’s a selfish man. Truly. He’s come to that understanding by now; has come to terms with how the way you say his name makes him feel. How he craves that feeling constantly. How he would die over and over again—carve his bleeding heart out of his chest and present it to you on the altar of Hathor herself—just to hear you say his name.

It’s quite a dangerous feeling: complete devotion to someone who hasn’t shown an inkling of reciprocation. But he accepts it. He welcomes it without remorse because he’s understood that there’s not much else he can do.

He understands that he’s in the fortunate position to be able to take whatever he can get; whatever remains of a fantasy he can piece together in his head as he tries to fall asleep. As long as it’s you, he really shouldn’t complain. Even if part of him wants to brush that stray strand of hair behind your face. Even if he wants to place a gentle kiss on the shell of your ear and breathe into your neck until all he can smell are flowers and fruit.

But again, he’ll take what he can get.

“Steven? Are you listening to me?” Your gentle voice coaxes him out of his daydream. You’re frowning again. “Steven, honey, you need to get sleep. This…this isn’t good for you.”

Honey. You call him honey.

It’s one of those things—really, the only thing—he doesn’t like that you do. You have a habit of calling everyone honey, in all contexts and in all tones. You’re not exclusive in your adoration, and maybe that’s the part that makes him feel awful. Because he wants to be yours. He wants you to call him honey as you kiss him on the cheek. He wants you to call him honey as he reads to you while you slowly fall asleep against him.

He can imagine it clear as day: you giggling at the words and the cheesy romantics as he explains the meaning behind all of those French poems he loves so much. He could recite all of his favourite little phrases and tell you the meaning behind words that are so incredibly beautiful. Words he knows you’d like. And, maybe he could teach you the language. You’re a good listener, after all, he imagines it wouldn’t be that hard. You two could read to each other, intertwined legs and fingers, casually sipping on the same cup of tea…

All the while, maybe he could figure out his own nickname for you. Honey would be his. Obviously. So he’d have to have something special for you. Something only you would know; something he could call you every time he kissed your forehead or took your hand in his on the way to work. Something worthy of you.

Love is what immediately comes to mind. He could call you love. He reasons that love is cliche, and in hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t really like it. But he can’t help but soften at the thought. Love. Love suits you. You are love.

His love.

When his eyes meet your gaze—and he sees that you’re studying him—he shrinks away lightly, scratching at his arm as he chooses to look down to the city beneath your balcony.

Sometimes he gets the feeling, when he sees that unreadable expression on your face, that you know. That you know how he feels. He’s not subtle, despite how much he wishes he was. So it wouldn’t be in the realm of impossibility to consider that you’ve picked up on the way he looks at you.

If anything, he would be shocked it took you this long.

He just hopes, that if you do know, you let him down gently. That you hand him back his mirrorball of a heart instead of letting it drop to the ground where it would shatter into a million little pieces.

“Ya know,” your voice cuts through the air, and he realizes you’re standing by the desk now. You’ve opened up your phone, lost in something as you fiddle with it. He then catches a hint of excitement in your actions as you begin to sway on your feet. You’re smiling and he thinks, that in the bright white light that emanates off of the screen--as it highlights the ridge of your nose and the soft pleats of the braid over your shoulder--that he’s never seen anything so divine.

There’s something transcendental about being in your orbit. No matter how small of a planet Steven is in comparison to your centre of the universe, he’s grateful that gravity has tied himself to you. It’s an instinctive connection, as natural as the fall of the moon and the rise of the sun. One that renders him speechless, making him unable to focus on what you had just said to him.

It was something about…music?

“When I was younger and I couldn’t sleep and believe me, I had a hard time falling asleep a lot…” you place your phone on the table and stride over to him. “My dad would dance with me.”

“Dance?”

You nod softly and stop just when the tips of your toes touch his sock-covered feet. You give him a smile. “He had a playlist full of that kind of music, ya know? And whenever I couldn’t sleep, he’d put it on for me and we’d slow dance until I did. It helps to relieve stress, anxiety…really it’s just—“ he looks down to where your fingers reach out towards him. You’re gesturing for him to hold your hands, and the thought alone makes him gulp. “It’s relaxing.”

He lets out a shaky breath as you pull him up towards you, chests rising and falling and nearly touching as you shift on your feet. Curling your fingers around his hands, you place one on your hip, then hold the other close to your chest.

His mind races as all the moisture in his throat evaporates. His mouth feels dry, hoarse with shock as you start to sway back and forth with him to the distant melody he’s just noticed.

“La vie en rose?” He didn’t know you liked French music.

Your expressions come to a momentary pause as your body rotates in slow, choppy circles. You choose not to respond to him, a look of content on your face as you clearly get lost within yourself.

Steven, however, is not as content. He’s heavy on his feet as he shuffles in an attempt to follow your movements; to reflect your footwork; your energy. He’s caught up in watching his feet, repeating the motions in his head until he ends up stepping on your toe. You wince lightly, so as to try to hide it from him. But he noticed. He definitely noticed. So much so, that he can't stop cringing at himself.

Idiot. You bloody, stupid idiot.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m…bollocks, I—“

“Steven…” you turn your chin up towards him with a smile, round eyes softly drooping out of your own tired tenderness. “Honey, just…relax. Enjoy this.” There you go again. Honey. He could scream at that word.

By now, he’s stopped dead in his tracks. And, he begins to consider the possibility of him just abandoning you here. He’s not a good dancer, that much is clear as he greatly lacks the ability to even keep up a minor tempo (though, that could be blamed entirely on lack of experience). But worst of all, he can’t keep up with you—can’t keep up with the way you keep calling him honey; with the way you keep smiling at him. He can't keep up with the way your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

As much as he’s wanted this, he doesn’t think he can deal with it in any capacity right now.

“I can’t…I can’t relax though,” he nearly whimpers. His head hangs low, all the events of the past few days culminating in a moment of heaping vulnerability.

Wow, you must find him so dashing right now.

You don't say anything back to him, but he feels your grip tighten on his hand as you continue to sway. You ease his uncooperative body back into it before taking one large step backward. You then pause, eyes looking into his as though asking for permission. He stares back confused, carefully watching as your mouth curves into a mischievous grin. It happens before he can really comprehend it, but then you’re stepping back into the little square you’ve made with a little more fervour. And soon, with as much ease as the desert sand blowing in the wind, you’re dancing on the tips of your toes: gliding around the room with Steven in tow.

He stumbles with your movements; desperately trying to memorize the gently increased pace and intricate movements in hopes he can maybe copy you. But you aren’t giving him the chance to stop; to gather himself. Instead, you elect to just drag him along, spinning in large circles around the bed. You pull him in every direction: into you, with you, away from you.

And then you let go of his shoulder; of the firm grip you have on his body until you’re in the middle of the room. The only part of you still touching him—the remaining contact he silently embraces—are your fingertips that have hooked themselves on his.

Your chest falls gently with your excitement, as you take the opportunity to bring in as much air into your lungs as possible. You’re still smiling at him, that sweet smile where if he looked hard enough he could see your teeth. And it’s at that point, where time comes to a slow.

It's like the stuttering of an old tape. One that can’t decide if it wants to flicker back to life, or stay frozen in that spot.

In that one perfect moment.

The moon remains hidden; lost behind a sea of clouds and a deep indigo backdrop. But even with the lack of moonlight, he can still see you. Clearly. The residual light of the dim bedside lamp casts shadows across your face, and he realizes part of that shadow is him. His silhouette paints itself across your body, changing and rippling like water when you slowly spin back to him.

And then you reconnect; mould into one another again like that’s part of your routine. Embracing.

You’ve stopped dancing, but he doesn’t really notice. Too caught up in the way his mind tumbles at the sight of you looking at him like that. It’s different than usual. A lot softer. More intimate. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that…you were looking at him the way he always looks at you.

Which is impossible, innit?

You don’t look at him that way. Never have. Except now he’s not so sure. Because maybe…you actually do. Maybe you look at him like that all the time, and maybe he’s just never noticed.

Maybe he’s just as oblivious as you.

Steven gets lost in his thoughts quite a bit, it’s just how he’s always been. And typically, he’s less than happy to be left with his thoughts. They betray him, constantly. But right now, they don’t.

Because right now they give him hope. A sense of confidence. The urge to fly directly into your universe and crash through the atmosphere.

Maybe you would catch him on the way down. Meet him in the middle as you finally collide in a burst of yearning and infatuation. Much like how stars crash and burn and explode into flecks of gold and pink.

A natural connection…

You’re so close, holding onto him with everything you have even though he’s sure your centre of gravity is fine. Though, he can’t quite say for sure because his breathing has slowed too. There’s an unfamiliar sense of anticipation that has seeped into his veins, and every time he inhales, the smell of your shampoo continues it’s an assault on his senses (if they haven’t already). He watches your lips slightly purse, and he’s extremely conscious of the way you’re pressed into him; hands gently cradling his shoulders.

You hold him like a vice.

��Tu me rends heureux.”

The words slip out before he can even register them. Your breathing stops and so does his. Though he’s positive it’s for different reasons.

Steven is terrified. The words—even though they weren’t an outright “I love you”—feel like a brand on his tongue. A scorching sensation that scars his mouth and seals his lips.

He’s clambering for an explanation. For you. For himself.

I didn’t mean that.

No, please, I take it back.

Don’t go.

But you don’t leave. You just stand there, staring at him. There’s a sense of bewilderment that flashes across your features, and Steven realizes you don’t speak French. You don’t know what he said. You have no idea the weight behind his words. Behind his emotions. He lets out a puff of air.

He has time to fix this. He’s not a lucky guy. Not really. So this—this is a blessing. A chance to salvage what the two of you have left. A chance to still have you.

“Moi aussi,” you mumble back.

His body goes rigid. He’s sure, if you really tried, you could probably sense his blood run cold; could feel the chill beneath your warm touch. He hasn’t quite caught up with you yet—you seem to be set on always being ahead of him. Though, you don’t seem to mind. You just keep smiling.

“…Since when do you…when—“

“You kept talking about all of these little French poems, so…I got curious.” Your hand runs up his shoulder until your palm falls flat against the curve of his face where his jaw and cheek meet. You’re fully pressed up against him now, to the point where he doesn’t know where your breathing begins and his breathing ends. “Je suis à toi. Je t’adore.”

Your voice is a whisper as you press your mouth against his. He can taste your chapstick as his lips glide over yours: strawberry. Beautifully smooth and tart. Your obsession with fruits honestly, truly, has to be his favourite thing. He nearly cries at the experience because your kiss, no matter how gentle a kiss it is, is a wonderful peck of affection that makes his face go numb.

“Embrasse-moi encore, s’il te plait.” He’s aware of how embarrassingly raspy and desperate he sounds. But your smirk seems to say something else, something he’ll have to ask you about later.

Because you do just what he asks. And he’s never wanted someone to shut him up just as much as your mouth does.

•••

Translations

c'est ça l'amour - this is love

tu me rends heureux - you make me happy

moi aussi - me too

je suis à toi - I am yours

je t'adore - I adore you

embrasse-moi encore, s'il te plait - kiss me again, please

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