AHHHH GOING FERAL BABE THIS IS IMMACULATE

28 "i’m just getting comfy" with Steve Harrington ? 🥺

warnings: smut (oral m receiving, grinding, semi-public fooling around), mutual pining, steve being a little rough/impatient

It started out relatively innocent: movie night, with a bunch of your friends, on the couch in your basement. Every blanket and pillow from upstairs you could find, popcorn, Junior Mints, all that-- you wanted this to be perfect.

The one thing you kind of forgot to anticipate was that your couch was just not big enough for this many people.

"You look uncomfortable down there," Steve noticed as you shifted around on the pillow on the floor; you'd offered the couch to your friends, but a little decorative cushion wasn't really enough to protect your poor butt from the hard basement floor.

"It's fine," you insisted, "I want you guys to have the couch."

"Shh," someone hissed, apparently (rightfully) annoyed that you were talking during the movie. Steve, sighing, grabbed the remote and paused the tape; some of the group groaned a little bit.

"Seriously," Steve frowned, "it's your house and you're on the floor. There's room for you on the couch."

"Uh, where?" you motioned to the already-full sofa: Stacy and Kyle were squished up next to Evan on the end, who had Claire on his lap since they were dating and all.

"Come on up-- everybody will scoot over," he promised. You sighed and stood up. But, of course, when you approached the couch, nobody moved. "Guys, come on," he instructed them, waving his hands to motion for them to move.

"We never said we were gonna make room," Stacy noticed. "Because there isn't any."

"Then one of you guys sit on the floor!" he decided.

"No, no," you interjected, "you're all guests."

"Why don't you just sit on Steve's lap?" Kyle suggested, looking a little too proud of himself; you knew what they were doing, they'd probably planned all this... the whole group had been trying to wingman for you and Steve for a while now. It irritated you because, one, you told Claire about your crush in confidence, and two, because you were sure Steve didn't feel the same way. Why would he? He had his pick of the litter of the girls at school and you were just his friend. Not that you minded that. It was just a little crush, nothing you couldn't get over.

"I... isn't that weird?" Steve mumbled.

"No, it's fine!" Evan insisted.

"We're doing it," Claire pointed out.

"Yeah, but you guys are, you know--" Steve explained.

"It's not a big deal," Stacy rolled her eyes, "can you guys just work it out so we can watch the movie, please?"

Hesitating for a second, you gave Steve a look. "I mean, if it's okay with you..."

"Y-yeah, I mean, it's fine with me, I just wanted to make sure it wasn't gonna be weird for you," Steve replied.

"Why would it be weird?" you wondered.

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, "just sit down and I'll hit 'play'."

You did, gingerly, hoping to not go too fast and slam into his thighs; when you relaxed, it wasn't super comfortable, but it was certainly making your body react. It felt like everywhere he touched you-- his hips near yours, the top of his legs on the back of yours, your feet bumping together-- you felt warm and sensitive. "Are you good?" you asked him.

"Yeah, totally," he nodded, "you don't have to sit so far forward-- lean back so I can see the TV--"

When you leaned back, your back pressed into his chest, and you found yourself biting your lip... good thing he couldn't see it.

"Okay, here we go," he mumbled, grabbing the remote again and unpausing the film before tossing it onto the table and getting comfortable under you.

You expected him to be... bonier? But his thighs were strong and soft and not as bad to sit on as you thought... that said, you had to adjust once or twice to make sure your legs didn't fall asleep. Each time you moved, you heard his breathing change; wanting to lean back a little more, you gently moved your hips back, and you heard him suck in a breath quickly.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he whispered under his breath.

"I'm just getting comfy," you whispered back.

"Could you... do it less?" he hissed.

"What's the problem?" you asked.

"I... you're just getting kinda close to... stuff," he explained awkwardly.

You really didn't mean to move again, when he just asked you not to, but for some reason you did-- and that was when you felt it. Actually, what you felt first was his hand shooting out to grab your hip and keep you still. Only then did you process that the shape you were feeling pressed against your ass was his erection. Your face heated up in an instant; that's what it was right? Could that be it?

...It almost felt too big to be his cock, but then you shifted again, and you heard him choke out a little noise, and you smiled. Oh god... am I grinding on Steve Harrington right now?

He dug his fingers harder into your hips, and it hurt, but it didn't deter you as much as it should have; it just made you bite back a moan and glance over at your couch companions to make sure they were still paying attention to the movie.

How were you supposed to make it through this whole 90-minute experience without getting caught, or getting so worked up that you had to do something?

Whether it was intuition, good luck, or just a case of being less subtle than you realized, it was Stacy that saved you by pausing the movie about a half hour later. "Who else needs a pee break?" she announced.

"It's your own fault for crushing three Cokes in the first act," Claire noticed.

"So? You had two," Stacy replied.

"Yeah, I didn't say I didn't have to go, too..."

"Okay, uh," you tried to remember the layout of your own house, "there's a bathroom in the hallway by my room, and one by the living room, and another at the end of the hall on the left."

"Great!" Stacy hopped up first, Claire following her. You stood up, too, just to stretch your legs and not look too suspicious, but didn't have anywhere to go. After a quick moment passed, Evan got up, too.

"I could actually use a glass of water," he decided, "mind if I get one from the kitchen?"

"No, go ahead!" you smiled, and he made his way to the stairs as well.

Quickly realizing that you were one person away from being left alone with Steve, who was currently staring at you which you were trying to avoid openly noticing, you decided you needed to make a break for it.

"Uh, you know, I bet there's still a bathroom open... I'll go, so we don't have to pause again later..."

You dashed away and bounded up the stairs, finding the bathroom by your room thankfully unoccupied; you went in and shut the door, running the sink to splash your face when Steve barged in.

"Steve, what the fu--" you frowned, but he slammed the door behind him and spun you around, pinning you to the counter.

"What were you doing back there?" he hissed.

"I... I was trying to get comfortable," you defended.

"Bullshit," he sneered. "What was your plan, huh? Make me bust in my pants during the movie, and then what? What did you think would happen?"

You chewed your lip, glancing away. "Uh, I dunno..."

"Yeah, you weren't thinking, were you?" he sighed. "You didn't think you'd have to deal with the consequences of getting me hard in front of everyone and leaving, right?"

You swallowed as he stepped back, just enough to start opening his belt.

"Get on your knees," he demanded.

"Steve!" you gasped.

"Or you can leave," he offered, "and we can pretend nothing happened-- but I don't think that's what you want, is it?"

Just then, he reached into his jeans and pulled his cock out; just as thick as it had felt against you, hard and flushed and dripping precum already... you absent-mindedly licked your lips.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he scoffed smugly. "Get on your knees, finish what you started."

Carefully, you obeyed, kneeling on the bathmat in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching you carefully reach out and take his cock in your hand, before delicately licking a stripe over the tip. He only reacted with a twitch of his mouth, a ghost of a snarl, and you nearly whimpered. Opening your mouth wider, you took the head inside and swirled your tongue around it.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching out to rest a hand on your head-- not forcing you to take it deeper, yet, but guiding you gently.

With each bob of your head, you fit more and more, letting your spit soak him and glide with every motion. He tasted good, maybe it was just because you could smell his body wash, but it was nice; sweet and musky in perfect contrast to the little doses of salt you got each time more precum smeared on your tongue.

"Mm, that's good," he praised softly, grabbing your hair a little more roughly-- not rough, but forceful. A pang of arousal hit right between your legs, making your hips rock in the air against nothing. "Shit-- where'd you learn to do that? I thought you were a good girl, guess not..."

You whined, the sound reverberating through his shaft, and he groaned.

"F-fuck, do that again," he pleaded, and you hummed around him; he let his head fall back, putting his hand on the back of your neck to push his cock right up to your throat. "Oh, we waited way too long to do this... I've been waiting so long for this."

Gently, you ventured deeper, the tip of his cock making you choke at first-- but then you swallowed around it, and it worked. With patience, you took more and more, until both of you moaned when your lips were wrapped around the very base of him.

"You're so good," he whispered, "I'm pretty close-- keep going, we need to get back out there soon..."

Of course, 'keep going' was kind of a moot point when he was fully fucking your throat at this point, keeping your head still as he thrust his hips back and forth; you know, you'd been a little offended when he said you weren't a good girl, but considering the way your body reacted to him using your mouth like this, he was definitely accurate.

"Fuck, m'gonna come in your mouth," he warned you with a whisper. "You'll swallow it, right?"

You weren't sure if you'd be able to nod enough for him to notice it, but apparently he did, because he purred proudly.

"Yeah, that's my girl," he praised, and you whimpered around him again. You wanted to sit down further so you could grind against the floor and get some friction on your aching pussy, but he was too tall, you had to stay on your knees... you tried reaching between your legs to touch yourself, but it wasn't enough-- you needed him.

You could feel his cock pulsing just before he came, and you winced a little when the first spurt of come shot back into your throat just because you didn't see it coming. He breathed through his teeth, clearly trying to stay quiet in case the other people in the house could hear from wherever they were... oh god, you were trying not to imagine that. The idea of one of them walking in right now was humiliating, and terrifying, and sexy.

"Hnng, fuck," he groaned, pumping a few more times before he was apparently done and finally stilled with a sigh. You suckled on his cock while it was still in your mouth, making him wince and pull out. "Fuck," he panted, looking down at you again, "show me."

You opened your mouth and he bit his lip at whatever he saw in there-- it felt like he came a lot, you could feel it moving around your mouth. It didn't taste, like, awesome or anything, you weren't about to go spread it on some toast and dig in, but knowing it was Steve's come in your mouth was just so hot that you didn't care at all. You swallowed it all in one gulp, and he smiled down at you, fixing his hair before he put his cock back in his pants (priorities, right?).

"Okay, see you out there," he offered as he reached for the bathroom door, about to leave.

"W-wait, what about me?" you pouted, standing up.

"We'll take care of you after," he promised, "I think that's the least you deserve after pulling that shit."

Fair enough, but your body was so desperate for him already. "But Steve, I... I'm so wet," you whispered, and he smiled, letting go of the door to step closer to you.

"Really?" he smirked.

You nodded, and he tilted his head. "Well, you know what?" he said.

"What?" you asked coyly.

"That's your problem," he smiled, giving you a peck on the cheek and a 'boop' on the nose with his finger before he left, shutting the door behind him.

You stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the door as if it would make him reappear and say he was just kidding and he was gonna fuck you silly real quick. He was right, there really wasn't time, and this was the least you deserved, but shit... you didn't know Steve could be so mean.

But you liked it.

OMG???? THIS WHOLE SERIES IS JUST MAGNIFICENT

pornstar!moon-boys x fluffer!reader

part three: jake

a/n: some headcannons bc we filthy up in this bitch >:) 1.5k??? i'm overcompensating for something lmao

others: marc | steven | more steven

as a fluffer, it's your job to know how to keep the boys interested. each alter has their own preferences:

(NSFW 18+ under the cut)

jake: the troublemaker

GIF by manny-jacinto

Jake was the last (and final?) alter you met. He didn't ask for you the first time you met. Actually, you thought you were seeing Marc, but it turns out Jake was 'covering this one' for him, whatever that means.

It turns out Jake had been in the industry longer than Steven but you've just never met him. Unlike the other boys, he was used to taking whatever fluffer was offered on set, not really preferring or caring who was preparing him for the day. It never really mattered to him.

And then he met you.

His eyebrows raise when you walk in, eyes taking in every inch of your body. You're dressed in a pair of comfy shorts and an oversized shirt, hair styled casually so it's out of your face (Marc was going through a phase where he craves to see you in pajamas, needing that extra domesticity and softness).

Jake doesn't greet you, or even bother to stand up from the couch to shake your hand. He looks...amused, like he recognizes you.

"You're that girl that has my brothers wrapped around her finger." It's not a question, more like a statement.

He leans back against the couch as if to get a better view of what's in front of him. He looks like Marc, but he doesn't sound or carry himself like him. And he's definitely not Steven.

You don't deny his words, "And... you are?"

"Lockley, Jake Lockley." He still doesn't move to shake your hand, just says it with a nod.

"Another...?"

"Yeah, there are three of us... As far as I know."

"Where's --"

"Marc? I dunno." He doesn't look too concerned. It's almost like he's barely interested in the conversation when it isn't about himself. "But I'm here." You catch your first glimpse of his famous smirk, one that you've learned spells trouble.

You've named Jake as the troublemaker of the trio because he constantly bends the rules and does what he wants. Especially with you.

For one, he's the first alter you ever fucked. Actually, he's the first pornstar you've fucked, too.

Usually you have a longer session the first time, but 20 minutes would have to do. He's still staring at you, sitting on the couch with his legs spread wide. Inviting.

You go up to him like any other client, not phased by his dark eyes and mischievous allure, and straddle over his thighs. His hands immediately come up to hold your waist, steadying you easily against him.

Other than that, he doesn't make a move, clearly waiting to see what you'll do.

"So what do you like, Lockley?"

"Aren't you supposed to figure that out, sweetheart?"

Kissing Jake always takes your breath away. He's demanding but somehow he makes you feel like you need it, not the other way around.

He's dirty with it, drawing you in with soft kisses before nipping at your lips and then deepening it by laving his tongue against yours. It's addicting how smoothly he moves against you, tempting your body to take it a step up, to cross that line.

You are sitting up on your knees just a few inches off of his lap, hovering over and making out with him, hands cradling his jaw. You have the upper hand (and are literally over him) but you've never felt so lost in a kiss.

You feel his hands drag from your waist to your ass. He grasps you, shoving your loose soft shorts up so he can feel your skin against his palms. You let him.

That was your first mistake.

You're distracted by his mouth when his hand shifts from your butt to your aching center. You've been dripping -- soaking since he gave you a taste of his tongue, since he first held you.

You let out a surprised moan as his fingers press flush against your clothed core, stroking against your most sensitive area. He applies the perfect amount of pressure against your cunt, brushing and prodding at your entrance over your clothes before cruelly teasing your clit.

You let it go on far longer than you should've, but it just felt so good. And then it felt too good.

He rubs your clit until you're seeing white, until you can only think of him and how he's touching you.

You gasp, "Jake!" Your legs shake from having to hold yourself up as he pushes you off the edge. He growls as you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep you steady. You settle back onto his lap, forehead resting against his chest as you pant and calm down.

He's hard as a rock against you, practically pulsing as he watches you come down from your orgasm and melt against him.

He figured you out, and you, him.

Jake gets off on getting you off.

When you're his fluffer, you're his to touch, tease, and prod, not the other way around.

You wouldn't really call him a 'giving' partner because at the end of the day, he does it for himself.

He's selfish in how he'll pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, just because it pleases him. He doesn't care if you're writhing under him.

That first session didn't end where it was supposed to. Giving you an orgasm was already more than you're used to. But he kept going. You were distracted, caught off guard.

That was you're second mistake.

Before your lust-fogged mind could wrap around what was happening, your loose and stretchy pajama shorts were tugged to the side and he was pushing up into you.

The stretch was intense, but he slid in easily with how wet you were for him. You both groan simultaneously as he filled you to the brim.

After that first round, Jake ceased production for the day, telling everyone to go home while yelling "Don't fucking interrupt me" on his way back to his dressing room.

---

(He's not allowed to fuck you during working hours anymore -- they even put it in his contract. He wasn't too happy about that.)

Needless to say, you were called back the next day.

As much as Jake loves to play with you, sometimes there isn't enough time, especially on bigger projects with less time to fool around. In those cases, he takes a quick sloppy blowjob.

And by sloppy, you mean sloppy.

He loves watching you struggle to swallow him down, eyes shiny with tears and drool dripping down your neck.

His hand grips your hair, guiding the smooth pace as you bob against him. You whine as he slowly speed up, your jaw is already tired and knees are sore. You hold on your his hips to help stay steady as he starts to thrust back into you, cock hitting the back of your throat every so often. You gag and he growls.

He's the one who pulls you off, knowing his own limits.

He's the most controlled out of the three, able to slip you off his cock just at the right moment before walking out and starting the day.

He groans when he peers down at you, "Fuck...I wish I could cum down that pretty throat," You're wiping your mouth, lips still vibrating from the way he fucked into you. "C'mon baby, let's go. Call time's in five." You comb your fingers through you messy hair before he helps you up.

Then you follow him out.

Like Marc and Steven, he also refuses to be prepped by anyone else. But he also takes it a step further (bc of course he does), he takes you to set with him. Like some 'bring-your-girlfriend-to-work' day.

(oh yeah...you're with them now...)

You didn't even know that you were allowed to physically be on set when scenes are being recorded, until Jake insisted, claiming he could only keep it up if you were watching.

Sometimes when he's fucking a girl (or fucking himself) he looks up, eyes scanning the room until he finds you. The cameras don't exist to Jake and this isn't his job. Porn -- or being recording -- is just him doing the company a favor and letting them have a glimpse into his bedroom habits. He doesn't give a fuck.

He meets your gaze and sends you a cocky smirk, hands restraining the body under him as he roughly slams his hips against hers. It never fails to make your breath hitch and skin bloom with heat.

He gives you the same intense look when you're under him, choking on his cock. He's imagining that you're under him now, stretched and ruined for him. Whimpering and crying out for more. As much as you try to ignore him, you can't. It's like driving past a car wreck, you can't look away.

Directors have had to scrap countless recordings for the final production of videos when he'd get really carried away, grunt dirty words in spanish to the girl in the corner of the room (you) that the camera can't even see.

It's not all bad though, the company sometimes uses those behind-the-scene vids of him, basically cuckholding you, for exclusive content. And viewers go feral for it. Probably because it's more genuine than half of the videos out there.

OH MY GOODNESS THIS WAS JUST PERFECTION??? I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

study buddy

Title: study buddy

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Mandatory summer-school is torture. Adding you into the mix, however, makes it the kind of torture Eddie can see himself enduring.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Public Sex, Breeding, Recreational Drug Use

A/N: i started a new drabble series 👀 i tried to resist Eddie, and i just couldn’t 😮‍💨. the content ahead is inappropriate for minors, so Minors, DNI! hope you all enjoy 😏

How it started: 

That fucking skirt.

Eddie narrows his eyes at it, his tongue pressing against his teeth as he fights not to say anything. It’s practically obscene how short it is—if you lived with your parents, surely they never would have let you out of the house in that fuckin’ thing, right? The denim cups the curve of your ass perfectly, like it was made to do just that. The hem is dangerously high, one wrong move would expose everything, right here in the goddamn Hawkins Memorial Library.

Keep reading

Men who sound like they’re gonna cry when they cum.

You know the "break the bed during sex" trope? How do you think Adrian would be if that happened to him and his partner?

break the bed

(afab gn!reader) (nsfw 18+)

a/n: this is absolute filth. thank you for the prompt ily anon <3 (also i havent been assed to proofread anything rn sorrryyyyy)

In hindsight, it was absolutely mind boggling that the calamity and you and Adrian were making hadn’t prompted a nosy neighbour or passer-by to call the cops.

“Oh fuck yes- Oh fuck yes- OH FUCK YES!” you cried as Adrian fucked you into the bed relentlessly, the lewd sounds of skin slapping punctuating each and every thrust.

“Fuck-Fuck-SHITYOUFEELSOFUCKINGGOOD” Adrian whimpered, his cock slamming into you at a merciless pace as his white-knuckled hand gripped the headboard.

With each thrust, you wailed.

With each thrust, he growled.

And with each thrust, the bed frame began to wobble and screech.

The two of you were too far gone to notice the bed’s dwindling stability, even less so when Adrian hit a particularly erogenous spot hidden deep inside you, prompting you to rake your nails down his back and draw fresh blood with another shrill “FUCK YES ADRIAN DON’T STOP!”

Adrian bit down on your shoulder hard, his curly hair mopping the sweat of your face as he buried his face in your neck to leave harsh, wet, open mouthed kisses, biting and tonguing and moaning against your skin.

“M’gonna fuck you till you can’t walk anymore. M’gonna fill you with my cum and fuck it into you till you can’t even fucking think anymore.” Adrian growled, his possessiveness quickly drawing your orgasm near.

Your hands finished wreaking havoc on the porcelain skin of Adrian’s back, one of them grabbing him by the ass to hoist your hips up even closer to his, rolling them as best as you could under his brain melting pace to push yourself over the edge.

“Adri- ADRIAN! Fuck- I’m gonna-“

Your other hand made the mistake of pressing itself against the headboard to leverage yourself as Adrian was, pulling his body towards it with every thrust so that every last inch of his cock would be inside you. You could feel your legs start to quiver involuntarily as your cunt clenched around him, signalling the start of your undoing, and the very notion of you cumming underneath him brought Adrian to his own orgasm.

The second your hand pushed back on the frame, the entire structure came crumbling to the ground, the mattress falling lopsidedly atop the pile of wooden planks and metal beams.

Adrian was too swept up in the moment, too enraptured by how you made him feel, hence why he continued to fuck the both of you right over the edge, wailing and groaning through the rumbling in your ears and the stars in your eyes and the dust of the disaster settling around you.

“So fucking good-“ Adrian snivelled into the crook of your neck, never ceasing his thrusts as he began to leak out of you and onto the mattress, “-Pussy feels so fucking good cumming around me- Fuck!”

In due time, the two of you settled into a bewildered silence, puffing and panting as Adrain lay on top of you with his semi-hard cock still nestled inside you.

It was like Adrian hadn’t even noticed what’d happened as he wrapped his arms around you, holding your sweaty bodies tightly together as he enjoyed the slick sensation of skin-on-skin and pressed small, sweet, kisses along your jaw.

Your lack of reciprocation soon caught Adrians attention, and he lifted his head up just enough to look at you with those big, innocent green eyes with not a thought behind them and a creased brow.

“What’s wrong babe, you okay?” Adrian asked, eyes scanning your face for missed signs of injury or upset.

“Adrian, we-“ you chortled, so shocked but so impressed that he’d missed the event entirely, “-We just broke the fucking bed.”

“What?” Adrian gasped, curls bouncing as his head frantically whipped around in every direction to take in his surroundings.

And just as you had explained, the mattress was teetering on top of what was essentially a deconstructed ikea flat pack. To put it mildly, Adrian was very pleased with his discovery.

“FUCK YEAH DUDE, LET’S DO IT AGAIN!”

✦　₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ . ₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦

vigilante taglist: @redpool @lothiriel9 @darththrog @kingdindjarin @trash--blog @bbwithaknife @nottobegaybutmen @torchbearerkyle @666abby6666 @allukanezuko @fanofverymanythings @hypnoash @chelseaxteens @ellabellabus07 @vlkyriesgf @panickinanakin1 @caramelkatsukis-bitch @leaf-dont-leav

idc, I headcanon that all the fictional men I simp for have breeding kinks😌

this tweet just screams bob 😭

THIS IS TOO REAL

HE GETS OFF ON EATING HIS PARTNER OUT SO MUCH!!! like it’s never a chore for him, if he could live between your thighs he would. you hated that the first time he ate you out he wanted the lights off but when you felt the mattress shift and move, you knew what he was doing and it turned you on that much more.

AHHH OMG THANK YOU!! 💋

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Keep reading

IM GOOD MY LOVE, HBU?♥️♥️

me personally??? i need him to come without touching him

like he’s just so so so pent up by making out and he can’t hold it off any longer😩

no but fr he’d be so pretty flushed red and panting and his eyes are glassy and he’s so wrecked and I need him SO BAD

ROBYNNN MY LOVE

i witnessed smth so bob coded that I just needed to share it with you

making out naked w bob, his hands on your tits, and he’s so hard and leaking precum and you haven’t even touched him yet, he’s just so turned on by you😩

HI HI HI MY LOVE HOW ARE YOU???

oh don’t I’m so sick rn

His hands groping you and tugging at your nipples while you sit on his lap, precum leaking onto your thigh

When the make out gets heavy and his cheeks get all flushed and his glasses are foggy and slipping down his nose HES SO