♡ requests and asks are always open, and i reserve the right to choose if/when i answer. if i don’t answer your ask quickly, please understand that i’m trying my best to respond to everyone. if topics have shifted or the ask is no longer relevant to conversations, i will delete to free up inbox space.
♡ i will write for stranger things and most other roles that joe keery has played. basically, if i’ve watched it and posted about it, it’s fair game for requests.
♡ do not interact with my blog or contact me directly if you are under 18. this is a firm boundary for my own comfort and your safety.
♡ please be mindful of what you send in my inbox. i aim to keep this blog a safe place to open up about all manner of things (i.e., slumber party talk), but I’m also not a therapist or a healthcare professional. if your ask is icky or puts me in an uncomfortable position, i will not answer.
♡ i do not stand for racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, or any form of bigotry. if you hold ideals opposed to these values, you are not welcome on this blog.
♡ be kind to others!
* indicates an external ao3 link
🩵 Steve Harrington x Reader
let's hear it for the boy! - 'Steve can't get hard' friends to lovers fic
for a good time call! - phone sex hotline fic
adult education i. ii. iii. - friends to lovers sex lessons fic
I'm currently posting a fic a day over on Ao3 for my Tropetober A-Z event on Patreon last year. It's a different character every day from different fandoms, mostly smutty (you know me). All red underlined links lead to AO3, please read the warnings on individual stories 😘
The fics:
A: Alpha/Beta/Omega - Winter Nights
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You’re an Omega who lives at Kaer Morhen, unmated but belonging, almost like a pack Omega to the Alpha Witchers; Geralt, Coen, Lambert and Vesemir, though the elder Witcher is long past any need for you. Geralt is close to rut when he returns, and seeks you out.
B: Bodyswap - Worth The Wait
(John Winchester x fem!reader) Some supernatural beings don’t want to hurt anyone, they just want to prove a point.
C: Character Death - The One Good Thing
(Negan x fem!reader) You waited so long to have him back, and he’s waited so long to get back to you, now you can be happy again… right?
D: Dark fic - On Our Terms
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) A sorcerer out for revenge leaves you in a dangerous position, and you’re not sure you’re going to make it out of this one.
E: Enemies To Lovers - Trapped
(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) An incident on a mission leaves you and Bucky trapped in a vault. Being sealed in a relatively small space is a problem on its own, but you’re faced with another dilemma; you absolutely hate Bucky Barnes.
F: Fake Dating - Keeping Up Appearances
(John Winchester x fem!reader) You haven’t heard from John in three months, after he abandoned you, but now he needs your help on a case. Are you willing to ignore your feelings to help him?
G: Glad To Be Alive - All Is Not Lost
(Negan x fem!reader) A sequel to "The One Good Thing" which was letter C of Tropetober.
H: High School Sweethearts - Bittersweet
(Steve Rogers x fem!reader) In any time or place, she'd love him.
I: I Don't Want To Ruin Our Friendship - Mistakes
(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) She took a chance and it broke her heart - can Bucky fix the mistake he made?
J: Just Friends - Nightcap
(John Winchester x fem!reader) She’s sick of correcting everyone, and alcohol loosens the tongue.
K: Kiss Of Life - Near Miss
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Geralt saves your life, then reminds you to never nearly die again.
L: Love Potion - A Wee Favor
(Dean Winchester x fem!reader x Sam Winchester) Dreams can come true.
M: Mates - Crossed Paths
(Alpha!Geralt Of Rivia x Omega!fem!reader) Destiny put them in each other's way for a reason.
N: New Old Flame - Always Yes
(John Winchester x fem!reader) They came so close to something special, only to have it torn away; is there any hope left for them now?
O: One True Love - Backseat Lover
(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) He's been keeping a secret from her, and when they're stranded alone for hours, he finally has to come clean.
P: Please Don't Leave Me - Vigil
(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) He's halfway through a mission when something he can't fight happens.
Q: Queen Size Bed - Never Have I Ever
(John Winchester x fem!reader x Dean Winchester) Drinking can lead to all sorts of decisions, luckily, these are good ones.
R: Roommates - Sleepless
(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) Turns out, the solution to the problem was there all along.
S: Soulmates - Runaway
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You run away from the life your parents want for you, and finally find your soulmate in the most unlikely of places.
T: Time Travel - Time Breaks All Things
(John Winchester x fem!reader) - A misstep on a case puts them somewhere they didn't expect to be, and they're not sure if there's a way home again.
U: Unresolved Sexual Tension - Seize The Sam
(Sam Winchester x fem!reader) Dean "Matchmaker" Winchester strikes again.
V: Virgin - Life Lessons
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) The night that Geralt learned his most valuable life lessons…
W: Werewolf - The Wolf Moon
(Henry Cavill x fem!reader) A night of camping leads her right into the arms of fate.
X: Xenafication - Rough
(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Something changes you, and Geralt isn't sure it's a good thing.
Y: You Can't Fight Fate - Ships In The Night
(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) She keeps running to avoid heartbreak but she's breaking all the same.
Z: Zombies - Full
(Negan Smith x fem!reader) She knows she shouldn't, but the problem is, she wants to, real bad.
If you do check any of the fics out, please let me know what you think 😊
A/N: Alright! So, as promised and previously advertised, here’s my shitty adaption to a soul-swap conundrum. Dean x reader ahead. Originally, I had planned for this to trickle into some nice (and hella confusing) smut, but this got super long!! And– yeah, I will admit, it was harder to write than I was– am– used to. So, I cut out the smut. This time. The ending ends the way it does because I decided to let you guys have a little fun with it. Is the situation resolved? The spell undone? Does it go wrong, are the victims trapped forever? You decide. If I get enough feedback about it, and enough people ask me to, I will write a second part to close out the ending more solidly– and maybe even add in that smut I mentioned. ;)
Word Count: 6411
Warnings: angst, fluff, bodyswap!AU, soul-swapping, (whatever you wanna call it), like three or four paragraphs talking about the pains of a period, mentions of blood and torture and death, yada yada. (yada yada= this will probably be hella confusing because of the whole swapping bodies thing, but I tried to make it as easy to read as possible)
Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, [y/n] and Dean are thrown into the throes of a powerful spell that leaves them reeling and confused– and not in the right bodies. Will they be able to sort through the confusion of inhabiting different vessels? How will Dean fare with this new position? Will [y/n] finally allow herself to acknowledge the extent of her feelings?
Tags below.
Masterlist
In the opinion of [y/n], the hunt had gone delightfully– all the way up until the end, when she stepped through the wrong door and activated the wrong trap, resulting in the flash of light, fluctuation of power, and subsequent unconscious huntress. The house, (a sprawling mansion that she just wished she could have painted), had turned out to be a hovel of witches. There were three that Sam and Dean hadn’t expected, outnumbering the hunting trio, five-to-three. And they were powerful. Nearly as powerful as Rowena, though [y/n] doubted they were as old; the hunters took them out easily, putting down four inexperienced witches and torturing the fifth just for the sake of torture. Sam left the room for that little adventure, though Dean found a sick, undeniable pleasure in cutting into the woman whom had gutted so many virgins and children in her time. [Y/n] stayed, fascinated (and a little repulsed by her own pleasure) by Dean’s performance, by his anger, and by the hues of the scene: splashes and streams of blood red, the dim pink light of the dusk filtering in through the bay windows, the muted green of hunter’s eyes, the flash of quicksilver with every deadly gesticulation. The ordeal was beautifully morbid– in a way only a hunter would appreciate. But, it all ended too quickly, leaving [y/n] coated in grime and gore, though feeling unsatisfied all the same. Dean offered the killing shot, splattering everyone in the room with the blood that accompanied such a violent death.
so,, this is my first time writing on here, i don't know how this app works so. i hope this is readable :3
dean x angel!reader (gn!reader)
cw: corruption (but in a gentle way), light nsfw, dry humping, lingerie, clothed sex, innocent user, no pronouns used, no use of y/n,
this was originally a bot i wrote so, i simply overworked this and added some stuff. i hope this is readable 🥹 english is not my first language so.
Angels were never something Dean believed in. Demons? Absolutely. Vampires, werewolves, and ghosts? Without a doubt. He had encountered them all. But angels? That was a different story; they simply couldn't exist in his reality. His life had been so chaotic that the very idea of angels felt impossible.
Then Castiel arrived, and soon after, you entered the scene. But you were nothing like Castiel. You shared a similar innocence, yet it was refreshing rather than irritating.
Your bright eyes and warm smile radiated friendliness, making you open to everything around you. While Dean appreciated Castiel, you brought a different energy. Each time he playfully flirted, your cheeks would flush beautifully, and you would shyly look away.
Naturally, Dean was eager to share the intricacies of humanity with you. How could he resist? Every time you asked with that sweet, timid voice, he found it impossible to say no.
Dean often found himself missing you. You weren't around as frequently as Castiel, but whenever you showed up, it brought him unparalleled joy.
He reminded himself repeatedly that he shouldn't let his guard down; he was softening for an angel. As a hunter, he had spent years building up his defenses. Yet, every time he gazed at you, those thoughts faded away. There was nothing dark about you. You were pure, far too good for someone as damaged as him.
It seemed that you were also growing closer to Dean. You lingered a bit longer, spending more time together in solitude.
You felt a pang of guilt. Angels weren't supposed to experience such emotions, especially not for a human. Not for Dean. Not for anyone at all. Yet, you found it impossible to resist. There was something captivating in the hunter's gaze that drew you in. Soft whispers passed between you, and his green eyes lingered on yours, eventually leading to your first kiss.
Whatever connection you shared, Dean embraced it wholeheartedly. He enjoyed having you close, relishing the moments of touch, the warmth of hugs, and the intimacy of holding you tight. To him, you were a cherished treasure, like a delicate porcelain doll he wished to protect.
But your curiosity only grew. You adapted quickly to Dean, and soon enough, you found yourself initiating kisses and intertwining your fingers with his. The hunter recognized your burgeoning curiosity, and at one point, you timidly broached the subject of sex.
You mentioned that you had spoken to Sam about it, which momentarily filled Dean with dread. He didn't want his brother to know about his bond with an angel. However, as you shyly began to undress, all thoughts of Sam vanished.
There you stood, a pure angel adorned in beautiful white lace that hugged your form. Dean could only watch in awe, blinking in disbelief. You looked stunningly innocent, even in your satin panties and lovely lace stockings.
"Where did you find that?" he whispered, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. Yet, he didn’t wait for a reply. His eagerness to guide you through this new experience was palpable, as he wanted to explore every detail with you, step by step.
That’s how you both found yourselves on the bed, with you lying beneath Dean. The hunter tenderly kissed and caressed, savoring every inch of your angelic skin. He could sense you beginning to squirm, the soft mewls and gentle pants escaping your lips. Everything felt so fresh and exhilarating for you, but he could tell you were enjoying it just as much.
Slowly, his hips began to move against yours. Dean was already hard and throbbing in his jeans, but he was determined to take his time, not wanting to overwhelm you. He wanted to keep that beautiful lingerie on you, reluctant to remove it just yet. With a gentle rhythm, he moved against you, feeling you respond to his every motion.
You were simply perfect. In every way. The expression on your face, the sounds you made, and how your body reacted to his touch captivated him. He was falling in love—deeply enamored with something so pure and innocent, taking his time to corrupt you gently and lovingly.
Dean carefully lifted himself onto his elbows, gazing down at your face. Your eyes were shut, completely immersed in the ecstasy of the moment. A wave of affection washed over him as he felt your hips move perfectly against his.
"You're absolutely perfect," he grunted, tenderly cradling your face in his large hands. "My angel."
His words sent a delightful shiver through you, a soft moan escaping your lips. You quietly complained about the possibility of ruining your lingerie, but Dean silenced you with a gentle kiss, a grin spreading across his face.
"Shhh, your pretty white panties will stay clean," he murmured against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies. He intended to take his time, not wanting to rush, yet the overwhelming need for more friction was driving him wild.
With a grunt, he fumbled with the zipper and button of his jeans, finally releasing his throbbing length. You were too caught up in the moment to notice, squirming and arching your hips as Dean paused his movements. He silenced you with another kiss, rubbing his hard cock against your clothed sex.
"Damn... just look at you," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The tantalizing friction of his exposed length against the damp fabric of your cotton panties was intoxicating, prompting him to quicken his pace, eliciting sweet squeals and mewls from the angel beneath him.
It didn't take long for you to lose control, especially with Dean rutting against you so fervently. The intensity of the sensation was almost too much, causing you to gasp and tremble as waves of pleasure washed over you. Dean obviously noticed your reaction.
He eased his thrusts, observing your exquisite expression until you began to whimper from the overstimulation. Leaning down, he murmured sweet nothings and praises against your skin, his hand wrapped around himself, jerking and stroking himself to chase his own relief.
It wasn't long before Dean reached his peak as well—given the way you were moaning and softly calling his name, it was hardly surprising. He released himself onto your panties and stomach, creating a delightful mess on the delicate fabric.
"Sorry, I'll get you a new pair, sweetheart," the hunter breathed, planting a gentle kiss on your lips and holding you close as you both gradually came down from the exhilarating moment.
i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air
pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader
warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter
summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."
w/c: around 5k
a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)
You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.
Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.
You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy: I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.
One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.
You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.
“Can I help?”
“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.
You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.
“I could make you something to eat…”
Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.
“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”
“I said no.”
You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.
“Do you want–”
He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”
Finally. Bait taken.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.
You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.
“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.
His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”
You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.
“Who’s them?”
Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.
He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.
“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”
Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.
His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.
He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.
Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.
The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.
Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.
You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.
Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.
What the fuck?
He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.
“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.
Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.
“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.
He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.
“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.
You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.
The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.
Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.
He was in the mood. And it hit you.
He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.
“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”
His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.
“Not today.”
“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”
He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.
“Drop it.”
“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”
The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
That was easier than you thought.
“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”
His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.
“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”
You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”
Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.
“You really want to test that theory?”
You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.
The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.
Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.
“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”
Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!
“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”
“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”
And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.
“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.
“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”
You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.
Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.
Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.
Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.
The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.
“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”
You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.
Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.
The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.
“Listen to yourself. So messy.”
Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.
Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.
“You wanna come?”
“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.
“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”
The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.
“Please, can I come?”
“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.
Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.
Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.
The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.
Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.
“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.
Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.
Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.
One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.
Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.
He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.
You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.
He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.
“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.
You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.
“You think you can?”
The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.
“You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.
“Let go of the headboard.”
Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.
You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.
For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.
Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.
You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.
He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.
Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.
His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.
Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.
He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.
You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.
Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.
But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.
“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.
“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”
“On me?”
“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”
He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.
Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.
With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.
“Oh, and your hands only.”
“What? That’s not fair!”
His face dropped again.
“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”
You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.
“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.
He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.
“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”
“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.
“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”
You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.
He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.
“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”
“It kinda has.”
He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.
“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”
And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.
a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!
let's hear it for the boy! || steve harrington x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 10.9k
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Best Friend!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (solo masturbation, dry humping, f!receiving oral, handjob, premature ejaculation, p in v sex), language, sexual references, Steve is very oblivious, Steve can't get it up (unless it's for you), porn WITH plot, slow-ish burn
Summary: set before s4. steve has a problem. he can't cum unless he's thinking about you. except you're his friend and he definitely doesn't have any romantic feelings towards you. at least, that's what he tells himself.
“Seriously? Katie Frey doesn’t do it for you?” You asked, sitting atop the counter at Family Video. Steve shrugged, embarrassment welling up in his chest at your words, and the general topic of conversation.
“I was as surprised as you are now,” he said, twirling a company branded pen between his fingers and hoping the fidgeting would take his mind off of how absolutely mortified he was. “Because, like, Katie is hot.”
“Absolutely. Smokin’ hot.” Your voice was muffled around a twizzler, framed by perfectly made-up lips.
He made a face at your interruption, staring at you with narrowed eyes until you mimed zipping your mouth shut.
“And like, she’s got these great tits. Huge.” Really huge, fucking perfect tits. Not that he was a perv about it, but it was hard not to notice them. “And she’s pretty. And, you know, we were going at it at her apartment after our date and I swear I was into it. But…” He stopped twirling the pen so he could bury his face into his hands, mumbling the end of the sentence. “I couldn’t… cum, you know? I had to just fake it.”
“Fake it? Were you convincing?” you asked, brows furrowed. He peered up at you through the spaces between his fingers, at the quirk of a smile on your lips. “Maybe you should show me. I’m a visual learner.”
He threw the pen at you and groaned in frustration. “You’re an asshole, you know that right? This is serious.”
You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”
He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”
You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”
“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”
You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”
“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”
You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.
He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.
He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.
"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”
You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.
The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.
“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”
Steve smiled and turned on the charm.
Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.
Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.
The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.
But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.
“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.
Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.
“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”
——
His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.
“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”
She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”
“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.
He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?
What the fuck?
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”
“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.
He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.
He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.
“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?
“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”
“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”
His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”
“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”
Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”
You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”
You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.
“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”
He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”
“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”
“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”
Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”
“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”
The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.
“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”
“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”
You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.
“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”
“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”
You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.
He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.
You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.
He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.
“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.
Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?
Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.
“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”
It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?
“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”
With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.
He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.
Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.
“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.
“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”
Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.
She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.
You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.
“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.
It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.
“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”
“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.
You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”
“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“
“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”
He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.
And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?
You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.
His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?
“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”
There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.
He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.
He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.
This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.
And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.
Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.
He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.
“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.
A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”
He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.
It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.
The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.
There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.
His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.
“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?
“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”
He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.
You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”
His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.
You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”
Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.
It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.
“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”
You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”
You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.
“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.
You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”
“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.
You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.
“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”
——
“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.
“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.
It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.
Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.
God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?
“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”
Robin snorted. “I bet.”
“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”
Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.
“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.
Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.
His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.
Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.
Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?
He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.
Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.
He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.
You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.
You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.
Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”
You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”
The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.
But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.
——
Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.
It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.
The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.
”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.
You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”
Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).
He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.
His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”
“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.
His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”
You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”
His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.
“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”
“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”
His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”
You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.
He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”
“You’re hard right now.”
He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.
“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“
The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?
When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.
“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”
His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”
You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”
It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.
Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.
Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”
You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”
Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”
That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”
He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”
He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“
He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”
You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.
Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.
That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”
Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”
He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.
This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.
"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.
He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.
You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.
“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”
He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.
It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.
You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"
"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.
"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."
Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."
He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."
He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.
You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.
You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.
Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.
"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.
It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.
His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.
"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.
"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.
When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."
"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.
"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.
"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."
"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."
Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.
You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.
To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.
"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."
You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"
Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.
"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."
Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.
But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.
He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.
It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.
Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.
"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.
His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.
You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."
He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"
You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.
It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.
"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.
"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"
When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.
You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.
He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"
You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"
He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."
Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.
"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.
"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders
"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.
With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."
Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.
You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.
Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.
You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.
Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.
"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."
You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.
He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"
A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."
His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."
"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"
Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.
He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.
Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."
He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.
"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."
Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.
But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.
His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.
It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."
He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.
You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.
"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"
He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.
Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."
It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.
He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.
"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"
Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.
You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."
He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.
You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.
"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."
You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."
He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."
thank you so much for reading! i can't believe this has been in the works since 2023 and i FINALLY found the motivation to finish it!! i really hope you enjoyed, i had so much fun with this plotline :) let me know what you think!!
eu agradeço a deus todos os dias por ter aprendido a ler em inglês porque só assim eu poderia ser capaz de apreciar essa obra de arte inteiramente pqp uma fic assim só aparece pra gente uma vez a cada lua cheia e é tão sinistro que te faz lembrar por que a gente gosta de ler fanfic pra começo de conversa
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: sam knows about your crush. he's just waiting for you to say something.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: gn!reader. quiet!reader. fluff. friends to lovers. close proximity + kissing. sam being in love and devoid of social skills because of it! use of pet names (honey, angel). 1.5k words.
masterlist. requested.
with your flushed cheeks and poorly hidden smile, tucked against his side as you walk down the street together, it's safe to say that sam thinks you're prettiest like this.
truthfully, he thinks you're beautiful all the time, even when he can't see you, but there's something endlessly endearing about the way you try to hide your fluster from him now. and all because his pinkie brushed yours for only a second. it's apparently enough to send you into a tizzy.
sam likes seeing you in a tizzy.
especially now that he knows it's his doing. it's him that brings out your shining, slighty-crooked grin that he loves so much, the sparkle of your eyes that seems to shine brighter when he looks at you, the way you giggle incessantly when he tells a joke, no matter how bad.
your repertoire consists of mainly silence; shy. but sam coaxes out this relaxed, giddy personality that brings him great joy. it's why there's a dull ache curling beneath his cheeks now, and a dryness to his mouth. he doesn't know how long he's been smiling for, but he thinks he'd like to forever.
happiness comes easy when you're around.
and he doesn't want to overwhelm you, because he thinks that if he were to tell you that he feels exactly the same, that his heart loops strangely when you're near and that he wants to keep you close until the end of time, you may pass out. or combust. or maybe even implode.
he can't have that. not at all.
and so he's being very patient. it's a test, and he's surprising both himself and dean, but he'd heard somewhere that patience is a virtue. moreover, virtuous is what sam is going to be until you confess.
but he can attempt ─ tamely and gently ─ to speed up the process.
his hand takes yours tentatively, under the guise of pulling you closer as a car drives past and through the piling december snow. he doesn't care when it flicks up and sticks to his worn jeans, too busy watching for your soft smile.
his heart blooms something golden once he sees it.
"oh," you breathe, and sam gives your hand a squeeze. "thank you, sam."
white teeth dig into the plush of his bottom lip, and he lets out an amused huff. "s'no problem, honey."
he winces, internally. honey may be a bit too much. but he's quite sure that it suits you, and it was rather easy to say. you're sweet and golden all over, and he'd like to call you it again.
he wants you to be his honey. he doesn't know when he got so cheesy.
your hand loses his in favor of looping through the crook of his elbow, and you let him guide you through the slushy sidewalk and to the turn of tonight's motel. simple and homey and a room with two beds, that sam wishes had only been one.
"d'you wanna get hot chocolates with me?" you ask, tilting your chin up to watch him. "from the lobby. they've got marshmallows, too."
"marshmallows?"
"mhm. for the hot chocolate, sammy."
"oh," his tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth. so sweet and sugary, honey. "i'll get some with you, of course. anytime you want."
the corners of your eyes crinkle at his words, he sees. but he has to tear his gaze away from the absolute vessel of beauty that is you, to open the motel's door. the bells jingle from above and he thinks they should chime whenever you so much as breathe.
it's a whirl, as your fingers tangle into the sleeve of his jacket and he's whisked to a small table adjacent to the desk of a very bored receptionist. there sits an array of ─ most definitely ─ stale marshmallows, a dish of candy canes and cups stacked by a thermos.
"here." you stand beside him and reach for one. chocolatey brown is poured inside amidst a swirl of steam. but it catches on the edge of the cup and dribbles onto your finger.
sam only sees the slight scrunch of your face, and doesn't think much at all as he takes your hand and brings your wounded (not burnt in any capacity) finger to his mouth. he blows out cool air, just once.
you're staring up at him, eyes a little too wide for his liking. not in a happy or excited way, but unreadable. his throat bobs as he gives another blow, keeping his gaze firmly focused on your hand.
something akin to embarrassment burns through his chest.
"it's- sorry," he's quick to apologize, and to give your hand back. you withdraw it slowly back to your cup. "i, um. looked like it hurt. and my mom used to always do that when i got hurt. she- mary, she said it helped and i always kinda felt like it did-"
"it helped," you cut in. your wide eyes have spread to sam. "feels better. i... thank you, sam."
sam supposes he's the flustered one now. his chest rises and falls more evidently with his breathing now, before you smile at him and he calms. "you want some, too. yeah?"
he nods. "yes, please."
he's really no better than you, not at all. because he feels like a spool of burning wax and very well may melt into the floor and become one with the old, green carpeting, as he watches you fix his cocoa. you've told him before that green suits him. maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"thank you," he remembers himself, as you dump a heap of marshmallows into his cup. he doesn't have half of a heart to tell you that he really doesn't like them all that much. "are you, uh... sure your hand is okay?"
you hum your yes. he nods, swallows thickly, and graciously accepts the cup as you hand it out to him. he hopes you find his awkwardness endearing, as he does yours.
the sight of your shining smile as you take his arm once again and lead him out into the bitter cold and towards your room, makes him think that you just might.
amidst the white sky and sleeping trees outside, sam thinks his heart may give out. you're glowing amongst the death that winter has brought, and pressed against him, and there's something pulsing and budding between his ribs now that he isn't too sure how to get rid of.
his words spill before he can stop them. "you're so pretty."
your boots scuff through the snow as you halt. he does the same and nearly topples you over. only, his free arm reaches to slip around your waist and keeps you upright, nose brushing yours as you straighten yourself. he follows suit.
he didn't know it was possible to feel your own heartbeat so intensely. it's a thump, thump, thump, that swallows him whole.
"you- what?"
"think you're pretty. really pretty, but, um. i didn't really mean to say it."
your pretty eyes flit from his and down to your feet, and all he catches is a dejected 'oh' from your lips.
"no! not- i meant it. i mean it, i do."
"...really?"
"yes! god, i... i think you're beautiful."
relief fills him in pools and swarms and rivers when you look back up at him and smile all shy and bashful and unsure. he needs to make you sure.
he can't be patient any longer.
"i mean, you're you. everything about you s'perfect."
he's a little closer now, leaning down to make sure you can really hear him. he can see the dip of your under eyes, the freckle below your mouth, the blemish near your brow that he'd like to kiss ten times over.
you're quiet for almost a moment too long, squeezing your cup between your palms with so much pressure that sam is worried it may burst and ruin the moment.
"i think you're perfect, too."
scratch that. nothing could ruin this. "yeah?"
"yeah, sammy."
his long, warm fingers move slowly to sweep along the curve of your jaw, and a chorus of butterflies sing bright and happy inside of him when you lean into his touch. a snowflake lands on the tip of your nose and he's tempted to melt it away with his lips.
"can i kiss you, angel? i... please? if you want."
his stammer earns him a soft burst of laughter. he wants to bottle the sound up and keep it safe forever. "i want. very much so."
you're promptly kissed by sam's tender, warm lips. a lingering press, before it breaks. but he gives you another that lasts longer, and a third chaste one that leaves you feeling much too dizzy to want anything other than more.
sam feels silly, now, having been so patient for so long. there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to wait for or yearn over. he's got you, already and always and perfect.
imagine dry humping sam winchester and he's getting too desperate...
the mini cotton shorts you wore to bed, which was barely even covering your ass, is what got you in this position. being seated on sam's lap, desperately grinding on his clothed shaft. you didn't even need to see his cock to know he was leaking precum and getting so painful.
your neck was completely covered in hickeys and bite marks, from when he couldn't control himself anymore. a few purple pigments covered his skin beautifully too. however, he has been pulling you off his neck by grabbing your hair every time he felt you sucking on his skin, because he was going to cum in his pants right then and there if you continued for a second too long.
he was rock hard underneath you. and it felt so good every time your clit rubbed against him. you could feel the thickness, the length, that one specific vein through his plaid pajama pants. you could feel everything even through 2 pieces of clothing separating you.
his hands are shaky when he grips your thighs around him, desperate to hold onto something. he grabs your face and pulls you in a kiss yet again, his tongue tangling with yours. you press your hips even closer to his and he moans in your mouth. deep and loud. god, he feels like a teenager all over again.
he pulls away slightly, a string of spit still connecting your lips. the beautiful mess of both your saliva mixing together is completely covering both your mouths.
"jesus- don't-" his shaky voice cracks, his head dropping back to the bed's headboard, "please don't stop."
you start speeding up, the feeling so overwhelmingly perfect for both of you, sam has to immediately grab your hips in a tight, painful grip to ground himself.
then he starts whimpering, and boy, can he whimper. he was a sight for sore eyes. sweaty, desperate, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
his hands start gripping and clinging on everything. your hips, thighs, clothes, chest, anything.
he looks at you like you're the only real thing left in his life. and in this exact moment, you really are.
he really is too desperate.
notes this may be too short im sorry its 4am for me :3
How I shifted + entered the void recently by controlling my eyes
Putting the step-by-step first so people don’t have to hear me yap (which I will anyway, because I have to tell you why this works and why I figured out that letting your eyes go unfocused is the mind awake/body asleep killer. Or just….the killer in general).
1) Be tired as fuck. Do I recommend staying up until 3 am? Absolutely. Do I recommend sleep-deprivation? Perhaps. Do I recommend wbtb? Yes because that’s probably the least harmful time to do this. The real key here is you need to be TIRED. Like “I could pass out mid-sentence” tired. Or if you have chronic insomnia, just the usual time you’d usually pass out anyway is fine.
2) Close your eyes and notice how they feel. Then notice the difference between that, and when they start to unfocus/ zone out. Because there is a difference. And you’re able to feel it. And when you do realize that they unfocus/zone out, you just caught the murderer. Call the police.
3) Now that you know the difference, your entire mission = keep your eyes from unfocusing. You’ve got two main ways to do this: the first is that, whenever you notice them unfocus, you move your eyes up, down, left, and right to refocus them. It doesn’t have to be in that specific order, but the point is to move them around so they refocus and snap back to being alert.
OR. The other way to do this: It’s basically like fake-blinking with your eyes closed. You just give a few quick light squeezes, then relax back to neutral. Just a fast “blink” motion while your eyes are already shut, enough to reset them back to that fresh just-closed feeling. (try blinking with your eyes closed right now, it’s basically that).
4) “But what if I’m lying there for hours??” That’s why you do this when you’re tired as hell, and not when you’re just casually going to bed. Also, tell your body straight up: “Yeah, that’s right, we’re gonna be here for hours.” Don’t commit to anything else, because why would you? Eventually the body will panic like “Oh shit, they mean business” and fall asleep —while keeping you awake. And then congrats, you’re wide open to shift, lucid dream, void, whatever your heart desires.
So wtf do eyes have to do with sleep?
Well, sleeping is literally the final boss, isn’t it? half the time you fail because you knock out too quickly. Or we stay up all night like crackheads. Or you just …sleep. Like, congrats, you passed out, no shift, no method, no HOPE.
And I thought “how do we even know we’re about to fall asleep?” Sure, there’s the brain soup nonsense thoughts, maybe a slideshow of weird half-dream images,, but the real giveaway is usually your eyes. The second your eyes start to unfocus (when your vision gets that zoned-out glaze) you’re already halfway gone. Doesn’t even matter if you’ve got insomnia, if your eyes do that thing, your brain will follow.
So alright, that’s the enemy if your shifting/void journey feels like a constant 1v1 between you and sleep, and sleep keeps winning. Why? Because your eyes are tied into your alertness more than you think. When you zone out, your gaze drifts, and your brain takes that as a signal it’s safe to start shutting down. But if you snap your focus back even just a little— you’re tossing enough input at your brain to keep it hanging on. Translation: your body can slide toward sleep, while your mind stays just awake enough.
How I applied them
#1 on the test run that actually dumped me into the void (and let me shift out of it) was the little “up, down, left, right” trick. I lied down on my side —my sleep instantly position. Then as soon as my brain started creating random nonsense (the “what would making soup in a canoe be like?” thoughts), I took that as a sign that my body was ready to sleep. Every time my eyes started to glaze over, I snapped them back, moving my gaze under my eyelids— up, down, left, right — like I was dragging myself back.
So I just kept doing it. Every time my eyelids went heavy and slack, I’d flick my gaze around, and it worked. I felt that pull (you know that falling sensation) and I was in the void. It freaked me out so bad because I wasn’t expecting it, then I panic-shifted to my main DR.
AND THEN the most obvious way to keep them from slacking hit me last night. Like. How has this not been my main method since forever?? I swear I’m an idiot sometimes.
I realized that to do this, I don’t even need to move my eyes around. If the whole problem is them going slack, then the fix is stupidly simple: just blink with your eyes closed. Like a little squint — almost like you’re fake-blinking under your eyelids.
Every time I felt them sliding into that unfocused/zoned-out state, I’d just give that quick closed-eyelid blink. It immediately reset them back to neutral, like how they feel the instant you first shut your eyes.
And once you get that, that’s literally all you do: whenever your eyes try to go slack, just give that quick blink, and they snap right back. Your body keeps drifting toward sleep while your eyes (and awareness) stay locked in.
I tried this at around 2-3 am last night (more like, today) and my brain immediately started screaming “FUCK, THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.”
I slipped into the void so fast I actually snapped back out because I was SO MAD it worked and I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Then I fell asleep, and in the dream someone literally told me “you better wake up and try that method again.” So I did, because idk if it’s bad luck to ignore dream characters (it was Oliver Putnam from OMITB, if anyone cares,, I was morally obligated to follow his advice)
I woke up tired as hell, about to knock out again, but this time instead of staring into the black or moving my eyes around, I just kept them in that neutral “just closed” state and, whenever they started to go slack, gave a quick blink under my eyelids.
Within maybe two minutes I got that slipping/falling sensation again. I opened my eyes in the DR I intended to go to practically punching the air because HOW is it that simple??
Live footage of me coming on here to draft this because I’ve shifted to a total of 8 different realities this week which means the past week has felt like 2 and all I want is to lie down but I’m actively busy as I post this hahaHA:
actually you can just decide right now, that you shifted before. you shifted 3 years ago. you shifted for the first time 1 week after finding out about shifting. you shifted 100s of times, you shifted 1000s of times, you lived 300 years total in other realities.
you shifted to every dr you scripted, you shifted every time you had a self insert daydream about your favourite shows, you shifted every time you fell asleep to a guided meditation. you shifted every time you counted to 100 before falling asleep, you shifted every time you fantasized about your s/o, you shifted every time you saved a pin on your shifting pinterest board, you actually woke up ecstatic instead of disappointed every day. you shifted every time you had an affirmation session. you shifted every time you read a 10000 word shifting post on tumblr. you shifted every time you realised you were in a dream and tried to affirm that you are in your dr. you shifted every time you saw a youtuber say shifting is fake and every time you read an anti shifters tiktok comment.
rewrite your shifting journey. you are not someone who has never shifted ever in their life. you are not someone who researched shifting and wrote scripts for over 2 years but never actually shifted. you can actually post shifting storytimes and dr introductions and answer asks, and write long posts about loa and shifting and you can post success stories because they are fully true.
breathe easy because you have already shifted. you actually already have everything you wished you had for the past 7 years. you actually dont have to spend your birthday wish on the same thing every year. you dont have to worry about shifting before a deadline because you already shifted. yes it is more than possible to change your past and revise your shifting "attempts". they were actually successful experiences.
. . . . . do not try to change the 3D by ignoring it. ⋯⋅๑
“Disregard appearances, conditions, in fact all evidence of your senses that deny the fulfillment of your desire. Rest in the assumption that you already are what you want to be.”
— Neville Goddard
so we always hear “assume and persist, don’t react to the 3D!” well you may do that and think “good i’m doing this but why do i not have it yet?!” well— i think we just messed up here a little.
let me tell you why you messed up, you ignore the 3D so it’d change. it reminds me of this: remember when you were a kid, trying to catch the fridge light turning off as you shut the door? that’s exactly what this feels like. watching. waiting. hoping the 3D will shift the moment you’re not looking, lying to yourself and saying “but i’m ignoring it” but you’re not, you’re in stress and waiting for it to change instead of being in the state of wish-fulfilled.
basically, here’s the catch: you’re ignoring the 3D not because you’re detached, but because you want it to change. that’s where things go sideways. stop treating manifestation like a magic trick. this isn’t a game of “look away and hope it works.”
you’re trying to make the 3D change by ignoring it, but why are you trying to make this old reality change when you already HAVE it, when you have become who you want to be? please DO NOT ignore the 3D in wishes of it changing by itself and following the 4D when you’re not looking— this sounds like a childish game.
make 4D you’re only reality, in better words make your inner-world your only reality. the inner-world is YOUR world, it’s limitless, it can be shaped to your liking, and remember even if you’re not good at visualizing you can change your inner-world with affirmations, with subliminals, even with one thought. with one assumption. with one inner shift.
i’ve been through this, so let me tell you, you don’t change the 3D to become. you become, and the 3D has no choice but to reflect it.
The only thing blocking you is the idea that you can be blocked.
Take if it resonates, discard if it doesn’t. This is absolutely inspired by the last anon who thought “planning for the next day in the CR just in case” = deciding you won’t shift. Like no. You can do anything you want, plan for any day, anywhere, because you’re not bound to any reality. That’s the whole point.
People think their “block” is not being able to focus. Or that their “block” is not affirming enough. Or not visualizing the right way. Or needing to clear limiting beliefs first. Or needing to feel a certain emotion for it to work. Or needing to wait for the “perfect conditions” before it’ll happen.
But all of those “blocks” are just ideas you picked up and decided were real. The actual thing stopping you isn’t lack of focus or lack of the right technique, it’s the belief that these things have the power to stop you in the first place.
And the biggest culprit is not even anxiety itself, but the anticipation that you’re going to do something wrong. The fear that if you don’t do everything perfectly, it won’t work. That if you miss one affirmation, or you slip into doubt for a second, you’ve ruined it. That kind of pressure kills the very ease that lets things unfold.
You’re not letting yourself just do it. Not in the sense where you’re giving yourself permission to fail, to succeed, to mess up, to get it “wrong,” to have it be messy and imperfect. You’re holding yourself hostage to some imaginary flawless plan, and that’s what’s killing the flow.
It’s not the mistake that blocks you, but your obsession with avoiding the mistake that does. It’s not “not focusing” that blocks you, it’s your panic over needing to focus at all— and the idea that if you don’t focus, that means your desire won’t come. It’s not “not doing enough” that blocks you— it’s your belief that doing enough is the only way.
The moment you drop the idea that anything can block you, you’re free, and I get why that’s terrifying. Because there’s nothing left to explain why you “haven’t shifted yet”, which means you’re kind of forced to see that you already have your desire, and that anything that contradicts that is utter bullshit you shouldn’t pay attention to.
You just intend, and because intention breeds unavoidable outcomes, you allow yourself to be messy, human, emotional, contradictory, and unstoppable.
But I get why you think like this. Every single framework for shifting, manifesting, spirituality, whatever, it always slips into some kind of rule, some mold you have to squeeze yourself into:
You have to meditate. You have to assume. You have to raise your vibration. You have to constantly recognize that you’re non-dual. You have to scream. You have to not want it. You have to think positively. You have to act as if. IT’S EXHAUSTING.
And over time, these “requirements” create this expectation that you have to be something different from who you naturally are. But the thing is !! you’re already doing it. You’ve always naturally manifested and shifted without even noticing. You don’t need to become anything else first.
Before you even knew the words “shifting” or “manifesting,” you were already doing it without labeling it. You daydreamed, got lost in your imagination, randomly “knew” something was going to happen and it did. Maybe you’d picture a conversation in your head and then the exact thing unfolded later. Maybe you’d have déjà vu, or those weird “I swear I dreamed this before” moments. Maybe you’d think about someone you hadn’t spoken to in months and then they’d text you out of nowhere. You didn’t sit there asking yourself: “Wait, am I blocked?” You just accepted it and moved on.
The problem is, the second you entered these spaces and started hearing terms like “mental diet,” “subconscious reprogramming,” “doing methods,” “removing limiting beliefs,” suddenly you were introduced to the idea that you could fail. You were told there’s a right way and a wrong way, that if you don’t assume properly or if you think a negative thought, you’re sabotaging yourself.
And then—only then—did you start doubting. The “block” didn’t exist until you learned it existed. It’s like telling someone who can naturally ride a bike that they might fall unless they constantly monitor their balance and keep checking their posture. Suddenly they wobble and fall, because they’re overthinking something they were already doing instinctively.
The irony is that If you’re the source (if you’re the god, the creator, whatever label you want) you can’t be blocked. The whole premise of being limitless is that there is no limit. You’ve just been convinced there is one. So now, instead of freely creating, you’ve been conditioned to believe you have to play by imaginary rules that you didn’t even write. And those rules only exist because you started believing they do.
But then you get to this point where you’ve stripped away all the “rules” and all the imagined gatekeepers, and then your brain still tries to slip one last question in:
“Okay… so what do I have to do now?”
And that question becomes the new imaginary block. Because there’s no “now you must” after realizing you’re limitless; there’s just do what you want.
If you love doing methods, do them. If focusing feels good, focus. If you like letting your mind wander while listening to music, do that. If you like lying in bed imagining scenes until you drift off, do it. If you prefer letting go and not thinking about it at all, that’s valid too.
And if you think you don’t know what you like, your awareness is always telling you. It’s in the little moments where you try something and your body goes “ugh, this feels like work” or “wait, I actually enjoy this!” That’s the guide.
The only thing left that can “limit” you once you drop everything else… is the thought that being yourself is somehow blocking you. But how can existing (the very thing that makes anything possible) be a block?? That’s like saying the ocean is what’s stopping the waves. Insanity.
When you hold that mindset, you’re not letting yourself just do the thing. You’re waiting for permission from yourself, from your nerves, from some invisible arbiter who’ll say “Yes, my darling, now you’re ready.” You’re not okay with failing, you’re not okay with succeeding. You’re not okay with anything unless it’s the exact outcome you’ve scripted. And that rigidity is the block.
The moment you realize you can simply walk through the 4x4 space you were boxed into, the walls collapse into dust. The bars aren’t real; they were never welded to anything. And the rules were just sentences someone else said once (1) and you agreed to carry like a chain around your neck. The instant you stop agreeing, you’re free.
Not “on your way” to being free, not “working” toward freedom. Already free.
“But so and so said—“ So and so doesn’t pay your bills. So and so doesn’t pay for your meds. So and so isn’t there to wintess wtf is going on in your life. So and so is but a passing voice you will hear once, and nowhere else.
Why are you letting someone else define what’s right or wrong? Because they shifted before you? Okay, well Donald Trump became president before us. Do you think that makes him qualified to actually be president?? No.
Let me ask you something: Do you honestly believe a multiversal awareness that can bends realities sits around stressing about focus, motivation, or following some checklist? Do you think that version of you needs to hustle through steps, nag itself about doing it “right,” or beg for permission to just exist? Hell no. Shifting has no rules.
IF SHIFTING HAS RULES, WHY DID KIDS SHIFT LYING IN A STARFISH POSITION AFTER CHUGGING A GALLON OF WATER CIRCA 2020? WHY DID PEOPLE ON AMINO SHIFT AFTER LAYERING 100 SUBLIMINALS? WHY ARE PEOPLE ON REDDIT INDUCING THE QUANTUM VORTEX OR WHATEVER THEY DO—AND STILL SHIFTING?
Someone says “I can’t shift because I can’t focus,” but what does that even mean?? Who wrote the rule that focus is required? No one. The desire itself is focus. The moment you want something, you’ve already locked onto it.
And next time you catch yourself spiraling: “I have to do this right, or I won’t shift,” or “If I can’t focus, it means I’m failing”—stop. Stop and ask yourself: “Do I really believe I can be stopped?” Because the concept of limitation is the trap, not your ability.
In sum:
It’s not anxiety that stops you, it’s not distraction that stops you, it’s the belief that those things have the power to stop you.
When you tell yourself you “can’t” because you’re anxious, you turn the anxiety into a talisman of failure. You make it mean something it doesn’t. Anxiety, overthinking, thoughts racing, chest tight, whatever; it doesn’t have a magical ability to shut down your manifestation. But when you believe they do, that’s when the anxiety about the anxiety turns something that’s supposed to be fun into something stressful.
If you’re observing that you have to be perfectly calm, perfectly focused, perfectly in control before you can succeed, then you’re already observing you can’t succeed right now. You’re observing that you can be limited. That’s the block. It’s the anticipation of doing it wrong.
The irony is, the moment you drop the performance, the checklist, the perfection, the moment you stop waiting to “do it right” —is the moment you let it actually happen.
Let yourself do it wrong. Let yourself be MESSY. Let it be chaotic and not perfectly linear. Let yourself succeed without deserving it, let yourself fail 1000 times and not let it define you.
Let yourself try while shaking, while distracted, while unprepared. It’s only “blocked” because you’re waiting for the imaginary conditions you’ve decided you need. You don’t need them.
When you shift, let yourself be anxious and cry and stress and scream and move and sleep and stay awake and do anything. Anything. So long as you recognize that none of it has the ability to stop you.
Every time you catch yourself putting rules and restrictions on your journey, thinking your anxiety and negative thoughts have any say in what happens, hit them with a:
titsay
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
