……um…..breeding kink with knight steve????? my brain is on fire
contains: knight!steve, royal!reader, reader with a vagina, reader referred to as ‘princess’ and ‘your highness’, reader readers to themself as a common whore lol, the THEORY of breeding, cum play, loss of virginity. steve gets a lil rough in this one… need to see him be bitchy in his suit of armor so bad …
reader would exploit the hell out of this.
it takes ages to convince him to fuck you. it’s mutual masturbation only for several months because he’s justifiably afraid of losing his life. it’s forbidden to touch you, to treat you as anything other than the most precious and pure thing on earth.
you detest this, of course. but steve’s patience only lasts for so long. he’s between your thighs soon enough, that long, thick cock stretching you to the point of insanity. he’s not the easiest thing to take for your first time, but you adapt quickly enough - what with the several rounds you do every night in the dark of your bedchambers.
your suggestion is truly a slip of the tongue. and if he actually did it, it would end horribly for you both. it’s not even exciting to think of being caught.
in short, you don’t know why you say it, but you do.
“cum inside of me.”
steve’s eyes had been closed as he hovers above you. now, they’re wide, his pretty face pink, pupils blown. he’s so shocked that he can’t speak, his mouth opening and closing incessantly. you know he likes it, though. you can feel his cock pulsing and twitching inside of you.
“your highness,” he finally settles on. his voice cracks.
“i want to be with you,” you whisper, cupping his face in your hands. “want to be marked by you, only yours.”
your knight shakes his head, brown locks falling over his forehead. his throat bobs as he swallows.
“i — we — i cannot, princess, i….”
your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him in. he groans and begins to thrust again, though much slower than before. his brows knit together as he holds himself back.
“don’t you want to see it?” you breathe. you take one of his hands and place it over your stomach. “seeing me swollen with you?”
he says something so blasphemous that you gasp, and then he’s fucking you, moving harder and faster than he ever has before.
“don’t,” he grits. it’s the first time he’s ever sounded like a knight to you. the threat he implies with his tone makes you reel, your back arching as a long moan escapes your throat.
“you want to get me pregnant?” you push, desperately trying to stop your eyes from rolling back. “want to give me an heir?”
he groans and buries his head into the crook of your neck. you gasp at his speed, the force behind each push of his hips.
“stop,” he begs, his voice hoarse.
“y-you will,” you insist. “i am your princess, aren’t — aren’t i? you’re going to say no to me?”
he fucks you so hard that it hurts, and you revel in it. split open on him, your virginity taken, completely unholy underneath him.
“you’re filthy,” he says, voice forceful. he sounds like a knight again and it simply makes you more wet, more eager. “a princess sh-shouldn’t speak like this.”
you smile. “then i must be a c-common whore.”
steve’s voice strains. “it’d make this much. easier. if you were.”
“do it,” you press.
he grips your cheeks in one hand, thrusts landing harsh. your tits bounce in your night dress, skin shining with sweat. he looks down at you, face twisted in conflict, and then he smashes his lips against yours.
you’re thankful he does. each thrust lands harsh enough to fuck a shout out of your throat. he keeps your mouth occupied as his tongue licks against yours. your clit pulses, stomach tightening. you fist at his shirt, twisting and tugging as if it would bring you any relief.
his hands unbutton your dress until it’s open enough to expose your breasts and torso. the rough linen on his chest rubs against you, making your nipples pebble.
it feels so good.
you try to tell him that you’re going over the edge, but his lips occupy yours. he can feel it, anyway. the way you clench, your hips squirming as if you’re trying to get away from the pleasure. he swipes his thumb over your swollen clit one, two, three times, and then you’re coming with a cry into his hot mouth.
he swears against your lips. you’re certain you’ve got him, that he’ll do it. but your legs have gone slack and he isn’t forced against you anymore. he pulls out and ruts against your soft stomach until he cums between your breasts, biting his lip so hard it bleeds.
it takes you a moment to come back to earth, aftershocks rocking through you. but when you do, you grab a fist of his hair, pulling his slack head upwards to look at his flushed face.
“never disobey your princess again.”
he laughs.
“oh, your highness,” he coos. his shaking fingers gently touch the cum on your chest before dragging it down your stomach. his hand rests where you’d put it previously.
he’s mocking you. what you could have had. what he could have given you.
steve’s eyes are dark as he shakes his head. “i’m not afraid of you.”
I’m thinking about knight!steve ever since you mentioned him, sigh. I’m thinking about him at his post and he hears something in the kitchen and it’s you in your linen sleeping gown under candlelight eating the leftover dessert from dinner because you can’t sleep and he’s like fuck, I really didn’t need this today but he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame and will take any attention you give him and it’s addicting and he knows he shouldn’t entertain it and he should leave you be but he can’t. I’m thinking about him falling short of breath as he watched you come down the stairs at the ball and you look so beautiful and him getting so jealous that all these twats get to dance with you and be so close to you in a way he’s only dreamt of (and he’s dreamt of it many times). I’m thinking about his friends absolutely hounding him about it and how dangerous it is and how he needs to stop drooling everytime he sees you but he can’t help it. Your dad loves him and always says Steve is like a son and he wishes he was of higher rank so he could wed his daughter and this absolutely kills Steve because he knows this all too well.
taking a long drag of a cigarette rn…. idk what this ask did to me but i’m truly just rambling for a long time under the cut. simply basking in this ask i love this so much
reader with a vagina; reader referred to as ‘princess’; reader wears dresses; yearning so much yearning; dry humping; piv, mentions of masturbation; and ofc knight!steve!!!
knight!steve wants you any way he can, and he feels strangely honored when he’s around you during seemingly ordinary but quiet moments.
he’s always watched you from afar. he’s constantly battling with himself over the authenticity of his knighthood - did he choose his station for the love of his country, or for you?
it’s during a nightly round through the castle that steve finds you in the dark, wandering around without a light. you’re like a ghost, gracefully haunting the centuries-old halls.
after a long moment of staring at you, in awe of being in your presence when he wasn’t scheduled to be, his pretty face turns concerned. he softly calls your name and asks if you’re alright, if you need a light to guide you. and you let him. he leads you back to your chambers but still feels like he’s following you instead, desperate for your attention like a puppy.
now that you’re properly acquainted, he can’t go a day without seeing you. you’re walking through the grounds much more often, spending time looking at the tapestries in the hallways. when he catches your eye, you smile and wave before wandering off.
steve finds you in the corridors again just a few days later, your face illuminated by moonlight. it takes his breath away, his knees quivering.
“you must be sir steven,” you say softly.
he does a small bow. “at your service, your highness.”
you shake your head and wave him off. “my father’s talked about you,” you continue. “he’s quite fond of you.”
steve smiles softly. “does he play favorites?”
you smile back. “if he does, it would be you.”
it sort of keeps up like this. steve’s fighting with the others over night patrols. he finds you in that same moonlit spot every few nights. your conversations aren’t very long, but they’re enough. you take his arm and he escorts you back to your room, leaving you with a dumb joke and a sweet “goodnight, princess.”
after a while, you start to interact with him more, often at inappropriate times. he has to act normal and refined as you come by to rough up his hair or whisper in his ear, trying to do anything to make him break focus and laugh.
“what the hell was that all about?” his friend asks later, gawking.
steve shakes his head and does not elaborate.
it’s always been hard to watch you at balls, but now it’s excruciating. he stands idly by and watches you dance with the many suitors you’ve been brought. forced to watch you laugh and smile with them - it looks like how you laugh and smile with him. he spends the entire night watching your hands as they lace through someone else’s, gritting his jaw when one of them pulls you in tight. he knows you hate it, the forced proximity, the way you’re treated like something to be conquered and traded away, but you still play the game.
it drives him goddamn mad, and yes, his friends make it worse.
“you’ll be killed one of these days, y’know,” one says, tone oddly serious. “if you keep this up, i mean.”
“her father likes me,” steve grits. the very last thing he needs tonight is a lecture. he would take an invasion of the castle over this. hell, he’d rather fight a dragon without a sword over seeing you dripping in rubies and emeralds and laughing with some ugly creep from a few kingdoms over.
“but does the counsel?”
which immediately shuts steve up. he knows your father isn’t the one who forces you to meet with so many suitors. there are traditions that simply must be up-kept, and there are many people willing to do anything to stay conservative. including killing one of the king’s favorite knights.
you still torment him in and around the castle, day or night. he always smells you before he sees you - honeysuckle and violet. he wants to taste it, lick the perfumed oil off of your skin and savor you. your nighttime strolls are intimate, but not intimate enough. he wants to be certain he’s the only person you feel like this with - the only one who you’d like guide you back home, night after night.
this night is like any other. he finds you in the moonlight spilling through stained glass, giggles with you for a few minutes, then walks you back to your chambers sloooowly. hushed whispers and butting into each other, walking much like your father and mother do.
he returns you to your wing, as usual, and prepares to bid you a goodnight until next time.
“nights are rather lonely for me,” you say before he can speak. you pause for a long moment. “it would be very kind of you to keep me company until i fall asleep.”
he tries desperately to remember what his friend reminded him of - his own mortality - as he steps into your space. your linen nightgown is thin and he can see right through it with the help of the soft candlelight glowing in your reception parlor.
steve’s not quite sure if he’s imagining it, but he swears the air has shifted.
you’re rather casual as you lead him to a chair by the fireplace in your bedchambers. steve cannot believe he’s here. it doesn’t look much different from his imagination. fisting his cock to the idea of your soft body under his, rutting in and out of you slowly.
“would you like some tea?” you ask softly, breaking him from his perverted thoughts.
he shakes his head. “no, thank you, your highness.”
you swat at him. “stop that at once.”
“is that not who you are?”
“did you know that knights are not supposed to talk back to royals?”
steve grins. “take me to the gallows, then.”
it’s really not funny. he’s practically putting the noose around his own neck by being in here, anyway. you’ve told him before that you dismiss staff at night and he prays that you weren’t lying. if he was caught…
you move closer, sitting in the chair positioned next to his. it’s turned slightly towards him, and you stare him down, fire casting a red glow over your face.
hellfire, perhaps, is what it is.
“i enjoy your company,” you whisper. “very much so.”
steve nods, a bit gobsmacked and rendered speechless by your beauty.
“do you enjoy mine?”
steve nods quickly, then remembers he can speak. “of course.”
your eyes scan his face and you do a once-over of him. eyes drifting downwards, from his hair to his legs. then you look back up at him, eyes intense.
“when i’m here and lonely, my mind wanders. i think of all sorts of things. but what i always go back to is you.”
steve forgets he can speak again.
“i think of how you look in your armor. i think of the jealousy etched on your face when i’m dancing with someone. i think of your eyes, your smile, your scent.”
steve blinks.
“and i start to wonder what your hands might feel like on my body,” you continue, sounding a bit breathless. “what your lips might feel like. what sweet sounds and pretty faces you make. how sinful we would be together.”
that intimacy he wanted so bad has hit him like a badly-aimed cannonball.
you stand. he sees your body trembling and he reaches for you, thick brows laced with worry.
but you instead let your dress fall to the floor, standing before him naked.
steve breathes heavily. he knows he shouldn’t - can’t - look. but he still does, soaking you in, eyes wide, pink lips parted. his cock kicks hard in his pants, stomach somersaulting.
you take a step closer, standing directly above him. you lean down, lips pressing against his ear.
“do you think of me, too?”
he shivers, his hands desperately clenching the edge of the chair he sits in.
“yes,” he breathes. doesn’t even need a moment to think about it.
you pull back, looking at him softly. “then have me.”
steve doesn’t know what to say or do or even where to look. his mouth opens and closes, eyes wide, cock stiffening.
you part your thighs and lower yourself onto his lap, planting yourself right onto his dick. he gasps, eyes growing darker, blood pumping hard and fast.
“touch me,” you plead quietly, taking his hands and moving them to your waist.
“your highness,” he says, deathly serious, “i cannot.”
he makes no effort to push you away.
you glare at him for the pleasantries and, impatient, you do the work. rubbing yourself back and forth on his crotch while his strong hands finally grip your hips to keep you steady.
he knows how pathetic he looks - is - and he knows this night will ruin him. there will never be any going back from this. there will never be any moving on from you, never any night for the rest of his life where he doesn’t imagine the noises you make and the soft plush of your body.
he’s holding you in his hands tightly, as if you’d slip right through them. and that’s the thing - you will. there aren’t any other options.
steve doesn’t stop you when you kiss him, despite his conscience begging him to. every next touch and kiss and breathless moan sends him further and further into the pits of hell, which is rather ironic. he’s never been so happy in his life and yet he’s horrified of what you’re both doing. he’d much rather yearn than have you stripped away from him after he finally has you.
but all of his brain has transferred itself down to his dick. he isn’t thinking. he can’t think.
and when he finally sinks his cock into you? it’s like a dream. he can’t shut the hell up.
“beautiful — you’re so beautiful — i need you.”
“i’m yours,” you sigh softly, eyes hooded, trying to get used to the stretch.
it’s not like steve’s never had sex. he’s certainly went to bed with plenty of suitors. but he’s never made love quite like this before.
you both work in sync, each push and pull calculated with no effort. beads of sweat drip down steve’s temple as he looks up at you, entranced.
“i think of you,” you moan, riding his cock slowly, face so hot he can feel the heat radiating off of you. “all of those boys - when they come to c-court me - i think of you.”
steve groans and buries himself into the crook of your neck and shoulder. you run your soft, perfect hands through his dirty, messy hair, cooing at him.
it only makes him fuck up into you harder, moving tenderly but with much more intention. he sneaks a calloused hand down between your bodies and gently rubs circles into your clit. he has meticulously planned this moment out, though he’s never thought it would come to fruition.
“pretty boy,” you gasp, back arching, mouth dropping open. you’re fucking sinful. “please, don’t stop, i need it, i need you.”
he sinks his teeth into your sweating skin and focuses hard on your pleasure, not his own, lest he cums inside of you and gets himself hanged.
every word that comes out of your pretty mouth is blasphemy. steve kisses you to stop the noise but it just makes his hips rut faster, deeper, and he really doesn’t want this to end so soon but he can’t take much longer.
“please,” he pants, hands swiping all over your curves. “please, princess, have mercy.”
your hands tangle up in his hair so hard it hurts and your body stutters as you cum tightly around his cock. his hand slaps over your lips to stifle the noise and he must move his mind elsewhere.
stab wounds. scratchy linen. heavy armor. those bastards that try to have you for themselves.
he’s in tears by the time you’re done, trying desperately not to cum. you try to convince him, though.
“don’t pull out,” you slur, sleepy and content. “make me yours, make me stay with you.”
“don’t,” he grits.
you shift. that tone excites you.
he’s gentle as he peels you off of him, but his hands still grip you strongly. his cock weeps, swollen and needy and it’s so embarrassing.
you simply look at him with wide, hungry eyes. it makes him feel light headed.
he has to take care of it once he’s back in his own dark, dingy quarters, skin still smelling like yours, trying to push away the realization that he’s fucked on several different levels.
steve harrington kisses like he'll never get to kiss you again, with his hands holding your face, tilting your neck back just a little, with his thumbs rubbing back and forth against your skin, he kisses you and you can taste his minty toothpaste on your tongue, you can feel his smile, or more often you can feel his smirk
sometimes when he kisses you it's softer, just as longing but a little more gentle, lips brushing silently, quiet mutters, slow hands, innocent and sweet that kind of thing but sometimes it's more, sometimes it's heavy breathing and teeth grazing, shaky hands, fuck and oh god's under their breaths, nothing close to innocent
he's always muttering sweet things against your lips, calling you pretty, calling you his, getting you to call him yours, telling you how weak you make him, and sometimes he just curses and swears because it's all too much for him
he kisses you and he just gets overwhelmed, his hands slip around you and he just pulls you closer, not that closer is ever close enough, he likes the little gasp you make, he likes the way your hand end up in his hair, he likes the kisses that just run away with themselves and end up messy
steve's kisses linger, you can feel them for hours after, you constantly touch your fingers to your lips, daydreaming about what it feels like to kiss your pretty boyfriend, you can't wait to see him again, you can't wait for him to lean down and kiss your cheek, your forehead, your mouth, anywhere he wants
sometimes he kisses the inside of your wrist, or your inner thigh, it makes your head spin and that's half the reason he does it, the other is because he just loves kissing you, he's told you over and over he could spend hours kissing you, trailing his lips up and down, 'just wanna love on you sweetheart'
sad to live in an universe where i can't make out with steve harrington. i'm not even talking about sex, just really making out. when there's hand everywhere, over and under the clothes, and they grip a little too tight. when you're both out of breath, and a little giggly, and a little dizzy. when you pull his hair and he doesn't care about how tousled it is as long as you keep your hand right there. when you can feel how tight his jeans are and how wet you are yourself but you just need to keep kissing.
today i was like hmm. what if steve got off on you praising yourself? and then i wrote this 🫶🏻
reader with a vagina; reader called ‘good girl’; self praise; lovey sappy sex; bf!steve
Steve’s smothering you. Like, in every way he could. His body - a little broken, tired, strong - pushes you into the mattress. His lips won’t let yours go. And he just won’t shut the fuck up about you.
“Say it.” His white teeth clash against yours. “C’mon, say it.”
His cock ruts into your sweet spot. You can’t breathe. You stare up into his mossy eyes when he finally pulls back, your brows furrowed nearly painfully. Begging with your eyes for him to give it up but not strong enough to say it. Because your body is also a little broken and tired and it’s not as strong as his, even if he wants to prove you wrong.
“Please.” His voice cracks. He looks tearful and you can’t understand why. Though you suppose you’d feel the same if he acted like this.
“Pretty.”
Steve moans. He’s getting off on it, hearing you praise yourself for once. “Good baby, s-so good, wanna hear it again.”
You’re going to cry. Bottom lip trembling, you say it again. “I’m pretty.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, and he smiles big at you. “Uh-huh, there you go.”
He’s been teasing you for half an hour. Wouldn’t give you anything until you finally admitted it. Just fucked you slow, pressed the head of his cock against your sweet spot, and waited. Until he was sweaty and you were trembling. Now he takes your leg from his hip and pushes it outwards, just a little, still bent at the knee. Watches your eyes roll back with a proud smile when his cock slides in deeper.
“Tell me you’re an angel.”
He’s grinded to a halt. You’re still suffocating. It feels good. “I’m an angel.”
“Louder, honey.” He’s begging you. Looking at you with such sweet and pitiful eyes you have no other recourse but to obey.
“I’m an angel,” you repeat, louder. “Steve, fuck me.”
“I will,” he shushes, pulling out and then pushing back in nice and slow. Makes you writhe. “Need you to do somethin’ for me, ‘kay? Keep sayin’ those nice things about yourself. You stop, I stop.”
Is this what conditioning is? It’s working. “Like - like what?”
Steve kisses your forehead gently. Handles you with care. “I’ll tell you. Just gotta repeat after me. Okay? Can you do that?”
Your face is so hot, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I - o-okay.”
His pace picks up and it isn’t even hard anymore. Not when you’re mindless on his cock, when he’s looking at you like you’re the creator of everything, when you know he loves you. If he fucks you like this long enough you might actually even start believing what you’re saying.
“I’m gorgeous.”
“I’m so good.”
“I’m soft.”
“I’m sweet.”
The words come out as hiccups between your breaths. And Steve devours every last one.
“That’s my girl, what a good girl, huh?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Say it.”
You whine. “I’m a good girl.”
“Yeah you are, shit,” he gasps. Grinds in real deep, grinding his pelvis into your clit. “I love you, sweetheart.”
You’re so needy for it. “I love you, too.”
Steve laughs breathlessly. “You just repeating that?”
Tears prick at your eyes again. You break out of the grip he has on your calf to hug him around the waist with to your legs. “I mean it, I love you.”
“I know you do,” he coos, hips slowing a little, makes you really feel him. Every inch. “Shit, know you do, so good for me. Say it again, tell me you’re good for me.”
uhm shyly comes into your inbox to give a steve idea :’)
finding him so so so pretty in that stupid dark blue polo, not being able to really look at him properly. it’s tight against his chest and stomach which makes him look delicious, wanting to be devoured really. he’s simply so pretty. worst thing is: he fucking knows it. so he’s cocky about it and teasing, it’s never relenting. he loves it and honestly so do you.
(feel free to ignore!)
trying to get my steve groove back on!!! thank u for sending something nonnie!! a lil bit of shy!reader <3 just a blurb too
Steve doesn’t know it’s a favourite of yours.
One of his polos fits his chest pretty perfectly if anyone asks your opinion. It’s that nice navy colour that looks good against his tan skin, with a bold stripe of white through the middle. A little plain but classic.
It hugs his biceps snugly and stretches ever so slightly over his chest. At the right angle, you can see the definition of his pecs and it’s awfully good at reminding you of what they look like with no shirt on at all.
The thought makes you fluster a bit.
He’s got plenty of polos but this one— this is your favourite. And he’s wearing it tonight, on Valentine’s day, and now you’re not quite sure you’ve been as slick with your wandering eyes as you hoped.
Across the booth, Steve smiles at you, his lashes kissing in the corner. He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and your eyes zero in on the bulge of his bicep instantly.
Steve’s smiles melts into a grin, a tad wicked.
Yeah, okay, maybe he does know it’s your favourite.
You fluster again. Something nudges at your foot under the table, right as Steve says, “What?”
He’s teasing. He definitely knows what.
“Stop,” you murmur, on the side of embarrassed. “You know what.”
Steve smiles again and drops his arm, thankfully, only to fold them and lean forward on the table. It does wonders for his arms, especially in that shirt. Damn that shirt. Damn him. He’s evil.
“Do I know what?” He pretends to muse thoughtfully.
He tilts his pretty head to the side just an inch. His eyes stay locked on you, drinking up every second your flustered reaction. You’re beautiful, even more so when you get all embarrassed about liking him.
“Steve.”
“What?”
“I will not be responsible for any further inflation of your ego, thank you very much.” You mumble it as you take a sip of your soda, eyes on the table. Why is it so terrible to have him know you were leering at him?
Steve laughs loudly. He finally slides his arms back and off the table, giving you a temporary relief.
“You’re the only one who can inflate my ego, actually.” Steve counters, his brows raising. He steals a fry off your plate and chews it slowly.
You eye him over your cup, skeptical.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” He shrugs, swallowing his food. He takes a sip of his own milkshake, oh-so casual when he says, “Your opinion is the only one that really matters to me anyways.”
He grins across the table at you, a more mischievous shine in his eyes.
“Why do you think I picked this shirt?”
You’re equal parts mortified and enthralled at what he’s said. In your surprise, you accidentally inhale a bit of your soda and it burns as it goes down the wrong way— you cough awkwardly to clear it. Okay, less equal, more mortified now.
It’s your turn to ask. “What?”
Steve nudges your foot under the table again, teasing and flirting all in one. His pink lips curve into that grin that makes your heart flip flop— and there’s even a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. As though he’s also endeared but embarrassed by your attention.
“It’s your favourite.”
“It’s—” You splutter and for some reason, decide to lie. “No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it’s—” You pivot mid-sentence. “Who told you?”
Steve laughs again, that big loud belly-laugh where his cheeks get all chipmunk-y cos he’s grinning so hard. When he stops laughing enough to talk, he’s reaching across the table. You’re not quick enough to pretend to avoid his hand as he snags it with his own.
“Baby,” he says. “Nobody had to tell me. I could just tell.”
Somehow when he says it like that, when he calls you baby in a voice all sticky with fondness, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing at all.
You nudge him back under the table and sip your sofa again to try think of something to say. He knows what you look like when you love something. How terrifying. How intimate.
Another sip of soda. Steve rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, content to gaze you. His view is sweet enough he must have cartoon hearts circling above his head.
You can’t think of anything to say in the end, so you just squeeze his hand and nudge his foot again — and trust that he’ll just be able to tell what you mean.
We don’t talk nearly enough abt cowboy!Steve’s body. Like he’s all tanned corded muscle and it’s not so much that he’s defined but that he’s just so strong. Like sure, he’s got huge arms, but his core is sooo sturdy, so unyielding
And he’s hairy af??? And somehow his skin is soft??? Oh to convince him to lay in the sun and just passing your fingertips all over his tummy, tapping his happy trail, maybe even slightly pushing down the waistband of his jeans to see how far the hair goes 🥰
oh body worship with cowboy steve??? riding his chest??? kissing his cock and sucking his balls?? grinding against his thigh? his BOOT? kissing across the expanse of his chest and arms while praising how strong and handsome he is. counting his freckles. kissing each one of them. don’t even get me started on his nose ✋🏻
Intimacy is not just about sex. It's having heart-to-hearts, staying up all night talking, sharing childhood memories, thoughts, fears, dreams & hopes for the future. It's uncontrollable laughter, direct eye contact and feeling each other without touching - it's exchanging energy
steve’s her daddy now @dilfharrington - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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