Vicious little bitch

Call me poison. she/her. latina. 21/ Minors don't interact +18 blog/ bookworm and hopeless simp for fictional men

[mysweetpoisons]

Welcome to my poison selection, take your pick and start drinking

A/N: If you enjoy any story in this site or other please support by commenting, reblogging or both. This is one of the main reasons that keeps content creators motivated and publishing.

Mornings with Hannibal (Hannibal x fem reader)

Moonlight trap (Dark!Bruce Wayne x reader)

Marvel characters (soon)

Other:

This is my first fic and I know it has a lot of mistakes, but I'm lazy and right now too focused on other characters to rewrite it.

Wild night out (alex høgh andersen x fem freder)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[eelnoise]

anamnesis (nsfw!)

zoro x afab!reader has a sequel kinda now cw: masturbation, solo m, pining, piv sex, some fluff wc: 912 an: zoro jerking off to reader during the timeskip has me in a chokehold. VERY self indulgent btw. tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @willowbelle @strawheart-pirate @themushroomofdeath

The damn island is too dark for anyone’s own good on most days, far too easy to miss a turn on the path back to the castle and subsequently ending up lost for a few hours. Countless times has Zoro wandered about the grounds absent-mindedly, thinking neither here nor there about where his feet take him, and countless times more has someone - usually the ghost girl - come to fetch him should he be gone too long.

But tonight sees Mihawk away, leaving him alone to train by himself for several days. Though usually up to the task of working on technique, he finds himself instead somewhere about the grounds with his back flat against a grassy hillside, eyes glued shut with one hand sprawled out on his stomach while the other hastily fists at his cock.

There’s a bit of shame to it that still lingers. Not of the act in itself but because at the very forefront of his mind all Zoro can see is traces of his limbs entangled with yours with clothes long shed and tossed aside, tucked away in some private corner of the ship having your fill of one another.

A soft grunt escapes from his lips as he pictures you above him, thighs at either side of his own with your hands tangled into fistfuls of his hair. He imagines his fingertips dipping harshly into the soft flesh of your hips, thighs - just whatever he can get his hands on while you roll your hips up and down on his length. 

Zoro can all but taste your lips upon his - a recurring pattern of this already unusual behavior from him - locked in a loop of increasingly messy, breathless kisses. He craves his tongue entwined with yours, wanting to capture every sound you make, to swallow each one to sate a sweet tooth reserved for you and only you.

In a moment that now feels like an age gone by, the two of you had shared a very passionate moment - one he can scarcely remember the moments leading up to. The kiss you had given him that night on the open sea - his first - just days before your forced separation nearly two years ago replays in his head on repeat, muting the nuances prior but sends with it a barrage of emotion he continues to struggle to bear yet yearns to understand.

It’s why the reverie behind his lids dances with visions of you and sings in the tune of your voice. It’s why his toes curl in his boots at the thought of your skin upon his in the most intimate of ways. It’s why he craves the whole of you, why he wants to somehow find the words to tell you how he feels, why he thinks of you before he sleeps and why he hears your voice bid him good morning each time he wakes.

And now, it’s why he’s desperately stroking himself and wishing beyond hope that his hand was your pussy instead. 

With his free hand he bundles the collar of his shirt between his teeth in an attempt to hide his own breathlessness. His legs bend at the knee in focus, and the sheer need that overtakes him in these final moments elicits a muffled growl from deep within his gut with the thought of just how good it would feel to fill you from the inside out and let proof of the act slide from your core and down his cock. 

Zoro tightens his jaw and sweat beads trickle down his face as his pace quickens, and suddenly he’s biting at the bit to know just how you sound when you cum. In his mind’s eye you’re clawing down his back while he takes control, fucking up into you in a starry-eyed chase of clemency. Your fantasized voice pants his name like a prayer in his ear, finally forcing your lips apart to break into pieces atop him. 

He wants to take you there and back again, needs to see your face twisted in delirium from something only he can supply. His head spins with the image of you writhing in his arms, yours holding onto him tightly when you tip over the edge. You cry out for him to keep going, you leave sloppy open-mouthed kisses along his neck, you whine and mewl and dig your nails down his back,muttering into his flesh about how good it feels or how much you-

How much you love him.

Zoro cums the instant the fictional you says the words in his head, the fabric in his mouth doing little to stifle the groans of pleasure playing from his lips while he covers his hand and lower belly in thick white spend with your name on his tongue, face in his mind, and voice in his soul. 

He slides his shirt from his shoulders and quickly cleans himself up. Sitting up on the darkened hillside with his elbows resting on his knees, Zoro sighs and raises his now halfened gaze to the heavens. Are you staring up at the same sky, wherever you are? He scans the endless ocean of stars above, missing the times where you’d be next to him on the deck pointing out the various constellations and explaining their meanings - and even though he still doesn’t believe in astrology, Zoro has each of your favorite ones memorized.

He wants to tell you he has a favorite one, too.

[joeldjarin]

devil works hard but the fic writers work harder to keep this fandom fed

PS: thanks to the writers ilysm🥹

Also I forgot to add various other variants of Joel but promise I love all of them

[joelscruff]

you know i don't mean it (joel miller x reader) 18+

welcome to my 300 follower celebration! \o/ i polled my followers on which character they'd most like to see in some new smut and joel won (not surprised). this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up getting a bit longer than i anticipated, hope you enjoy! summary: you and joel get off together. that's pretty much it. you also have some unresolved feelings for him and he's being closed off. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink (the term 'good girl' is used maybe 432534 times), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (but make it soft), mutual masturbation, come-play, come-eating, this is filthy word count: about 2.5k | ao3 link

"This is the last time," he mutters under his breath, belt buckle jangling as he lays down across from you, "We can't keep doin' this."

"Yeah, yeah," your hand is already buried in your panties, index finger lightly rotating against your clit, "That's what you said last week too."

He grunts and you watch as he slips his hand inside his jeans and palms himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to relax. He pretends he's doing this for your benefit, like its you who needs help getting off, as if he's not a middle aged man who hasn't been touched by a woman in years. And it's not like you haven't offered, you've genuinely tried to give yourself to him more than a few times, but it's simply a line he won't cross.

Other lines, however, are much easier to cross. It had started out relatively innocent, something that had happened completely by chance, or at least you both led yourselves to believe it was. You'd both had the same idea one night and had ended up getting off together in the same room, you in the chair beside the fireplace of the abandoned ski lodge you'd both been posted in, him on the couch.

"Are you -" he'd gasped into the darkness when he'd heard the wet sound of your fingers a few feet away, plunging in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm.

"Like you're not," you'd hissed back, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he'd muttered, hand stilling on his cock where seconds ago he'd been stroking like his life depended on it.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He'd groaned, releasing himself and sitting up to squint at you in the darkness, "So what are you gonna do about it?"

You glared at him, not bothering to remove your hand from your underwear as you continued to finger yourself, breathing deeply, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going. And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

After a few seconds of silence, he'd flopped himself back down on the couch and reached for himself again, fucking into his fist, "No talking," he said through his teeth, "Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you'd replied, and roughly added a third finger as you watched the dark silhouette of him jacking himself off barely six feet away from you.

One night turned into two, turned into five, and now ten. It wasn't every night, only when you were on patrol together. You'd privately asked Tommy to make sure that Joel was your patrol partner as often as possible, because you felt "safer" with him... you're not sure if he'd really believed you.

You're back in the ski lodge again tonight, both of you situated on the couch in your usual positions, on opposite ends and facing each other. It's ridiculous how quickly it's taken you both to get used to these sessions, the casual feeling of it making it even hotter somehow.

"How many fingers are you using this time?" Joel murmurs, eyeing you where you're touching yourself, unable to fully see what he'd like to.

"Up to you," you breathe, still prodding your clit, "How many do you want me to use?"

"Three," he replies, and you watch as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his jeans, jutting large and solid against his stomach, "Real slow, then real fast."

You nod, lifting your hips up to pull your panties free and expose yourself to him, legs wide.

"Stick to my rhythm," he tells you, watching as you trail your middle finger through your folds, "If I stop, you stop. If I tell you to stop-"

"I stop," you answer for him, throwing him a smug smile, "Same rules as always."

He stares at you without speaking, just waiting. You get the hint and begin to slide your finger inside slowly, making eye contact with him under your lashes and smiling languidly. He fists himself just as slow, looking down at your finger and licking his lips.

"Slow enough for you?" you whisper, adding a second and grinning when his eyes darken, "Should I go a bit faster?"

"Not yet," he whispers, thumbing the head of his cock and fucking into his hand at the same pace as your finger, "Keep it nice and slow for me 'til I say so."

You obey, fucking yourself with your middle and ring finger at the slowest pace you can muster. No matter how annoying his orders are you always do as you're told, not because you're afraid of any sort of consequence, but because you like seeing him enjoy himself, seeing him take control. You've only known him for about six months but you've known for a while that he's been lacking any sort of control in his life for a long time; you're glad to be the one who can give it to him.

"Add your third," he whispers and you oblige, slipping your index inside yourself alongside the others, "Good girl," he breathes, "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod, your smugness immediately starting to fade. When he talks to you like this, praises you, it's impossible to keep your hard exterior up for much longer, feeling yourself submit to him. In any other circumstance you love to challenge him, to argue, but in these moments it's the last thing on your mind. You do as you're told, and that's the end of it. He needs control, you need submission.

"Tell me," he whispers.

"I'm your good girl," you breathe, shivering and continuing to shove your fingers in and out at his pace.

He smirks, "Yeah you are."

You continue to fuck yourself at his painfully slow pace, watching him fist his cock at the same speed. He likes to tease you, to build you up until you're begging for it. You thumb your clit and start to whimper, legs trembling.

"Okay, faster now," he tells you, voice low and sultry, "Not too fast, though. Watch me," he tugs at his cock at a bit quicker of a pace, still much too slow for you but you can't do much else but obey him, mirroring him with the thrust of your fingers, "That's it, like that."

After several more thrusts he suddenly stops stroking himself, stilling in his palm. You groan, halting your movements, following the rules.

"How is it that you follow orders so God damn well when you've got your panties around your ankles?" he asks, voice rough, "Yet when we're actually patrollin' you don't listen to a word I say?"

"I'm not your good girl when we're patrolling," you reply with a teasing smile, "But I could be, you know."

He rolls his eyes, "Enough, it's not happening," he nods to your hand, still motionless at your core, "Play with your clit for a second, give me a chance to breathe."

There it is, the line he won't cross. You've already told him that you're willing to give yourself completely over to him, be exactly who he needs, but no matter how many times you try he just won't budge. It's disappointing, truly, because you really do like him. Sure, he's a bit of an ass, plus he's about thirty years older than you, but you've seen the side of him he doesn't show to others. Maybe only hints, but you've seen it. And you care about him.

"I don't do this with anyone else, you know," you whisper, pressing your index finger against your clit and rubbing small circles into it, "You're the only one I'd let treat me the way you do."

He looks at you curiously, raising an eyebrow, "I treat you good, don't I?"

You nod, whimpering a bit as you rub yourself harder, "You do, but you're the only one I'd ever submit to like this, you know that, right?"

He hums, brushes the wide head of his cock with the tip of his thumb, "I know, baby. But it feels so good, doesn't it? You like being my good girl, don't you?"

You bite down on your lip, core aching as your fingers lay still against your folds, save for the index that continues to furiously stimulate your clit, "I do," you whisper, cheeks warming, "I fucking love it."

"There you go," he murmurs softly, then begins to move his fist again, "Use your fingers again, baby, get your pussy all full for me."

You don't need telling twice, your three fingers plunging deep inside yourself without any hesitation. You whimper when your fingertips brush against your favorite spot, so close yet so far. You eye Joel's cock and try to imagine what it would feel like for it to really be inside you, the fat tip of it pounding relentlessly against the deepest parts of your cunt, his girth stretching you out so much your whole body would be shaking. You feel your mouth drop open involuntarily, brow furrowing.

He follows your gaze and frowns at you, pumping himself a bit faster, "You can't have it," he whispers, like he can read your mind, "I know you want it, pretty girl, but you can't. I'm sorry."

"Why?" you mewl, sounding absolutely pathetic as you keep fucking yourself, "I want it so bad, Joel."

"I know you do," he closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Don't ask me why, you just can't."

You'd pout, tease him a little, but he's not looking at you anymore and it physically makes you ache, the way he avoids any allusion to actual sex, an actual relationship. You've asked him so many times and it's always the same answer, never a real reason. You wish you knew why, wish you knew if there was anything at all you could do to make him open up to you.

Instead you mirror his position, tilting your head back against the arm of the sofa and fucking up into yourself, listening to his labored breathing and the slap of skin whenever his fist hits his belly.

"Fast as you can now, baby," he mutters gruffly, close to the edge, "Need you to come for me, need you to be good."

"I'm always good for you, aren't I?" you whimper, opening your eyes to peer at him again, "I always listen, I never break your rules."

"That's right."

"So why can't you fuck me?" you sit up suddenly, yanking your fingers out of yourself and looking at him angrily. He sits up just as quickly, eyes narrowing as he releases his cock and stares at you, "I'm serious, Joel. I want an actual answer."

"You just broke a rule," he mutters and you sigh exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry for breaking the rules," you genuinely mean it; you know how important this control is for him, but you can't help it, "I'll submit again if you just tell me why you won't fuck me. Do you...do you not want me? Is that it? 'Cause I can accept that, I just want to hear you say it. I'm sick of not knowing."

He stares at you incredulously, hand coming up to squeeze the space between his brow and nose, "Jesus, of course I want you, but it's not that simple."

"Yes it-"

"It's not," he interrupts you, shaking his head, "I can't...this isn't..." he exhales deeply, "This isn't the time for this conversation, okay?" You hear raw emotion in his voice, buried deep but still present. Fuck, you didn't mean to make him feel bad.

"...Okay," you finally whisper, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," he runs a hand through his hair, "Look, we can stop-"

"No," you lean back and open your legs wide again, putting yourself on display for him, "No, I wanna be your good girl again, please let me."

"We don't-"

"Joel," you whimper, slipping your fingers back inside, "Let me be your good girl."

His hard expression fades, eyes softening as he peers at you, watching you fuck himself for him.

"It's all yours, even if you won't touch me," you whisper, using your other hand to pull yourself open for him, showing him how full you are, feeling your orgasm start to build in your tummy, "It's yours," you repeat, whimpering.

He nods, stroking himself again hard and fast, brow furrowing in pleasure as he keeps his eyes trained on you, "That's right," he murmurs, "It's mine. You're mine."

You close your eyes tight, "I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, pretty girl," you hear him groan, the snap of his wrist making you completely come undone, "Squeeze around those fingers, pretend they're mine, okay? You can do that, you can pretend."

You shudder at his words and feel your orgasm overtake you, the image of Joel's thick fingers pounding into you enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, crying out his name and tossing your head back as you come.

"Good girl," he groans, voice strangled, "Such a good fucking girl for me."

You close your eyes as you ride out the waves of your release, fingers still pumping gently inside of you until it's too much and you pull them out. Sighing contentedly, you open your eyes again and watch Joel relentlessly fuck into his fist, belt buckle still jangling against the couch as he gasps. You want nothing more than to reach forward and take him in your own hand, help him ride out his own release, but you don't. Because those are the rules.

Instead you just watch him, smile at him as he shuts his eyes tight and groans deeply, coming into his fist. You watch the thick white liquid cover the sides of his fingers and you involuntarily salivate, jaw going slack.

"Fuck," you breathe, "Wish I could taste you."

He groans again, hand stilling as he breathes heavily and starts to come down, eyes closed. You sit quietly, panties still hanging off one of your ankles. You'd usually already be putting your clothes back on at this point, but something tells you to stay still, don't move, he's gonna do something different.

He swallows and looks up at you, stares at you for a few moments. You're unsure whether the regular Joel is about to come back, tell you it's time to go back on patrol, grab your gun and be quiet. Or is this still your Joel, the one who tells you you're pretty and good, makes you feel less alone in this shitty world.

"Here," he says, shaking his head and bringing his come-coated fingers up to your mouth, "If you wanna taste, you have five seconds."

Your mouth pops open in surprise, hesitating only for a second before you lean forward and wrap your lips around his fingers, feeling the salty taste of him flood your mouth. Your cunt begins to throb again, your eyes closing as you suck and lick and take everything he's giving you. When you open your eyes again he's still looking at you, but his expression is soft, tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

this is now a series, and other parts can be found on my masterlist.

[mysweetpoisons]

Oh lord, what I wouldn't give to have Joel calling me his good girl

[mysweetpoisons]

Deep below the surface

Pairing: Namor/ K’uk’ulkan x reader

Warnings: smut without plot, +18, spit, dominant namor, oral, p in v

Word count: +2700

The massive crafted stone doors are pushed shut behind you, confining you from the stern looks of the Talokanil guards.

The underwater cave is massive, spacious enough to be carved into a formidable palace, the place continues to amaze you each passing day as you explore it through your assigned chores. 

This room, however, you have never been privy to. The majestic throne room that has witnessed uncountable meetings and hearings over the centuries. And, in the center of the blue-illuminated salon is him. K’uk’ulkan. The name his people chant in reverent prayers, dancing salons and upcoming battles. 

The feathered serpent god is sitting proudly on his throne, the halo of sharp teeth at his back adding a literal extra edge to his posture.  

He's wearing that attire. The ceremonial helmet that has excitement running through your veins. You had only caught glimpses of it before, the mesmerizing movement of the colored feathers, the vivid red, green and blue contrasting against the dark gold and the soft glinting of the encrusted jewels. 

Vibrant colors, brown golden skin and rich brown eyes as exhilarating as fresh coffee beans.

No soul is immune to such beauty, especially not yours. But this? Looking at him feels like looking at the sun without glasses. His burning rays weaken your steps so much so that you almost end up toppling over when your knees meet the cold floor.

" My king " you greet with a soft voice and your head lowering in respect. 

" Come closer, surface dweller " 

Feeling a little bold, you decide to crawl to him until your hands reach the step where his feet rest. Your body is perfectly aligned with his middle.

Namor reaches down to cradle your face in his large hand. The gesture is almost sweet until the rough skin of his thumb taps your chin, directing your eyes up to his and sending a shiver to travel down your spine. 

" You have kept me waiting. Tell me, have you forgotten your place?" 

"I'm so-" your apology is cut out short by his tsk of disapproval.

Without speaking, Namor spreads his legs even wider for you to accommodate between them. A silent message that you get straight away: actions speak louder than words.

Instantly, your hands move up his legs, adoring the feeling of his hard muscles beneath your fingers, his skin wet yet still so warm.. exactly like that day.

That day, when the storm clouds had crushed the sky, the thunder struck in a deafening blast and freed the rain to flood. He had appeared among the waves, cloaked as another part of the wreck.  Then surfaced again, on the other side of the tattered board you had been sustaining yourself on. The tempest in his eyes, a mirror of the one surrounding you.

The offer was simple: die to become seafood or live to never come back. While the ship drowned behind your back, you were holding your arms out, surrendering to the cold angry waves to be caught and carried away by warm arms.  

Warm spreads all over your body just like that day as you slide your hands up his thighs slowly. Your fingers toy with the fraying edges of the loincloth he's wearing and then flick it to the side revealing his barely concealed bulge. A sight that never fails to have you licking your lips, those tight and short shorts are as much of a menace as he is. 

You palm his cock through the green fabric, feeling it stir at your touch. You can almost feel his fingers twitching with impatience, the need to fist your hair and urge you on. You continue to tease him, this time with your tongue darting out to lick the straining fabric around his half-hard-on, then nuzzling your nose along the way, following its shape. 

It isn't wise to provoke a god but the truth is that he needn't be demanding because a moment after your own desire to please him has you freeing his thick cock and fisting it almost urgently.  

As precum escapes its head, the tip of your tongue rushes out to taste it, swirling it in your mouth and spitting it right out, the mixed fluids dripping down his shaft as he hisses. You keep your tongue pressing slightly on the leaking slit, opening your lips to bring his head inside your mouth, sucking on it lightly. His large girth already sets an uncomfortable sting in your lower jaw. Your eyes climb up to his, finding two black pools of burning lust that make you squeeze your legs together looking for some kind of release from the kick of arousal in your stomach.

"Is that all you can take?" he mocks " You disappoint me, surface dweller" 

Oh, he knew you could take much much more, he was just being cruel.

Working him down your throat was always a challenge, a challenge you were gladly accepting each time.

So you renew your efforts to fit more of him, setting a pace that has saliva rolling down your chin, willing your throat to reach as far as you can while your tongue continues to trace each vein and ridge of his hard cock, leaving no trace of skin unexplored. Even when you gag and sputter around him you keep going, jerking off what you can't fit in your mouth.

You can see he's close, his chest is heaving, betraying his agitated state, his knuckles clutching the rudimental armrests while his legs part widely, twitching with the need to thrust up and choke you even more. 

To imagine that he wants this almost as much as you do, to think that he needs this, he needs you.. is … intoxicating. 

Having one goal in mind, you start to suck harder, bobbing up and down until tears fall from your eyes and your throat burns. His hand shoots out to fist your hair, catching you mid bob and pushing you even further down when he cums, filling your mouth and throat with his spend and groaning his release while you moan messily around his length, the vibration adding an extra stimulation that prolongs his orgasm, spilling even more cum into your awaiting throat.

Your pussy throbs needily while you clean him off, swallowing audibly any drop that could have escaped your mouth. 

After you have finished, his hand drops down to cradle the side of your face as you catch your breath against his thigh.

His thumb is drawing the line of your jaw when he commands huskily "Open", your mouth obeys him immediately showing that you have dutifully swallowed everything he gave you "Good. You did so good. Now, you think you deserve a reward ?" the rough pad of his thumb pulls down your lower lip admiring the soft pillowy skin as he continues to taunt you seductively "Think your pretty little body can take it?" 

You nod, waiting at his feet for doing it all over again. At least it was what you expected from that very first time. That time (not so far from your arrival to Talokan) when you had hunted Namor, fell to your knees before him and begged to release him from those hideously tempting shorts to please him with your mouth. Since then, he has never been satisfied with cumming once nor seeing you once a day and the sentiment was mutual. You have become insatiable, your desire to touch more of him, to elicit groans or any kind of unrestrictedly lustful reaction from him growing each passing day.

That's why a surprised yet pleased gasp escapes you when he joists you up into his lap.

Namor chuckles and bares you unceremoniously, untying the knot at your neck that holds your dress up. His eyes devour you as his large hands trace your body starting by your neck, following your pulse point down to your collarbone and lower to the sides of your breasts, touching every erogenous zone delicately. He stops at the top of your thighs to spread his fingers, thumbs moving up and down the line of your venus, digging into the flesh where your legs and pelvis meet and sending electric thrills to your core. 

"So soft and warm" his murmur is barely audible, almost as if his words aren't destined for your ears

You feel his hand cupping your heat next, the heel pressing against your bundle of nerves as his fingers easily slide down your slit and press at your sopping entrance.

Your hole clenches and sucks them in greedily, your entire body curling into the abyss of early ecstasy. He must realize this at the same time as you do because his smirk turns devilish.

"Haven't even touched you yet and you've already made a mess of yourself" his fingers sink into your heat, steadily coaxing you open "What's caught you so excited huh?" 

Swift as the snake he's been compared to over the centuries, he catches your eyes rising to his headdress and hears the erratic flutter of your beating heart. 

"Oh, you like this mmm.."- the torture of his fingers dragging languidly over your walls never stopping "Go on, tell me what you think"

"It's so..." you extend your hand tracing the curves of the golden beast up to the feathers and green aquatic leaves, not daring to touch any of it, afraid you will tarnish them somehow just by being so close " magnificent.." your eyes turning back to the god facing you, watching closely and unexpectedly quiet. Sometimes, he can even read your thoughts, but right now you're sure he can read your eyes. He sees through the praise, the amazement and reverence that lie beyond are not purely directed to what sits above his head.

He kisses you then. Pulling from your hair, he connects his lips with yours to capture you in a voracious kiss. His kisses used to be angry, long but measured. Now, they have morphed into life-consuming spells. One kiss was enough to have you drowning in desire, your body invaded by a thirst that could only be quenched by him: his lips, his hands, his cock.

His tongue breaches the seam of your lips, tasting them as he does so, then invades your mouth to fight and defeat yours. Each breath you take against his open mouth burns, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip adding another log to the pyre. It's enough to make you lose your mind, shamelessly mewling while your hips move up and down, fucking yourself on his thick fingers. He parts his mouth from yours and your moans fill the room unobstructedly.

"Hold it" the warning is whispered into your ear, his dark voice electric like the thunder before a storm.

The single tear that falls from your eye at the effort is snatched by his finger, the pearly bubble dissolving in his skin.

"Poor, desperate surface dweller." the chocolate in his eyes is now completely melted "You're so lucky you taste so sweet."

The world seems to fold upside down when you're lifted and turned around, your butt landing on the throne with your legs parted wide open by strong hands.

Next thing you know Namor kneels and plunges his tongue inside you, then drags it out, licking up your slit once, twice and finally, his entire mouth takes as much flesh as he can and sucks, pulling deliciously on your clit and slurping your essence as if he was eating his favorite fruit. You completely forget how to breathe, as your legs start to shake uncontrollably around him and your head hits his throne. 

The mere image of him sucking on your pussy like a maniac at the feet of his own throne is enough to send you over the edge. Your hands wildly reach out to hold onto something as the pleasure turns unbearable. Denied of his lush hair they land instead on the gold shoulder plates, scraping needily on the metal as you cum, crying silently in shock at the suddenness of the white burning bliss that crushes you. He sucks your abused folds one more time and raises.

His hand brings you back to consciousness, squeezing your cheeks and prying your lips open only to spit in your mouth. He doesn't have to say a word, you swallow it all instinctively. 

"You're so dirty " he chuckles satisfied "and you're about to get dirtier, surface dweller"

He engulfs your lips yet again, sharing the remnants of your taste on his tongue as he manhandles you into a position he likes, yanking you down and pushing your knees up your chest with firm arms.

Moaning into the kiss, you feel the blunt tip of his already hard cock rubbing on your sensitive folds, parting them to push against your entrance. Slowly, he eases his head inside allowing you some reprieve before his mercy runs thin and he continues on, burying himself in one powerful thrust, reaching your limit and knocking all of the air from your lungs. The stretch overwhelms you with stinging pleasure, like thorns pricking on your nerves with shocks of bliss.

"Always so warm" he groans, his words fueling the heat in your belly as his lips part from yours moving down to mark your throat.

He drives his hips into yours, setting an unforgiving pace while searching and finding that spongy spot behind your front wall. Guided by your lewd moans he rams his cock into it fascinated by your body fitting more and more of his large cock and squeezing so hard around him. 

He makes you cum for the second and third time of the day, driving into you with such fervor and precision that scrambles your brain and rattles your bones. Slick drips down your cunt and soaks his lower abdomen as wet sloshing sounds fill the room. 

You feel utterly delirious, your gaze dropping to where your bodies are joined, the wide base of his cock splitting you open eliciting another wave of arousal, pushing another horizon of unbridled gratification. 

"Look at me " the pressure of his hand wrapped around your throat snaps your attention back up. His jawline is tense almost as if it was carved on stone, his lips look swollen and biteable and his eyes are so dark you feel like you're falling, your stomach trembling once more as he thrusts hard.

The golden face of the roaring beast seems to goad your febrile state.

"It is said that if you look too much, its eyes can trap your soul for eternity." the playful warning falls from his lips like honey when he notices you're staring "Tell me, is yours mine already?" his final chuckle earning another pained moan from you.

You can't even fathom how to answer that. You hope he doesn't expect a coherent response because the truth is, you haven't been able to think rationally since you had set foot in this room.  

Your walls cling to him and your back arches as you drink every sinful word he keeps bombarding you with. Every taunt, every smile, every chuckle, every hitched breath and moan between you both is vitally consumed as water in the desert. 

The grip on your throat tenses, your pulse point deliciously stroked by his fingers, causing your hand to shoot up grasping his wrist as the pressure in your lower belly starts to rise. Your chest touches his muscular one, your knees getting squished between your chests as he drives his cock even deeper inside you. 

He keeps pounding into you relentlessly until you feel him throbbing, the muscles in his lower abdomen tensing and you're choking on feverish words, the desire for him to fill you up once again maddening.

"That's it" he praises, his voice pierced by want "Keep begging for my cum. How much do you need it?"

You can't control yourself, the pleas that fall from your lips are intelligible, your voice breaking between moans. It only takes two more thrusts for him to reach his peak, his cock swelling and stretching you impossibly, pumping you full of his cum. As he groans his euphoria, his other hand reaches down to draw circles around your sensitive nub. The crease of the wave starts to fall on you too as he's still spilling generously inside you. The orgasm rips you apart. You come so hard you think your soul leaves your body, the only thing it remains is his name on your lips. 

He examines the image before him with voracious yet pleased eyes. Eyes closed, shallow breaths, skin shining with sweat and still stretched around him. You're a fucked senseless mess, just how he liked it.

Thoroughly ruined, a fleeting thought of quiet complaint stuck in your mind: how is it fair that he looks like he hasn't broken a sweat in his entire life when you feel so completely undone, the post-orgasmic haze gripping your mind and body with exhaustion.

He plays with what has leaked out of you, smearing it, making more of a mess and earning a raspy whine from you. 

"You look so good beneath me" Namor whispers while leaning forward, nuzzling your nose with his " This might be your new place. Would you like that? To have me holding you down, filling this greedy pussy forever?"

Your wrecked moan is answering enough.

🌊🌊🌊

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed it, it would make my day! ❤️

[mysweetpoisons]

So I have come back from the dead (college and a stressful economy) to say that I have been working on something about a certain fish man that will probably see the light shortly 👀

[mysweetpoisons]

I just read your mornings with Hannibal fic and I’m ✨obsessed ✨. Will you be doing any Will x reader x Hannibal content in the future?

Hello! To be honest, I don't know anymore, I had planned some shots where I expanded their relationship and how the agreement had started but never finished them. I think I will give it a try and rewatch the series to get the "muse" flowing, we will see. Thank you so much for asking, hope you're doing well anon ❤️

[inklore]

premise: being in an arranged marriage was complicated enough, but catching feelings for your betrothed? now that was just ridiculous.

pairing: royal!namor x (f)reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: reader comes from royalty as well, therefore this is an au, arranged marriage, light angst as well as very light fluff, mutual pining, alcohol mention.

note: shoutout to @rae-gar-targaryen for sending in this little mistletoe request!! i may or may not write for these two again since i think their relationship would be hella angsty and interesting. but ya girl already has too many wips so lmaooo who knows.

You have lost track of how many minutes—possibly hours—have ticked by since you departed from the lavish holiday party your parents had thrown in honor of your new engagement. The clinks of glasses, orchestrated music, and laughter hitting nerve endings you didn’t think were possible to reach in such a manner that would cause you to bolt down the halls of your childhood mansion.

You had loved parties growing up. Had adored being the center of the ball room's attention. But sometimes you think you had no choice but to adore and love the two. After all, you were your parents' only child. Only heir. Their pride and joy to the point of suffocation.

If the circumstances were different would you be out enjoying yourself? Taking part in the festivities like everyone else? Eating your weight in macaroons and dancing.

Perhaps if you were given a choice in any of this you would be.

Wouldn’t find yourself with a death grip on your third glass of champagne and pacing in your fathers library.

If you had gotten a say in who you were to marry—or given the choice of at least picking someone less…cold, intimidating. Maybe then you’d be just as happy as everyone else at this god forsaking party.

Namor—or K’uk’ulkan, he had emphasized you call him, insisting on it by your tenth meeting. “We are to be married” he had said, giving you a gentle expression that showed neither disappointment or joy in the fact. But still made you feel woozy all the same.

He wasn’t a bad man. Reserved. Cruel to some. Cold to most.

Your first meeting had done little to dampen down your anxiety over the whole arrangement. He hadn’t shown disinterest, or anger. In fact you could barely read his expression at all. The only show of emotion was in the tick of his jaw, the slight crease in his forehead when you spoke about yourself—whether it was from surprise of the many facts you were forced to spew out, sounding almost robotic—or if he just didn’t care. You didn’t know.

But a week later when the two of you had met outside of your home and went on, what could be considered, your first date: he had acted differently.

“Now that your puppeteer strings have been severed,” his tone filled with amusement. “Tell me your actual hobbies. What you like to do, not what you’ve been taught to like.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that had spread across your mouth. You should have felt insulted or scolded him on the insinuation on your parents behalf. But you were not that far up their asses, and as much as it had seemed face-value to people who were only spectators, your parents had left you to your own devices years ago. Your life was your own.

Until this.

Until being their only child came in handy for a business deal.

And when you had shared your love for the opera, classic books, writing poetry, finding yourself lost in your own joy of talking about the things you actually loved: that’s when you saw real emotion on his face. When you say a glint of something in his eyes. A cough in his hand covering up the traces of a smile.

A smile that made him look even more regal and beautiful, if that were possible.

It didn’t take the two of you long to warm up. For you to see that smile un-hidden, to learn more of his homeland and people.

That should have eased your nerves and mind on this marriage arrangement. Should have made you happy to know that you weren’t really marrying the coldest-man-alive like you had thought that first day.

K’uk’ulkan was a man with many layers, layers that you would have years to pull back. You had no choice in the matter.

But even now, after growing to like his company, to think of him as a great man—your dress already bought, venue booked, flowers picked—your nerves refused to settle. Stomach refused to let you rest, to enjoy all of this as much as the rest of your family was.

You just…couldn’t.

Not even with the beautiful golden ring on your finger. Or a lavish party. Or reassuring words from your betrothed. Or the many more glasses of champagne you could see yourself downing in the very near future as you take the last gulp of the one in your hand.

Already turning on your heels to poke your head out of the library to see if a waiter was passing—hoping, praying, for this one miracle tonight.

But your movements halt when you start for the door and the door is blocked by your betrothed himself. The breath caught in the back of your throat almost making you choke, your heart finding itself in your stomach.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you attempt at a smile. Don’t know why you feel the inclination in you to run a hand along your black gown, making sure every crease is straight—every curve accentuated. His eyes following the motion of your hands, and then trailing back up your frame to your eyes; your nerves could not catch a break tonight could they?!

“I see we both had the same idea,” his hands are in his front pockets, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly.

“You’re telling me outlandish parties are not your thing? I don’t think I would have ever guessed that.” You distract your anxious thoughts with a joke. A joke that lands and has him chuckling under his breath. A sound you’re growing to enjoy..too much.

“The celebrations we throw in Talokan are quite different. Less…flashy,” he waves a hand in front of his velvet emerald suit. A suit that fits him so well you don’t think any other man living—or dead—could wear it better.

The mention of his country makes you smile. The country that was soon to become your home. The country you had only visited a handful of times over these past eight months, but had quickly grown to love nonetheless.

“Oh gosh, yes.” You groan dramatically, “I’m counting down the hours until I can rid my feet of these death traps.” You point a manicured, stiletto adorned, foot out from beneath your dress for emphasis.

He chuckles again, “you look beautiful.” He says it so casually, so simply and with adoration that it almost knocks you on your backside. It hadn’t been the first time he had complimented you. Had said how nice you looked in something, had spent too long focusing on your face, looking in your eyes, or having things sent to your house with a note attached “Thought of you - K”—before this.

And yet your nerves still had you ready to run.

If you took a second—a single damn minute—to let yourself dive into those nerves. To stop looking at it at surface level. Coming up with excuses; you only see K’uk’ulkan and that half-smile he was currently giving you. The way it made you feel. The fondness that had grown between the two of you, that left room for more to grow—more feelings, more…other things one felt for their husband. Normal. Feelings.

What they lacked was ease. Feelings were not easy. Love was not easy. And while you had been so hung up on not marrying a stranger another fear had set in, knocked you off your feet and made you want to run from it.

Arrangements were easy.

Love wasn’t.

And that scared you more than the arrangement itself.

“I can have Namora send for-”

“No.” You blurt out. Harsh, fast, and surprising him. The expression on his face grew into something stone-like and worrisome. Making an embarrassed flush burn in your cheeks. You try to recover with a pressed smile, “sorry. Just need some air. This is all just…a lot.” Your eyes downcast to the floor.

You needed that drink. Needed to escape once again. Maybe this time outside in the gardens where no one could find you.

Where the party goers couldn’t be heard.

Where your soon to be husband couldn’t make your blood heat from his beautiful stare.

“I’m going to get another drink,” you state as you try to push past him in the doorway—try to ignore the heat you feel from his body as your body brushes against his.

But then he’s stopping you again.

His fingers curling around your bicep, your side now pressed to his chest. The fabric of his suit making your body feel close to sweating. The heat from everything bound to crack, break, tear at something that would have you perspire through the silk of your dress, leaving your knees even more wobbly.

You don’t try and free yourself though. Don’t even attempt at disingaging the situation, removing his searing palm from your bare arm. Because it’s the first time he’s touched you. Really touched you.

It was laughable.

The first touch from your soon to be husband happening in what seems to be—when you finally look up at him—in frustration, if the lowering of his brows is anything to go by. His dark eyes become so onyx you’re almost frightened of what they are holding back, what he’s holding back from the already tight grip he has on you.

“Stay.”

The words are simple and not at all what you expect from him.

“Why?”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. The silence growing so deafening you feel yourself tremble when his thumb presses into your skin and starts a light back and forth motion—soft, soothing. “You know why,” and you think—know—those three words alone hold more meaning than any others could. In this situation. With this man; a chunk of ice melted somewhere deep in his chest. For you. From you.

Your lips shake when you part them to say something, what you don’t know. Anything. Everything. Whatever you have to make this moment drag on for centuries. To keep his hand on your body. To finally let yourself breathe for him, because of him.

But then an “ooh” is breaking the spell.

Both of your attentions turn to see two older women in the hall grinning widely at the two of you. Feeble fingers pointed to the ceiling, your brows coming together in confusion until your eyes follow theirs and you see it. Your heart no longer hammering in the pits of your abdomen, but leaving your body all together you’re convinced.

Mistletoe.

The look of worry fades quickly from your face when you see the amused heat that’s on K’uk’ulkan’s.

And while you’re still spiraling from his first touch, you feel completely floored by his next. With the hand at your bicep keeping you glued to him, his other cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb pressed just below your bottom lip. His eyes flashing from your mouth to your eyes, your brain going cloudy—legs barely keeping you stationary.

“May I kiss my wife?” There’s a ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

A puff of air filled with something saccharine, heedy, and something on the cusps of insanity that makes your body turn into a forest fire—leaves you before you’re giving a slow nod and murmuring “yes.”

And when he leans in, excruciatingly slow. When his lips press to yours; full, warm, soft, breathtaking in the way they move against yours. Like he was made to kiss; to kiss you.

You know you’re absolutely screwed.

[mysweetpoisons]

The tension had me up the walls!! He can't be that hot and intimidating, he just can't!

[daredeviledegghead-deactivated2]

The Serpent and The Jaguar

Pairing: Namor x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: "All the beautiful flowers you've brought me and you put a dying one in my hair?" you mutter, confused. "What is the meaning of this?"

Warning: Public sex, rough sex

There's a bathhouse in the capital of Jabari Land, just on the outskirts of Gorilla City, the perfect therapeutic recreation to soothe tension after suffering the company of colonizers.

Your father had insisted on you joining him for an informal diplomatic conference in Italy over the weekend. Your two older siblings in line for the throne could've gone but he'd been adamant about you getting some experience under your belt. Overall, the trip could be summarized as boring. Long, drawn out conversations focusing on resources and trade that had always circled back to Wakanda's vibranium.

To make matters worse, another tedious sounding meeting in Golden City had been called the second the two of you arrived back home. You had slipped away, however, as the spirited and loudmouthed Elder M'Baku held your father's attention. The only person you wished to see likely not attending.

The former king and leader of the Jabari Tribe had been mentioning something about his city's bathhouse which put the idea in your mind to visit in the first place. It's been a while since you've visited Jabari Land; impossible to believe that such a beautiful place had been isolated from the rest of the country at one point.

The city's bathhouse is structured to resemble the smooth and cascading weathered boulders on the snowy mountains. Smaller huts can be seen in the distance, the steam baths used for individual medicinal purposes, healing sicknesses and couples trying for a child. Life-giving heat.

The bathhouse itself provides both indoor and outdoor facilities as well as public and private rooms offering a long list of amenities. Torches light the winding corridors, flickering on intricately designed rock carvings of the Jabari Tribe's glorious Hanuman. But the colors and markings of all five tribes fill the space, their warm laughter and chatter expressing eagerness for saunas and mud baths, luxuries that makes journeying to this cold, rough terrain worth it.

The staff have already prepared your favorite private room, appropriately named The Blackberry for the dark wood's sweet aroma and its deep, oval shaped tub made of the same material. A wooden torch pedestal stands in each corner. There's a few built in shelves, some stacked with smoking incense. Everything about the room was designed to maximize the tub which is filled to the brim with water, the steam rolling off in waves warming your chilled skin.

You undress and head for the adjoining closet sized space in the room to shower and scrub before you soak. While you're cleansing you hear the main room's door slam shut. Frowning, you distinctly recall informing the staff that you don't wish to be disturbed. Grabbing your robe from its hook and slipping it on, you step back out into the main room.

It's in an incredibly different state than the way you left it behind mere minutes ago.

The Blackberry is now completely filled with dozens of bouquets. They're on the towel and bottle lined shelves, surrounding the ground-level tub all the way to the door, flowers are even placed atop the birch logs suspending from the ceiling on hemp rope. Orchids and water lilies and marigolds. And these flowers shine in gorgeous yellows and oranges and reds, resembling the rising sun, contrasting pleasantly with the room's smooth blackwood.

The mutant god Namor of Talokan stands in the center of it all.

Technically, he's hovering with the aid of his buzzing wings. He's carefully arranging a handful of marigolds on one of the logs when he glances down at you. He's dressed in his usual attire. A gold and turquoise pectoral shaped into double headed serpents, his neck is adorned with pearls, ears and nose pierced with jade. And he's wearing those damned form fitting green trunks.

You've frozen up in surprise and stunned silence. A rush of emotions flood through you, the most palpable one pounding artlessly yet with pure sincerity at your heart like a child's first drum.

"You're here," you say with a gasp.

"At last, my favorite flower has come to join me," he practically purrs, a grin stretching across his face as he descends. "Princess." He reclines his head in a slight bow.

"K'uk'ulkan," you greet back with a fond smile, his name soft and sweet on your tongue. You've missed him and it's obvious the feeling was more than reciprocated. Time has not been kind, the both of you having been caught up in royal duties and responsibilities lately, it feels like ages to you. How long must it feel to him?

Kneeling down, you scoop up a bouquet and bury your nose in the flowers, inhaling deeply. "This is lovely," you murmur with burning cheeks, your eyes flitting to and away from his. "Thank you."

If you look at him right this second for too long you don't know what your eyes might tell him. Of course, he brought you flowers in typical Namor-like fashion. He brought you an entire garden's worth. He'd once told you that flowers reminded him of his mother who often mourned her gardens after being forced to leave her home. In his opinion, flowers are one of the few worthwhile offerings the surface world contains.

Namor doesn't reply, he doesn't have to, the heat in his gaze says enough.

He was intimidating as Bast sometimes. Not on purpose. Not towards you. Ever. He can't help the unsettling quietness in his movements, the burning eyes that tell a tale older than anyone he shares a room with, the heavy weariness his words could take on sometimes when it's just the two of you.

There's a playfulness to him as well.

"I brought the sun to my people, and now I bring it to you on this night," he says, pleased with himself.

You laugh. But touching as this gesture is, Namor is behaving very boldly. He could've seen you stark naked sneaking into your privately booked room like this. You suppose that's why such noise was made to alert you to his presence. He isn't anything like your former suitors, all promising young men of Wakanda from noble families, who you're certain Namor's scared off the moment he'd decided to tie your life to his.

And Namor's made it no secret that he's deadset on making you his.

It isn't merely for strengthening the alliance between Wakanda and Talokan. Or that you are a mutant with control over the earth, born from a mutant mother who commands the sky, and that an heir from you and the ruler of Talokan who controls the seas could likely take on anything in the world. This isn't strictly strategy and politics for him. Not when he goes about it with a naked vulnerability and lack of decorum with his words and actions.

You haven't exactly been acting with the dignity your station requires either. Sneaking off with him around Wakanda in the night when he visits, showing him the beauty of your land, off the beaten paths and sights untouched by human progress. Riding on the backs of whales, entwined in his arms as he dances with you above the Atlantic ocean.

"You know you shouldn't be here, it isn't appropriate," you warn with a tilt of your chin, and all the haughty regalness you normally love to poke fun at.

You have to admit every now and then that it's a bit exhilarating toying with a man revered as a god, whenever it was certain you could get away with it.

Namor smirks. Unconcerned. "You only have to say the word and I'll go."

And you don't.

Instead, you glimpse down at the tub he's blanketed with Lily of the Nile. Blue, purple, and white petals float atop the steaming, milky hot water. An expert you are not–especially in comparison to Namor–but you know this flower in particular is an...interesting choice. Feminine energy and rebirth and symbolic of the sun. The sudden flash of heat overcoming you has nothing to do with the room's temperature.

"Is that allowed?" you ask, unable to smother the meek amusement in your tone.

He laughs arrogantly. "I am Wakanda's honored guest, of course it is." It probably also helps that he's been friends with Elder M'Baku for nearly half a century.

Namor prowls around the tub, careful not to crush the flowers beneath him as he nears you.

Your fingers curl into the fluffy robe you're wearing and he takes the bouquet cradled in your arm, he turns away as you disrobe.

You slip into the tub with a contented hum, the dull sting of hot water instantly rewarding as you lower yourself in, limbs loosening and muscles relaxing. The water wraps around your shoulders like the finest silk sheet. The lilies kiss at your throat, and you pull them below the surface as you wade backwards they glide over your stomach and thighs.

Sighing, your eyes drift shut for one blissful moment before landing on Namor again as you rest your head against the tub's rim.

"This bathhouse is a sight for beauty, I can see why you favor it," Namor says, his eyes roaming above the domed wall before dropping to the swell of your breasts. "It reminds me of a temazcal."

He sits across from you, lowering his legs into the water. His strong, thick thighs and the bulge between them an eyeful unlike anything you've seen before.

"Does it?" you reply in a low rasp, licking your lips. You swim towards him, your fingers curling around his knee as an anchor. "You know...I wasn't made aware you would be here in my country today. It was me who should've been prepared with a gift."

"Your will is my gift," Namor says, bending down to caress your cheek. "To be here as long as you wish."

He must think you're a fool. Namor only plays by his rules. When a situation fails to satisfy him he'll find a way to bend it to his advantage eventually. You can tell him to leave right now and he will, but he'll come back the next day twice as determined.

You laugh giddily and distance yourself as much as you're able to, your feet brushing along the tub's edge. Oh, does that wipe the smile off his face. Amazing how impatient a five hundred year old can be.

"Would you like some company, princess?" he asks, staring at you as if he's thinking of all the ways he can plunder your heart and soul while leave nothing behind.

You forget yourself as it is so easy to do with him, losing all of your royal training and normally coolheaded instincts as you sputter out, "sure."

Namor chuckles gamely. Doesn't bother to remove anything as he dips into the bath with practiced grace. Before you can ask what's going through his mind he's slipping underneath the water and out of sight causing barely a stir.

A thrilling sort of panic has you grinning in anticipation. You gently push away from your position, intensely focusing on the murky water as you bend your legs to you curl into yourself. Pulse thrumming under your skin fast as his wings.

You're starting to grasp just how large and deep this tub is (it could easily fit at least ten people) when fingers slide up your calves. You squeak, jolting at the sensation and end up splashing water on your face as you flail and attempt to squirm out of his tightening grip, erupting into uncontrollable giggling.

"K'uk'ulkan," you call out, half whining and half exasperated. You then wince, remembering where you are and most importantly who you are.

You reach an arm into the water and feel his inky, soft hair swaying between your knees. The unmistakable pressure of his lips kissing up your calf to your thigh nearly drowns you then and there, a whimper catching in your throat. Gasping, you secure a grip to the back of his head before you find yourself sinking.

Namor emerges, sharp teeth and twinkling eyes, laughing boisterously.

You swat at his chest as your own heaves. Heat pools low in your belly at his closeness. And then your hand simply stays there, your other hand still running through his hair. He paws at your waist, pulling you closer and bends down–

You lower your head, resting it on his chest.

"Tell me what is troubling you?" he demands in a sweet, coaxing rumble. He wraps his arms around you more firmly, his nose nuzzles at your temple and he whispers in your ear. "I think we both know you're stalling what is inevitable, my little jaguar flower."

"You know...flowers don't last long once you've picked them," you solemnly explain, muffled into his skin. Nevertheless, you continue slowly stroking his hair and press your cheek onto his chest. "Perhaps we should consider that before we move any further, Namor."

"You don't need to worry about that."

"It is entirely selfish on my part, I assure you," you tell him, laughing humorlessly. "I can't bear the thought that when I'm gone I will have to live a life without you in the ancestral realm without ever seeing you again."

Namor assesses you with half-lidded eyes, his anger more stifling than the room's heat. He moves you both to the edge, reaches behind you and presents a wilting water lily.

You frown. It's the only flower in the room that isn't bright and lively. He tucks it behind your ear, the stem limp and petals bruised.

"You will not." He sounds as if it's already true. Written and recorded on his codice, you and him, a long and happy life rather than the blink of an eye that lays ahead if you continue this.

"All the beautiful flowers you've brought me and you put a dying one in my hair?" you mutter, confused. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I'll make sure death will never touch you so long as I breathe."

He leans forward to kiss you now, his fingers marking your waist.

"I will make it true," he hisses like the feathered serpent he is between your lips. "You only have to believe my word, little jaguar." As you stare up at him speechless and in shock he continues. "If I can bring life back to this water lily will you put your faith in me then?"

"How are you going to do that?" You swallow hard as his hands skim down to palm and squeeze your ass, pushing your lower half to him. "It isn't within his power," you tell him, breath hitching. "Only mine."

"You doubt your king, little flower?"

Namor's hand presses on your lower back, maneuvering you as he switches your positions so he's reclining back until he has you above his lap. You encircle your arms around him, eyes wide and watery.

He presses a kiss to your neck as his fingers leisurely stroke your pussy. "And you address me as Namor," he admonishes you, his voice rough and passionate. "Never do that again, unless you are begging for my mercy. After you dare to doubt me."

Your breath hitches and you nuzzle your damp cheek to his in apology. "Yes," you breathe out in agreement, gnawing on your bottom lip as he angles his finger, slipping it between the folds of your pussy. "My love. My K'uk'ulkan."

He groans and plants kisses down your neck, murmurs that it's okay even though you know it isn't. He brushes his fingers up your mound, applying pressure around your clit as he starts rubbing in tight, little circles to stimulate the little bud. You cling to him, grinding in tandem to the his slow, firm pace he's set.

You stop a few times as your body wracks with shivers, your breathing a mess, but Namor keeps rubbing you off as the heat of the bath and your arousal scorches you.

Finally, finally Namor pushes a finger inside your slippery walls. He groans and lets out puffs of air that cools your overheated skin as you clench around him.

You whimper, capturing your wobbling bottom lip in your teeth. Already so desperate and aching for his touch. Even under the cover of the cloudy water you feel completely exposed and adrift in pleasure, his ornaments budge and scrape against your buoyant body, the heat of the water enhancing the sensitivity of your skin.

Water soaks your scalp and he chuckles as your eyes flutter open, not even aware that you've closed them. You're not scared of giving your trust over to him, safe in his hands in his element, but you're surprised at how quickly you've lost yourself in his touch.

Namor's fingers clamp around your nape and he pulls you back up, keeps your throat bared to kiss and suck and nip at his leisure. His fingers don't stop moving, rubbing and circling around your clit, stroking your lips like his tongue tracing the seams of your mouth. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you cover the one between your legs, pumping your hips frantically as you whine for more.

You curse him, back arching, the cold air sudden and biting at your breasts and hardening your nipples. His hot, wet mouth latches onto your chest and his arm tightens like a vice around your waist as you write and moan.

Your plush walls spasm with every unforgivingly rapid thrust of his fingers, the heel of his palm rolling against your clit. Your body twitches with every jolt of pleasure rippling out of you like air bubbles swiftly stealing your breath.

Namor sings his praises under his breath that you're too blissed out to bother translating. Your weightless and floating, tethered only to him and his thick fingers, the connection growing tighter as you're ready to snap.

Namor drags you down into the water as you come, his lips sealed to yours as you cry out and spasm in his arms.

He twists you around to face him, hitching your legs around him and you're not sure what's happening until you're on your back, staring at the flower padded logs hanging from the ceiling. Namor kisses you all over your face, murmuring "ocēlōxōchitl" as he drinks in the water droplets from your skin until you're laughing softly.

He huffs eagerly above you as he works removing his belt ornament and trunks. He smiles down at you with lust and affection, water sliding down his nose onto your face.

He pushes inside you, watches as your tender lips kiss the crown of his head. An icy chill settles over you making you tremble. Namor curves a hand under your back and bears more of his weight down in you, both groaning as your pussy flexes around his throbbing cock sinking into you. That's when a chill starts to really register on your skin and your body trembles. Until you're snug and he's buried to the hilt.

If the staff and customers of the bathhouse hadn't heard you before they surely do now, moaning as you shift underneath him. Namor swivels his hips, cock twitching, and you accommodate every rigid bump of him nudging against you. When you press your palm to your mouth he pushes it away just as soon, tangling his fingers between yours.

He takes his time. Rolls his hips to push deep inside you. He kisses you, mouth clinging to yours when he breaks apart. It's close to unbearable, another slow climb towards pleasure that keeps you teetering on the brink, so close but never quite enough to push you over. A steady rhythm your breathing can't seem to match.

Bodies slick with water and sweat, skin hot and cold, sticky from the steam and the cum sliding down your thighs. You dig your nails into his back and he snaps his hips with a guttural groan, the rough thrust pitching you upwards.

"Please, please..." you whimper, beads of tears forming in the corner of your eyes. "Namor, please."

Namor quickens his pace, burying his head into your shoulder as he fucks you like you're impervious to breaking.

"You can take it, can't you?" he tells you between his strained, heavy breathing and moans. "That's why you're mine."

You whimper, nodding, words escape you. Namor's cock stretches your tensing passage, he slows for a moment and moans low and deep. Your nails claw down his back and he hooks an arm underneath your thigh.

The friction rubs at you in a new way and you cry out. Yes. Right there. Namor drops his head to yours, his eyes ablaze and possessive, thrusts becoming sharp as your own relents to him with lewd, wet slaps.

All it takes is his rough thumb flicking at your clit and his face pressed to the soft flesh of your neck, his teeth grazing you. You press yourself to him and everything comes to a standstill, your body becoming rigid as an intense orgasm ripples through you. Your vision turns white as you succumb to the throbbing pulses of intense euphoria drowning you.

He writhes above you, hips stuttering, his mouth dropping open as exhales your name in a broken whisper. He moans and the sound sings down to your bones as he jerks his hips, spilling his warm cum in you.

You turn to trail kisses up his cheekbone, panting, you gently press your lips to his pointy ear and Namor makes a deep, rumbling noise.

The iciness of the earth melts from your skin and warmth settles in you. Your flower has bloomed. The white petals of the dying water lily has come back to life and in your line of vision, tickling your skin as it lifts and opens wide.

"There it is," Namor grunts, satisfied as he tenderly plucks the flower from behind your ear. Delicate but strong. A blazing yellow bud bleeding pink into the white petals. "See? Do you believe me now?" he says, rather smugly, beaming. "I told you I could do it, it's life has been prolonged."

You roll your eyes, laughing. "Hold on, I'm pretty sure I did that."

He pouts. "Not on your own, my love."

You hum, sated and exhausted. "That is true," you admit, smiling. When had you willed your powers over the small lily? When your emotions got out of control they could be strong enough to affect the earth and plant life around you without any conscious effort. "I see you are very persuasive."

"And together we can do anything," he says in a fierce whisper, serious now.

Your smile widens and you cradle his face in your hands. "Yes, my love, I believe you."

[mysweetpoisons]

I loved your writing and ideas, Namor and Reader's relationship is so unique and fitting, their powers make them such a perfect match. The smut was just 👌 chef's kiss

[storyarcscribe]

Judgement

Namor x Reader

Word Count: 870

Summary: You chose humanity over your heart. And now you were here to face judgement by the person who shattered it.

A/N: No Namor fics yet? *Thanos Voice* Fine…. I’ll do it myself. (LMK if we are digging this for a part 2 lol)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Lil smut (if I do a part 2 there will be more lol), angst, implied previous smut, possessiveness, suicidal thoughts, war, wakanda forever spoilers, possible incorrect Mayan language translation (tried my best with research but if anyone out there has feedback please let me know!!!)

Masterlist and How to Send a Prompt

Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

-

You shouldn’t be here.

War raged, and yet you found yourself on the sand, standing at the edge of a turbulent ocean. The waves churned just as turmoil stirred in your veins. Your guilted thoughts raced, tears filling your eyes.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

You stepped into the surf, too numb to the feeling of its icy waters.

I deserve this.

Forgive me.

The water stilled, as if in the eye of the hurricane.

And then, he emerged from the surface, molten eyes filled with wrath.

The wrath of a god.

Ku'ku'lkán.

Namor.

You fell to your knees, sand biting into the skin, transfixed by his fury.

He was just as you remembered so long ago…. So painfully beautiful, like the sight of a wave eroding a cliff side.

He became more than a god to you. Friend. Companion. Lover.

In the beginning, all he asked for was your loyalty and silence on him and his people. You gave him not only this but love. In return, he revealed himself parts of himself to you in those moments together, slowly showing you all of himself over time.

He gifted you something he never gave to anyone on land.

Trust and devotion.

You were gladly blinded by this dream of a man and woman in love... A man who made you laugh so hard until your sides hurt, painted you beautiful stories of his kingdom with words, brought you art and trinkets from the depths of his home, confided in you, taught you his mother’s tongue, and coaxed your utter undoing each night with his hands, his mouth, and his body.

He was the water, current, waves, and the depths of an ocean and people.

You fell in love with a god.

But a god cannot love a person who betrayed him and his people.

He chose war against humanity instead of you.

And you chose humanity instead of your heart.

He promised to kill you if you ever stepped into an ocean again the day you parted.

You deserved his wrath, forsaking him for the world above. This war had waged too long with violence committed on both sides, but the people of Talokan, who you had come to love through Namor, were being slaughtered. The guilt disintegrated what left of your heart remained. And you came here before your anguish consumes you, knowing it was would be the end.

You didn’t realize your head had bowed in shame until you felt the cool blade of his spear tuck under your chin, lifting it up.

His face was blurred in your tear-soaked vision, but you could see eyes churned with an emotion you feared to never see….

Rage. Anguish.

Your tears flowed silently, pinching your lips together for fear of choking on your breath.

He just stood there, the pressure of the blade never increasing or decreasing. He had seen battle since you last saw him, three distinct claw marks scarring his cheek. You ached for him and his suffering in this war. If only you stayed. If only you chose him.

If only.

If only.

If only.

And then the blade left your chin. He slammed the tip of it into the ocean floor, the sound of it rippling across the water.

Namor extended his hand.

You didn’t hesitate to place it in his, the warmth of his hand enveloping yours like the sun.

Namor’s eyes had calmed, the tempest in them before now a gentle current. You were lulled by them as he brought you to your feet.

He pulled you with him further into the water, his eyes remaining fixed upon yours.

And once you were weightless in the ocean, he pulled you to him, your body flush against his own with hand wrapped around your back. You’re warmed, the memories and feeling of him radiating through your body.

He cupped your cheek with one hand.

His decision was made, eyes softening.

Forgiveness.

Namor chose forgiveness.

And then you broke, tears continuing to fall as you sobbed. “Ma'taali'teeni' ajawo’.”

I’m sorry, my king.

That same hand gripped the back of your neck, your face now tipped up to meet his own. You could barely breathe as his gaze burned through your own.

And he breathed one word, carving it into your soul.

Mine.

His mouth crashed into yours, coaxing it open where he poured his fury, rage, forgiveness, and love with your own. He stole your breath, suffocating it as he adored your lips, your jaw, your neck. He repeated the word to you over and over again. Your core pulsed with the heartbeat rushing through your ears.

And then he murmured new words in whispers over and over your skin.

In k'aatech.

I love you.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the sky and arching into him as his adoration became desperate. He lavished an open kiss on the pendant at the base of your neck… A gift he gave you the first night he made love to you.

You were his that day long before he spoke the words to you now.

And then his mouth found yours again before he pulled you under a swelling wave, sending you both beneath the surface into that vast, endless blue.

To his home.

To Talokan.

-

A/N: TENOCH ILY I AM NOT OVER THIS MAN AND THIS MOVIEEE

Update: part 2 is being worked on 🫶😽

[mysweetpoisons]

And he breathed one word, carving it into your soul.

Mine.

God, this part right here was so hot, his desire is so intense I melted

[skywalkersapologist-deactivated]

Hey bestie. Me coming for my man that gets me hate mail.

Hate/angry sex WITH “don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

Thx in advance 💜

anything for you, my darling. in fact, for you...have an extra long Kinktober request, as my special treat to you.

Reverie

Morpheus x f!reader

Word Count: 3.2k(ish) Rating: Explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Content: established relationship, medication use mention, marijuana use mention, Morpheus is petty, self-imposed sleep deprivation mention, angry Morpheus, possessive Morpheus, male receiving oral, orgasm denial, angry sex, unprotected (practice safe sex please), hair pulling, creampie Kinktober Masterlist | | Masterlist

“Why have you been hiding yourself from me?” the familiar cadence filled your ears before the vision took form before you. The fog cleared, you could easily make out the mess of dark hair atop his head, his skin radiant in the eternal night glow, the stars shining in his eyes. Morpheus, the King of Dreams, perched on his throne as he awaited your response – one that you would have been foolish to think he wouldn’t demand eventually. 

You’d last seen him an entire moon past, the weeks the first in eons that Morpheus found himself conscious of the passing time, and while in the larger scale of existence the time that passed meant nothing, to Morpheus, those were the first weeks he felt the pain of a ticking clock. You’d done everything to repress your dreams, to stay away from him, following the argument that the two of you had the last time you were together. The direct cause didn’t matter anymore, all that either of you had clung to was the heart of it all – Morpheus was a petty being. And though you were not Endless like he, that pettiness was only matched by your own. 

You’d been taking a cocktail of medications and weed to numb your sleep at first, a successful attempt at withholding your mind from the Dreaming. When even that was overpowered by Morpheus, you’d opted for stimulants to force yourself to stay awake – though you were only human, and the sleep deprivation consumed you into the deep sleep you found yourself in now soon enough. It was never going to be forever, your punishment of him, your attempt at matching his attitude where it was…but you had to hope that it would communicate enough. 

“I was dissatisfied at our last encounter in the Waking World, King of Dreams,” you gave your response as your feet carried you up several of the stairs to him, testing his anger. “You were not very kind to me.”

“And so, your response…” he began, his fingers twitching against the arms of his throne. His voice held no hint to indicate just how angry he was, and so you continued up the stairs in hope to make out his porcelain features soon enough. “Was to return my…shortcoming, with cruelty of your own?”

You knew he was likely to pick up on the playful smile that covered your features as it reached your voice – but you also didn’t care. “Precisely, my King. It only seemed fair.”

“Hmm,” he mused, attempting to cover the slight smile behind his voice as well. Though he’d seldom admit it, your quickness to mirror his own behavior when he deserved it often entertained him. “I suppose I did deserve to be withheld from you. And yet, it must be said that this long without you…it has been cruel.”

As he came into your view, the features of his face less indicative than you’d hoped, you approached with slow and intentional steps until you were just before him. Slowly sinking to your knees before him you gazed up between your lashes, your cheeks glowing the exact shade he always loved to see. If he were less angry, less petty, he would reach out to brush his fingers along one now – but the harshness of his mood toward your over-punishment had faltered far less than you’d hoped. Biting your bottom lip between your teeth briefly in nervousness, burning under the intensity of his eyes, you placed your hands experimentally on his thighs, maintaining the apologetic look – one far too innocent to be truly sincere.

“I guess we both have something to be sorry for, hmm?” You inquired as your hands slid higher onto his thighs, voice soft enough to coax him toward relaxation but serious enough to communicate you weren’t going to lighten on your stance. His jaw clenched slightly, the evidence he was still unwilling to falter himself. 

“I learned my lesson weeks ago when you were simply numbing yourself from me, little one,” he chastised, his fingers twitching against his throne again as his want to touch you grew. Though he could now speak quietly – only to you – the anger present in his voice was now evident as he knew his words were only for you. “Your behavior these past couple of days…this absolute disregard for yourself…is what needs to be addressed now.”

“Are you angry because you were worried for my safety, my King?”

The question was taunting, attempting to push him into giving into you. With your hands sliding up his thighs as you leaned forward, reaching one hand to work open the button of his pants, it was growing harder to ignore the burn he felt for you. 

“I am angry,” he began, eager to communicate what he needed to before his rough exterior completely faltered around you. “Because you threaten to harm someone very dear to me.”

“Those are different words for the same thing, Morpheus,” you taunted as you pressed a meaningful kiss to the top of his thigh, a quiet apology that he already knew you felt. One of his hands finally reached to grasp the hair at the back of your head, pulling you to rise to your knees until your face was mere inches from his. His grasp firm and a stern tone behind his words he leaned forward to brush the tip of his nose against yours, eyes piercing yours as his other hand reached to work his pants free from his waist. 

“I do not enjoy being deprived of you,” he asserted as his hand at the back of your head slid to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, an intensity and seriousness behind his eyes you’d never seen before…which was impressive considering intense and serious were in his nature. Behind it all lingered the anger still. “Do not do it again.”

You could barely bring yourself to nod, lost in the endless galaxies in his eyes, your mind desperately trying to focus on his words despite the fact that every cell that made up your body could do nothing but yearn for him. His grasp did not falter, his gaze holding yours still as he leaned forward to claim your lips in a heated, angry kiss, his desperation for you seeping through his every movement. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the exquisite black fabric of the simple sweater he’d adorned himself in that day as you returned his kiss. 

You began to trail your kisses down his perfectly smooth neck as he released his hold on your chin, both of his hands finding their way to your shoulders as you found yourself free of clothing. With an impatient tug at his shirt, you nipped at the skin of his neck eagerly, hoping your intent was clear without words. Thankfully, he took your sign to remove his shirt, leaving him gloriously bare before you. Your kisses trailed down the impossibly perfect frame before you until you reached his waist, placing a final kiss on his hip as one of your hands grasped his awaiting cock. 

An impatient groan left his chest as his hand found the back of your head again, turning it toward his hardened length as his simple instruction – “open” – filled your ears and mind itself. Every movement he made was indicative of the anger he still harbored for you, and while your mind had to wonder if allowing the Endless his way was beneficial long-term, it was silenced by your fulfilled instinct to wrap your mouth around him. 

As much as you loved listening to his voice, the sounds that left his mouth were the finest of them all – particularly the repressed groan that left erupted from his chest as your gaze connected with his once again. Grasping his fingers into your hair he thrust his hips up, pushing his cock further into your mouth and into your throat to urge you forward. Your pleasured moan vibrated through his body, your hands reaching to grasp his thighs as he found solace in the warmth of your mouth. As he began to repeat his thrusts into your mouth, he ensured you held his gaze, drinking in the sight of you coming undone for him – the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he refamiliarized himself with your mouth, the drool dripping down your chin; perfectly imperfect and entirely for him.

“Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?” He inquired, fully aware that the only response you would offer were your fingernails digging into the tops of his thighs. “I do not wish to be angry with you, beloved.”

With a thrust hard enough, assuredly, to bruise your throat he pulled his throbbing cock free of your mouth, tilting your head back to look at his still-hardened face. Fighting for a proper breath you reached your hands to rest on his on either side of your face, nodding with your lips partially open in confirmation that you understood – pushing him this far was not an option again. He pulled you upward to reconnect your lips to his he kissed you harshly, releasing your face once you’d fully submitted to his kiss to lower his hands to grasp your hips. 

Climbing to straddle his waist you immediately felt the intense wave of heat that rushed to your core. A blissful sigh slipped from your lips, your hands reaching to grasp into his tousled hair as ivory fingers slipped between your folds to test how wet you’d become for him. Ending at your clit and rubbing a gentle circle around the nub, there was no holding back your desperate moan which he gladly swallowed into the kiss. 

“Although, I do think you enjoy when I’m angry with you,” he proclaimed as he released the kiss, his fingers sliding back toward your entrance to dip his forefinger into you teasingly. “Just feel how wet you are for me.”

Your hips jerked to his again, whimpering quietly at his long finger inside you, curling tantalizingly slow against the velvety patch within you, enjoying the way your mouth fell open for him once again and your eyes fluttered closed. Your hips jerked toward his hand, desperate for anything more he would offer you to take – the Dream Lord was often amused by your greed for his attentions. The friction of his palm against your clit pulled another moan from you, your hands grasping his shoulders desperately to steady yourself without his aid, hoping his hands would focus elsewhere.

Though he adored grasping your hips, he released his hold of you there to slide his unoccupied hand to your chest, cupping one of your breasts delicately as his cold thumb rubbed over your already-stiffened nipple. Somewhat bemused by the goosebumps that erupted across your skin at the feeling he took the nub between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between the digits carefully before giving a harsh pinch – just as a second finger was added into your wet heat. Rolling your hips, you became keenly aware of the quiet, moaned pleas that were leaving your mouth, though the words sounded so foreign – it was always this way with him in the Dreaming, where nearly everything was too good to be true. 

His fingers thrust into you expertly, his memory serving him well to remind him of all the ways to perfectly bend your body to his will until he felt your thighs begin to shake. As your walls clenched around his fingers ever-so-slightly tighter and your breathing hitched in your throat he removed his hand from your core, clicking his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly before leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. Once again, his tone was quiet – eerily resonating within your thoughts, almost as if Morpheus was inside your head, as well. 

“Given how you’ve behaved so poorly these last weeks,” he began, his lips brushing yours in a tormentingly light kiss as he spoke. “Do you not think that you should have to beg me for your release?”

“Dream,” you whimpered, using the name only those closest to him seemed to these days, regretting the extra days you’d made yourself stay away from him. Your hips thrust toward his stilled hand, desperate for friction and to release the ecstasy that he’d built in you – though all you were met with was another opaque hum from his chest. “Please.”

You had to admit, you may have deserved the light smile that played on his lips – and despite its lightly sinister nature, you fawned at the realization he was beginning to falter for you. “I do enjoy the sounds of your pleas, little one. Perhaps you have more for me.”

A desperate whimper slipped through your lips as you attempted to seek a full kiss from him, your core grinding against his hand before he pulled it away entirely, grasping his admittedly throbbing cock in his hand. The view of his marble-esque hand around his own cock, languidly pumping himself as his eyes connected with yours, perhaps darker now than you had seen them before, always drove you to new depths of need for him – and you supposed that was quite the point.

“Please, Dream,” you whined, moving your kisses to his angled jaw where you knew he would not stop you. Your kisses trailed to his ear, breaths hot and desperate against the skin as you nibbled at his ear lobe. “I’ve learned my lesson, and I will never deny you again. Please, don’t deny me now. I cannot bare another moment.”

Turning his head to capture your lips in a heated kiss he guided his cock to your entrance, thrusting upward into your well-slickened walls entirely in one motion with a deep, appreciative groan. Your surprised cry bounced off the walls of the large chamber you sat in still, hands grasping at his shoulders as you accepted every inch of him until his velvety head knocked against your cervix. Normally, he would claim you in his bed, enjoying the look of you sprawled beautifully against his dark sheets – but tonight, his show of power included you riding his cock on his throne, knowing it would impart some message into your mind. 

“You see how I reward you when you listen,” he groaned, his hand on your hip encouraging you to move your hips against his the moment he felt you adjust to him. With the perfect grind of your waist, he grasped at your hip tighter, his free hand reaching to grasp at the back of your head. Entangling his fingers in your hair he pulled backward slightly, leaning forward to press light kisses up the center of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume as he went. “It could be this way always if you simply trusted in my desires for you.”

Unable to refute his argument you nodded as best you could with his grasp on your hair, lifting yourself off of his length temporarily before dropping down, rolling your hips to emphasize the movement. His grasp tightened in both places he held, his hips thrusting up into yours wantonly as he found himself unable to resist the temptation to give into you fully – after all, you were listening to him so well now. You moaned his name – several of his names – as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, your eyes rolling back slightly at the repeated feeling of his cock hitting your most sensitive spot within. 

Still somewhat angry he’d had to wait this long to claim you again, his thrusts became relentless, nearly forgetting that it was possible to hurt you too much – not that you would ever complain about what he wanted to give you. Pushing your head forward again he slotted his lips against yours, his tongue immediately seeking the taste he’d missed for so many hours – wondering if you knew that was truly what dreams were made of. You were certain from his pace that in the morning you would wake with bruised hips, unable to go about your usual activities or obligations – though if you’d complained, Dream would assert the only obligation that truly mattered was the one you held to one another. 

It never took him long to push you to orgasm when he decided it was time, and now was no exception – your walls fluttering around him with embarrassing speed as your thighs began to shake again. Your moans became lighter, shorter, more feral as your nails dragged down his chest, clamoring for anything to grab onto before they slid back up and around his neck. As your own fingers found their way into his hair and you gave a light tug your ears were filled with a prolonged moan, his head falling forward shortly after to connect his lips above your pulse. His words were quiet, deliciously convincing and seductive directly in your ear – an effect you knew he was striving for. 

“Let me treat you as art, beloved,” he groaned, sucking his mark into his chosen spot on your neck. “I wish to paint your walls with my release. If you will permit me that, you may cum for me.”

All you could do was nod, moaning his name in affirmation as your walls clenched around him tighter, silently begging him to reach his end with you. As his thrusts became harsher and sloppier you tugged at his hair slightly again, thighs shaking nearly uncontrollably as his hand at your hip slid to use his thumb to rub circles against your clit. Throwing your head back in pleasure his name left your mouth as slightly less than a scream as euphoria rushed over you, your walls clamping around him as you felt him release ropes of hot cum within you accompanied with a groan. 

You collapsed against his chest when you’d both finished, burying your face in his neck and whispering a quiet thank you as his black cloak appeared around your shoulders, shielding you from the cold and wrapping you up within him. Moments later – impossibly fast – you found yourself against the satin sheets of his bed, unbelievable comfort encompassing you as he held you against him with one arm around your waist. Once he was satisfied with your stabilized breathing he reached his free hand to cup your face in his hand, urging you to look him in the eye before exhaustion took you over. 

“Do not deny me again, little one,” he spoke, his words gentler than before and yet still firm, his fingers brushing against your cheek tenderly in the gentlest motion he’d offered that night. “My lesson will not be as kind the second time.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you promised, the choice of words intentionally coaxing a light smile onto his face, reserved only for those who truly held his affections. Pulling you closer with arms around your waist he ushered you to relaxation, watching as your eyes closed again before he leaned forward to place gentle kisses against each of your eyelids.

“I will join you in the Waking World, beloved.”

The night was full of dreams, and your day would be endless reverie.

Author's Note: I am still shadowbanned, so no tags on here from me since they don't matter! I will, of course, be posting something for this as well on @malleysghostera to try to get some interactions, but reblogs are appreciated now more than ever, honestly...but comments are golden too! This is my first full piece for Morpheus (I've only published short headcanons in the past), so any compliments you want to throw my way about him are definitely appreciated...and will only convince me to write him more!

- Malley x

[mysweetpoisons]

Oh God, needy Dream is my absolute favourite. Excellent work!!

Also: "I do enjoy the sounds of your pleas, little one. Perhaps you have more for me." This, this right here was my undoing

[fairyysoup]

insatiable

matters of taste part II

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Stuck between Steve and Eddie, you start to learn the things they have in common, and a few of the things they don't.

words: 10.3k

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, polyamorous relationship, semi-public sex, car sex, cunnilingus, nipple play, spit kink, forced orgasms, workplace sex, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, daddy kink, size kink, praise, steve harrington has a big dick, eddie munson has guitarists fingers literally, smoking, marijuana, discussions and appreciation of scars, canon-typical violence toward the end, like one verbatim line from the show as a wink wink nudge nudge, not edited (we die like the demobat)

additional notes: can i get uhh 22 pages of fuckfest and general bakery antics? thanks

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

“I feel kinda bad,” you admit glumly, blinking at Eddie through the fog in the back of his van. “Steve’s not here.”

Eddie shrugs a shoulder, his eyes sparkling at you even though they’ve gone just a little bit watery and bloodshot. You both stink like weed, the cramped quarters filling up with the smoke from the joint you pass between you. The speakers from the radio in the dash are playing the local rock station, maybe a bit too loud, but Eddie’s slightly gravelly voice still goes into your ears and plants itself right between your legs. “Yeah. Why d’you feel bad about it?”

“Well… aren’t we sort of going behind his back?”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head slowly. “Only if we don’t tell him. And trust me, I plan on telling him. Harrington and I are a lot closer than you might think, sugarplum.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Your head fills with the image of him biting Steve’s ear, tugging his hair- Steve’s hand fisted in Eddie’s shirt while you go down on him. “Are you guys together?”

“Ah… sort of. We haven’t exactly had the ‘what are we’ talk, but we fool around.” Eddie offers you the burning joint in his hand, and winks as you take it. “Doesn’t mean we don’t want to include you, though. Treat you nice, take you out on dates. The both of us.”

“Is that what this is?” You splutter a kind of half-cough, half giggle, the smoke starting to make your reflexes a little fuzzy. “R’we on a date right now?”

“If you wanna be.”

You should have known that his oddly sweet offer to pick you up and drive you to work today wasn’t exactly coming from a place of wholesome intentions. For starters, he did pose the offer while letting you recover from the first time he fucked you, while Steve was busy with a customer out on the bakery floor. His hand had been stroking a little too close to your aching cunt and your head was a little too full of endorphins for you to think it through before you said okay. 

So, when he picked you up about two hours early, you were a little shocked, to say the least. You were still wearing your pajamas- an ugly pair of sweats, and a cami that absolutely did not cover everything it needed to for you to be technically decent. Your hair a complete mess, a half eaten sandwich in hand as you answered the door. 

Eddie’s eyes did a complete once-over of your body, and then laser-focused in on your pebbled nipples raised through the fabric of your cami, before he cracked a smug smile. “Get all dressed up just for me?” 

You’d asked Eddie to wait for you to put on that itchy fucking uniform dress and apron, at least, but he just waved his hand like it was beyond pointless. “Just grab it and get dressed in the car. I won’t peek at you. Scouts honor.”

Well, now the uniform dress is wadded up in a plastic shopping bag beside you, and you’re parked outside of the Radio Shack across the street and down a ways from Mimi’s Bakery. And he’s not looking at you like any fucking boy scout. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, feeling really hot and sort of uncomfortably confined in your tight cami. He’s been staring at your tits. Not trying to hide that he is in the slightest, either. And your eyes have been lingering on his tattoos. “This can be a date.”

“Good to know,” he hums, checking his watch. “But don’t you need to be getting into that little dress pretty soon?”

“You just want to look at my tits,” you grumble as you shove the joint back into his hand. 

“I do. But I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

You gnaw on your lip. Your eyes fall to his forearm again, the cluster of bats so dark on his skin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Eddie laughs, genuinely, his chest heaving. “Tit for tat, huh? All right, sweetheart. You asked for it.”

His hands move to the hem of his shirt. He’s not wearing his uniform either, actually- instead he’s in a weather beaten metallica shirt and dark jeans. You don’t know if he just generally waits until the last second to change into his uniform, or if he was planning on not having any clothes on by the end of this anyways. Maybe a bit of both, but you’re hesitant to ask. 

He rips his shirt over his head, wads it into a ball and throws it somewhere in the vicinity of the front seat. You’re not looking at where it lands, though. You’re looking at his scars. 

Eddie’s covered in them. Large red patches on his skin that look… sort of like they could be burn scars, but more like he got dragged under an eighteen wheeler on a paved highway and lived to tell the tale. You stare, because you have genuinely no idea what to do or say. 

“Has anyone told you, you have a really good poker face?”

You huff a laugh and rip your eyes away, although you don’t really want to. The scars don’t take away from the look of him, or from the tattoos- of which there are a lot. They even help to increase the air of danger and mystery about him that you find so alluring, and you’re more entranced by the combination of the two than anything. Your face burns furiously. “Am I that obvious?”

He grunts, but it doesn’t come off as dismissive as he usually makes it. It sounds almost shy. “You’re no actress, sweetheart. But it’s okay. I know it’s bad.”

“It’s… I mean, maybe it’s alarming. Didn’t expect it,” you tell him honestly, and you sort of reach forward to touch his chest, only stopping your hand at the last second. “But it’s not bad, babe.”

Eddie makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, like he doesn’t entirely believe you, but he reaches up and grabs your hand to pull it against his chest. His skin is hot under your touch. “Don’t bullshit me- I don’t think I could handle it if you were.”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Eddie,” you whisper to him, moving to straddle his lap while your hand presses into his skin. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well,” he starts, his eyes turning up toward the roof of the van, “you did say you thought my tattoos were ‘fucking dumb.’”

“That’s… okay, yeah. Fair enough.” Your fingers dig into his chest, dragging along the outline of a spider. He’s riddled with them- zombie heads and spiders and a puppet on a string. You’re absorbed in a fantasy of tracing every one of them with your tongue instead of your fingers. Sucking in a sharp breath through your nose, you take them in slowly and try to content yourself with just touching them instead of tasting them. “I didn’t really think they were dumb, though. They’re not. They’re really, really hot. I think about them all the time, I was just too chicken shit to admit it.” 

Eddie’s wide eyes bore into yours. “Hm. So I fuck you once and you change your tune?”

“Yeah. That’s usually the best way to get me to fess up, anyways. I mean, I also didn’t want to admit that I have a big ol’ crush on you, but… here we are.” Your face heats up, and your eyes fall to his hand on yours so that you can avoid his stare. “And these are really fucking hot. Believe me.” You drag your hand down his chest, and his follows. Your touch lingers over a bit of scar tissue on his lower ribs. His breath hitches when you ghost your fingers across it. 

“Between you and me,” he murmurs quietly, his voice just a little bit shaky as you lace your fingers between his, “you’re the only one besides Harrington who’s seen them.”

Your eyes snap up to his. You open your mouth to say something heartfelt, to thank him or tell him how much it means that he would trust you with something he’s obviously a bit shy about- as shy as Eddie Munson can be. But all that comes out is, “Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“How did… how…” You struggle to ask him what happened to scar him this much. Somehow, it seems so invasive. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s not-”

“I was attacked by a swarm of bats,” Eddie says flatly. “Fuckers almost ate me alive.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His tone is serious, but his nose crinkles just a bit and his lips curl up just at the edges, and his eyes glint in a way that says, ‘I know something you don’t.’ So you bite your lip and scrape your nails lightly along his skin. “Between you and your bats, and Steve and his KGB agents, I’m starting to think you guys are just having fun tripping me up.”

He grins. “Oh, we are. How else are we supposed to keep you coming back for more?”

“Dunno. You have some really good weed.”

“Oof. Ouch. You’re only here for the drugs, babe?” He clicks his tongue and puffs the joint before handing it to you. “Should’a known. Pretty things like you are always so hard to get.”

You smirk, tucking the joint between your lips. One last puff and it’ll be too small to be useful anymore. “Not so hard. I think you got me pretty good last night.”

Eddie hums, and his hand pets up the curve of your arm. “Yeah, I did. I could still feel you squeezing me while I was trying to get to sleep.” 

“Christ, Eddie,” you breathe. Your fingers slip down low enough to skim over the trail of hair below his navel that disappears beneath his belt. “I’m still feeling you. You fucked me hard.”

“Mm. I know.”

You feel fucking insatiable. Maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the way you can’t be in the same room with him, let alone in his lap, without wanting him to just… take advantage. Arousal tickles under your skin and between your legs like an ever-present demon. 

He plucks the little stub of a joint out of your fingers and tosses it into an ashtray by the console. “I showed you mine.”

You don’t really know what to say. You can’t come up with anything, so you just… lift your arms. Straight up in the air. Staring at him, saying nothing.

Eddie looks up at you with an unreadable expression, and his eyes dip to your lips. Just for a moment, long enough for you to think that he might lean in to finally kiss you, but then as soon as the thought is there, the moment is gone and he tugs the hem of your camisole up over your head. 

All that you can think is that Eddie’s really good with his hands. Of course he is- you’d know better than anyone, after what he did last night, but somehow it still gets the better of you when he slides his palms down your vertical arms after pulling your camisole off of them, and letting his thumbs press along the curve of your cleavage to tease over your nipples. His fingertips dig into the sides of your breasts, squeezing them almost reverently. 

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows audibly over the sound of the car radio, shaking his head slowly. His eyes droop as he pets your skin and leans forward to kiss just over the sensitive peak of your breast. “You shouldn’t have hid these from me, sweetheart. Pretty baby, with her pretty little nipples teasing me all morning.”

You hum, feeling a little lightheaded at him toying with you like this. His tongue juts out to wet his lips, and you feel so exposed, trembling on top of him. His eyes are just so big and black, shining in the broad afternoon light coming in from the window behind you. 

You’re in a fucking car. Where anyone passing by could see you, parked just down the sidewalk from your job, where you have to be in… thirty minutes? Twenty? You don’t even fucking know anymore. You think you can probably deal with Mimi Callaghan’s wrath if Eddie just keeps touching you like this-

Your breath hiccups in your chest when he lets his tongue flick gently over your nipple. You feel a wreck with just the slightest touch of his hot mouth to your skin, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss him again. To just allow yourself to taste him for hours. 

He switches over, going for the other one with pursed lips and enough suction to make your toes curl in your shoes. “Question for you,” he says, much too chipper and unaffected when he pulls away almost immediately. He leaves your nipples wet and cold in the atmosphere of the van, achingly hard for him as he drags the rough pads of his thumbs over them. 

You whine petulantly at him, your nails ripping at the wall of the car behind his head. You know Eddie hears it with how he mockingly pouts his lower lip at you, tilting his head just slightly as he draws circles around the sensitive buds. “What’s the quickest you’ve ever made yourself come?”

The question takes you aback. “What?”

“On your own. No assistance,” Eddie clarifies, as if that makes the inquiry any less odd. “Start to finish. Approximate time.”

“Um. I…” You suck a breath through your teeth when he pinches one of your nipples gently, and you blurt, “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds.”

Eddie blinks, pausing the movement of his fingers. You squirm, pushing your chest into his touch, and he unconsciously resumes. “That is… so weirdly specific. How do you know that?”

“Uh.” You press your lips together tightly and hear your heartbeat in your ears. Your face feels hot for all the wrong reasons, and he’s just squinting at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “It’s uhhh… because that’s how long it takes to get halfway through the guitar solo in Stairway to Heaven?”

His face remains blank for half a second. Then, slowly, a smile stretches across his face until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “You got off to Stairway?”

You make a weak noise in the back of your throat. “You haven’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” Eddie leans forward and presses a soft kiss between your breasts, just over your heart. His hands keep up their careful flexing, his thumbs rolling gently around your nipples until you lurch your hips forward against his for some kind of relief. He smirks. “I do think it’s cute that you knew the timestamp, though. What did you do? Go through it afterwards while looking at the clock? Count the seconds?”

“It was a stopwatch,” you snarl at him. 

Eddie makes a silent ‘O’ with his mouth, winking at you as he does. “Pardon me. A stopwatch.” He sighs dramatically and releases his hold on your breasts. Your skin feels oddly chilly without the soothing warmth of his hands there, but you swallow thickly as you watch him fiddle with the electronic watch on his wrist. Under the din of the car radio, he mutters to you, “Well, I’m no Page, but I like to think I’m a pretty good guitarist. Let’s see if I can’t break his record, hm?”

“What- Eddie!” A gasp leaves your mouth as his hand wiggles under the elastic waistband of your sweats. 

“No panties today? Naughty girl,” He tuts, letting his fingers roam through your curls and trace over the wet seam of your pussy, just barely a graze but it’s enough to set you on fire. 

“You destroyed one pair already,” you point out, biting your lip as his fingers gently drag through your folds, parting them teasingly. You don’t have the heart to tell him you do have a pair in the bag with your uniform. “Didn’t feel like losing another.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgement, but he doesn’t sound too terribly interested in your reasoning. “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds, sweetheart. Better be quick, or you’re going into work feeling really needy.” The tip of his finger dips just between your folds and finds the bead of your clit, and your heart drops into your stomach. He leans forward to whisper into your ear conspiratorially, “And I’m not working today.”

The sound that leaves you is maybe less than dignified. “You’d really do that to Steve?”

“Oh, you know that I would,” Eddie murmurs darkly. His fingers curl forward, and he buries them to the knuckle in your cunt, his palm rocking against your clit with it. “And I know he’d take really good care of you, too. But I might feel a little jealous if he gets to feel you come and I don’t.”

You feel like you’ve dug your own grave, and now you have to lie in it. Eddie’s fingers are deadly quick and more precise than you could have imagined. Stroking in down to the third knuckle and then hollowing back out to trace small circles around your clit. Teasing his two fingertips just into your entrance before pulling out to tug on your clit again. 

“So wet for me already,” Eddie coos sweetly, swirling his fingers and spreading the slick around to coat your puffy outer lips. Like he’s just having fun fucking with you, and you’re eating it up all the same. “Yeah… sweet baby. Must be doing something right if you’re this soaked.”

Your fingers ache with the grip you have on the wall. The van isn’t very decked out- you’d almost chance to say it looks like he was gutting it out for a remodeling and then stopped halfway through at some point. With nowhere to comfortably put your hands, you’re holding onto a metal support beam with one, the nails of your other hand scratching into the ridge of a windowsill just above his head. 

“Eddie, please,” you whisper, your voice breathier already than you want it to be. Your hips rock against his hand, whimpering when he pushes his middle and ring into you again. He curls them forward so slowly that you feel pulled closer toward his bare chest. “Please, I’m- shit, I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

But Eddie’s not listening. Or maybe he is, but he doesn’t make it known to you- he’s too busy humming along to the fucking song playing on the radio. An anguished cry leaves you when his fingers flex unexpectedly, and it takes you a moment to recognize that he’s following the guitar riff of the song. Scissoring his fingers inside your cunt to mimic the chords, and brushing up against your g-spot as he does.

You recognize the song. It’s on one of your best friend’s mixtapes- you listened to it some months ago in the car on the way to the drive-in. It’s not a difficult tune to follow, or particularly fast, but it’s incongruous and switches up at the oddest moments. So, just when you think there’s a rhythm to his fingers, they throw you for a loop. Your face screws up, because you can’t fucking remember the name of the song while he’s acting like you’re the neck of his goddamn guitar.

Then Eddie stops humming, and starts singing. And if you weren’t already overwhelmed with everything that’s happening, the sound of his rough voice quietly following the tune would put you on fucking cloud nine. “I’m a wild child, come and love me, I want you…”

You gasp for air, and your hand plants itself on the back of his head, fingers digging into the roots of his fluffy hair and tugging excitedly. Fucking- “W.A.S.P. Wild Child. That’s it.”

Eddie snickers, tilting head as he looks up at you with an endearing smile. His free hand lifts from your hip to grip your chin. “Were you trying to place it?”

You give him a high-pitched whimper in lieu of an answer, nodding your head furiously with your eyes screwed shut. You hear him laugh, and can only imagine the cheeky grin on his face. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” Eddie squeezes your cheeks, pulling on your jaw slightly. “Open.”

You let your jaw slacken, mouth wide open for him so that he can spit into it. Moaning loudly into his face, you swallow and you realize that you… really liked that. Enough that it might give you a complex if you think about it for too long. 

You can feel how wet his skin is, because of you- because of him. The soft, slick glide of his thumb against your clit, the two deep inside you sliding in and out without resistance. Your hips grind forward onto his thrusting fingers, and you come onto his hand, making that wetness even worse. A string of moans leave your mouth, unrestrained and just barely louder than the music. 

Eddie’s nose bumps yours, and then he finally kisses you. For the first time all fucking morning, after two hours of screwing around in the back of his van, he finally kisses you while you’re riding out an orgasm on his fingers. You could smack him. But instead, you just open your mouth and let him take what you’ve wanted to give him since he knocked on your door. 

“You sound so fucking sexy when you do that,” he murmurs between kisses, and he sucks on your lower lip as he pulls away. “Like a cute little pornstar.”

You sigh quietly as he shifts, letting his fingers stroke one last time through your folds as he retracts his hand and lifts his fingers to his lips. It doesn’t surprise you when he sucks your cum from them, unabashed in his hedonism. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best.” He grins at you, then lifts his watch and presses a little button on the side. “Five minutes and fifty-two seconds. Beat that, Jimmy Page.”

“Oh, I think you’re much better than Jimmy Page,” you coo at him, tiredly wrapping your arms around his neck. You peck the tip of his nose. “But the next time you get me back here with the sole intention of fucking me, you might try kissing me first?”

Eddie blushes. “I wasn’t… ah… I didn’t know if that was, um. On the table or not.”

You frown at him. “Baby, I let you fuck me in the back room of the bakery. I kissed you last night- Why the hell wouldn’t I let you kiss me now?”

“I dunno, I’ve been with a couple girls who just… didn’t want to kiss me? You didn’t make a move, and I didn’t want to assume-”

You cut him off with a long, wet kiss that makes him grunt in surprise. You don’t know who the hell wouldn’t want to kiss Eddie, but you’ve always been a romantic at heart. You stare into his eyes, holding his face and stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You kiss me any time, any where you want, Eddie Munson. In front of whoever you want. You have carte blanche.”

“Sounds… sounds good.” Eddie’s round, dark eyes blink up at you, adoration brimming in them. “I’ll kiss you all the time, then. You’ll get sick of me.”

“I’m already sick of you,” you grumble, rubbing his shoulder. “Imagine what would happen if I got really fucking annoyed with you.”

“I can’t wait.” He presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then smacks your ass so hard it makes you yelp. “C’mon, you gotta get to work.”

“Yeah, about that.” You crawl off of his lap to grab your bag of clothes. “You mean to tell me you went out of your way to drive me to work, pick me up two hours early, and you’re not even scheduled today?”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugs. “I couldn’t go twenty-four hours without seeing you. You’ve bewitched me- OW!”

You giggle as he rubs the spot on his leg that you kicked as you were tugging your sweats off. “Oops.”

Eddie grabs your ankle and yanks you toward him so that you slip down onto your back, still giggling as he clambers on top of you and starts planting kisses across your bare chest. “Oops.”

Mimi Callaghan is a friendly woman in her mid-sixties, with bright red hair that she likes to pile on top of her head like frosting on a cupcake. It makes extreme sense that she’d surround herself with baked goods as a career move. 

She’s also sharp as a tack, which is why you turn on your heels and crush up against Eddie trying to walk back out of the door when you see that she’s in the building. 

“We gotta go, Mimi’s here,” you whisper, frantically struggling to push him back. You jam your chest up against his and wiggle your arms, grasping at the cool outside air like you can grab onto the afternoon sunlight and pull yourself out of the bakery lobby. 

Eddie’s weight solidly presses you forward. “It’s fine, sweetheart-”

“She’s gonna know we were smoking,” you retort, still pushing yourself weakly against him. You’re making a scene; you can feel your coworkers’ eyes burning into the back of your skull. 

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Je-sus, would you stop.” Eddie plants his hands on your sides and physically drags you into the bakery as you hit at his back. “Hi, Mimi!” 

“Mister Munson! What are you doing here?” Mimi’s jovial voice can be heard loud and clear all the way from the kitchen. She smacks her hands on her apron, covering the green fabric in powdered sugar. “Not that I don’t like seeing your lovely face.” 

Eddie beams at your boss, and it’s like the sunlight from outside begins and ends on his face. “Just dropping this one off.” He turns you around by the shoulders, walking you around the counter and into the kitchen. Eddie kisses the crown of your head and shoves you forward so that you stop across a decorating counter from Steve. 

Steve looks up at you from under his long lashes, a knowing smirk on his pink lips. Caramel colored hair falls over his forehead, and the contrast of the bright pink uniform shirt to his tan skin is more than tempting. 

You nearly vibrate with nerves as Steve does a slow and deliberate once-over of your entire body. “Have a good morning?”

You clear your throat, but something still grates at your voice when you say, “Something like that.”

Steve simply nods, clearly trying to swallow down his smile, and then holds up a flat disc of bread. “What is this?”

“That’s our spinach and feta focaccia,” you say, watching as he roughly shakes open a bag and drops the bread into it. The bread tears through the bottom of the bag and plops loudly onto the ground. You and Steve both stare at the fallen focaccia in silent grief. 

“Wellp. Ashes to ashes,” Eddie quips, brushing a hand through your hair. His mouth touches your ear like he means to kiss you again, but he whispers, “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m gonna kick you again.” Your eyes follow the line of Steve’s body as he bends to pick up the focaccia and toss it into a nearby bin. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you try to swallow the rogue feeling of desire as quickly as it manifests. 

Insatiable. 

Eddie follows your gaze. “Looking good today, Harrington,” he says suggestively, squeezing the back of your neck as he does. “Got some new chapstick or something?”

Steve scoffs good-naturedly, picking up another focaccia and gingerly tucking it into its bag this time. He shoots Eddie a side eye. “Yeah, actually. Wanna try it?”

“You know what, I sure do-”

Steve’s hand whips into the pocket of his apron, and a tube of cherry flavored chapstick hits Eddie right between the eyes. Eddie fumbles to catch it and glares at Steve. “I was fuckin’ kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” Steve goes back to packaging bread, while Eddie grumbles under his breath and pops open the tube to apply some.

You watch him run the chapstick over his plush lips, and he catches you staring out of the corner of his eye. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hold out your hand for him to give you the tube. 

Eddie grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up to crash his lips against yours. Saccharine cherry flavored balm bleeds into your mouth, and you falter, your hand coming up to grip the neckline of his Metallica shirt. Your face heats up, both surprised and sort of pleased that he took what you told him in the car to heart. When he pulls back, his mouth is smudged with a translucent pink shine. 

“Hm. So you guys had a really good morning,” Steve observes as you reach up to wipe the mess from around Eddie’s mouth with your thumbs. 

“Only the best for our girl,” Eddie purrs, winking at Steve once you finally let him go and very pointedly tucking Steve’s chapstick into his back pocket. “Take good care of her today?”

Steve grins, first at Eddie, and then at you. “Oh, I will.”

Eddie pats your back and turns to leave, waving at Mimi as he does. He makes it halfway out of the kitchen before her cheery voice stops him. “Before you go, Eddie, there’s free food in the back room.”

You see the baker, Andy, poke his head out of the back room, his mouth full of food. “We got hot dogs!”

“Really?” Eddie turns on his heels and makes his way toward the back room. You jump to follow closely behind, your stomach feeling suddenly hollow. You hear Steve drop what he’s doing, trailing on your heels. 

The setup in the back room isn’t what you thought it would be; some lukewarm franks under a little heat lamp, one bag of buns, miniscule toppings of pickled relish, ketchup, and mustard. Despite the miserable presentation, you’re surprised to find that almost every employee you know at the bakery is crammed in the small back room. Joey and Miranda from the morning team, obviously already clocked out, the cake decorators Clara and Bridgit, and Andy off in the corner. You and Eddie both muscle your way past Joey and go for the food with more fervor than necessary. Steve hangs back, leaning against the towers of backstock icing.

Mimi appears at the doorway with an unsettlingly bright smile on her face. “Good. Now that you’re all here, I want to have a little team meeting-”

Eddie grunts in surprise, his mouth half stuffed with food. His hot dog is already falling apart around his fingers, heaps of relish plopping messily onto a styrofoam plate. He fixes Mimi with a wide-eyed stare, and then looks at Steve with an equally helpless expression. Steve shrugs at him as if to say, ‘What do you want me to do?’

“I thought it would be nice to have a little free lunch for everybody,” Mimi says kindly. “Since we’ve also recently gotten a few new members on the team, I’m sure you’d all like to get to know each other.” She gestures at Steve and Eddie, and then looks pointedly at you beside them. “It’s… lovely to see that our closing team is already getting along so well.”

Eddie coughs, nearly choking on his food and turning away from the room with a bright crimson blush on his cheeks. 

“Eddie and I are both really happy to be here. We’re lucky to have such an… understanding trainer. We know we can be a lot to handle,” Steve says with the phoniest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie sort of side-stepping, cramming himself between Steve and the frosting buckets to get to the door. “Hey Eddie, where ya goin’?”

Eddie freezes. “I have… uh… a thing across town.”

“A thing?” Steve says incredulously.

“Really important thing,” Eddie supplements. “Have to pick up my… cat from the… vet?”

“Stay just a moment, Eddie,” Mimi says, still blocking the door to prevent him from leaving. “It’s important that I touch on a few things before you go.”

Eddie shuffles back over beside you, elbowing Steve in the side on the way. Steve whacks him on the back of the head. 

“We have a health inspection coming up, so I want everyone doing their level best to clean as much as possible,” Mimi begins. Still engrossed in your food, you take a look around the group and can tell that everyone is only really half-listening. “If the morning team can focus on cleaning their stations- Andy, the baker’s table needs to be scoured- and the evening team can focus on machinery and displays, that would be ideal. That means you as well, Steve.”

Steve holds up his hands with a confused expression. “I clean!”

“Knocking all the crumbs off of the front counter and onto the floor doesn’t count,” Mimi says flatly. “I want to see your hands looking as chapped as mine by the end of the week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nods, dropping his eyes to the floor. 

“And if you closers can do something about the pastry display,” Mimi adds, looking out of the door toward the offending display case at the front of the shop. “There’s a sort of… black grease that’s built up on the back of it. Not sure how, but I need one of you to get in there and scrub that down as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Mimi,” you say around a mouthful of hot dog bun. “We’ll get on that tonight.”

“Excellent.” Mimi sighs, “Well, that’s really all. Everyone, enjoy the rest of your days. Eddie, you’re free to… pick up your cat.”

“Thank go- you, Mimi.” Eddie bats his eyelashes as he approaches the door, chucking his styrofoam plate into a bin. “You’re an absolute goddess.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mimi chides, but steps away from the door to let him pass. As always, sharp as a tack, she adds passively, “You sure you don’t want to kiss your girl again?”

“Hm?” Eddie pauses at the door, turning to glance at you over his shoulder, like he forgot that he planted one on you right where your boss had a front row seat to see it happen. He considers it for a moment, and then cracks a smirk that makes your heart rate kick up a notch, knowing what’s about to come. “Nah. Harrington’s got her. Don’t ya, big boy?”

He’s… listen.

Listen. 

Steve is so fucking distracting, okay? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck up all your packaging, or… or put the wrong frosting on the macarons. It’s not your fault that Eddie stole your extra pair of panties before you could put them on this afternoon, so you have to feel how sticky the skin is between your thighs, and it’s fucking obnoxious. It’s not your fault that every time Steve gets close enough, he’s brushing his hand across your arm or grabbing your hips to scoot past you. Getting into your personal space, making it a goddamn nightmare to concentrate on anything.

Crouched down beside you, his shoulder nudges your leg as he digs around for a plastic top for a cake box. You know that it’s in the next cabinet over, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You press your thighs together, trying hard to still your shaking hands as you carefully ice a macaron with the correct frosting this time. 

Steve sighs and pulls back. His hand brushes your knee as he does, and it nearly buckles out from under you. You whimper slightly in the back of your throat, clutching onto the counter for support. 

Jesus Christ. Get a fucking grip. 

“You okay?” Steve asks lightly, peering up at you from his place by your hips. He’s kind of oblivious, but also kind of not. You don’t think he’s aware of how badly his closeness is affecting you, but he is doing it in the hopes of drawing a response from you. Good plan, poor ability to assess the actual damage.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It sounds unconvincing, high and toght in your throat, but you pick up the bright pink frosting bag again and get back to work. “The lids are in the other cabinet.”

“Oh.” 

He’s such an idiot. You want to jump his bones.

You can’t stop thinking about Steve’s dick in your mouth, and how unfortunate it is that it isn’t there right now. It’s 7:30, getting dark out, and there’s just you, and him, and your fucking monstrous libido alone in the bakery. You should have known it would be like this- it seemed like Eddie was almost certain that it would be, even though he’d given you plenty of attention already.

“So,” Steve starts, his voice lilting as he leans over to grab the lids from the correct cabinet. “You and Eddie?”

He doesn’t have to go into detail for you to know what he’s asking about. The shaking in your hand subsides, for now. “Yeah. You and Eddie?” 

“Mhm, yeah, for a while now.” A pause. A breath of air, suspended over a precipice. “You and me?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” You look down at him, and he’s smiling to himself. “Okay. Good. So, we’re all on the same page?”

“Eddie laid it out for me pretty well this morning, yeah. You already talked about it?” You grin when he nods, blinking up at you through his lashes. You reach down and stroke his cheek with the knuckle of your finger. “Guess we’re both pretty crazy about you.”

Steve blushes. It’s pretty on him, you think. The pink tinge on his cheeks, his cute little eye roll as he shifts on his heels. “Eddie’s, uh… yeah, when he likes you, he goes all in. He can be pretty handsy, huh?”

“Yeah, it sort of surprised me.” You find yourself smiling too, as you look down at your work. “I like it, though. I like handsy guys.”

Steve is quiet for so long that you wonder if you’ve scared him; but then you feel the warmth of his hand wrap around your ankle. His palm slowly starts to slide up your leg, until his arm nudges your skirt out of the way. 

Your hand slips, painting your thumbnail in violent bright magenta frosting. “Steve…”

“Relax,” Steve murmurs, and his voice grounds you in your place so that you don’t have a way to run from it. His hand turns, fingers brushing up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and you fight not to spread your legs automatically. “I just want to check something.”

“Check what?” you ask, as if it isn’t painfully obvious when his hand stops, fingertips finding the sticky, wet mess at the tops of your thighs. Steve’s breath audibly hitches, and you freeze, your eyes snapping forward to the front of the bakery. 

You should really lock the door.

Steve presses his hand further upwards, and you don’t think he’s expecting to find you without any underwear- his finger dips quite suddenly between your wet folds and you both startle, you fumbling your frosting bag with a quiet gasp and him dropping his forehead to rest against your hip. 

You grind down onto his fingers without thinking, making his fingertip slip just slightly into your hot entrance. Steve groans and digs a white knuckled grip with his free hand into the edge of the counter beside you. 

“We’re gonna take a break,” Steve blurts loudly, without warning, his voice sounding hoarse and strained. 

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you agree shakily, dropping everything in your hands immediately. “We’re closing early tonight.”

“We are?”

You mean to stroke Steve’s hair when he pulls his hand away from you, but in your rush you sort of just bonk him on the head with the flat of your palm and then fucking bolt. You sprint to the front door, turn the latch on the handle and flip the cardboard sign to ‘closed.’

As you turn to make your way back to the kitchen, you glimpse the pastry case and it’s enough to almost make you pause. That’s… okay, that looks like shit. Black grease shining all over the wall behind the shelves, like someone unloaded the oil cache from the donut fryer down the back of it. Your eyes drift back to the kitchen, and find Steve leisurely untying his apron as he walks toward the back room. 

Yeah, no. Dick first. Pastry case later.

Your hands hover over the tie of your apron as you blaze through the kitchen after him. To undress, or not to undress? You’re not totally sure what the vibe is yet, but you can always-

Broad hands grab you as soon as you step through the door into the back room. You yelp as you’re pulled suddenly into a warm embrace, Steve’s arms wrapping around you and his body pressing you up against the book keeper’s desk. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” Steve whispers, his breath touching your neck before his lips do. He grabs your thighs and hoists you up onto the desk, crowding between your knees before you can think to close them. 

His hands are everywhere. Untying your apron, answering your question for you. In your hair, tugging your head back so he can mouth at your neck without obstructions. Undoing the front of your dress so that he can grope at your bare chest. 

Handsy guys. You fucking love handsy guys. And now you have two of them. 

“Mind if I ask,” Steve mutters softly, palms sliding under your skirt, “no underwear…?”

“Eddie stole them.”

“Of fucking course.” He huffs a laugh in your ear; you can hear his eye roll with it. “Can’t say I blame him, though. I kept the ones from last night.”

You whimper high in your throat as he latches onto your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. There’s a moment when you consider how different he is compared to Eddie; Eddie’s a little rough around the edges in just about every way, and that includes how he handles you. Not that you don’t like it, but Steve is just… gentle. Almost soft, in a way. 

Your breath hitches as his fingers coax your skirt up your legs and your wet cunt hits the cool air. Hips squirming toward him impatiently, trying to meet him in the middle, and Steve’s too busy tasting you to care. “Little needy, are we?”

“Cut the crap, Harrington, I want to fuck you so bad-” You gasp when he bites down on your lip a little bit harder.

“Such a romantic.” Steve doesn’t sound as miffed as he tries to appear, as he reaches to undo his belt. “Wanted to warm you up first, make sure it wouldn’t hurt. Guess not.”

“It won’t.” 

Steve lifts his eyes, staring levelly at you with an amused expression. The twinkling sound of his belt buckle fills the quiet air. “If you say so.”

He’s quick about it, to your relief. Which isn’t to say that he isn’t still infernally gentle, even though you wish he’d just grab you by the throat and slam into you at this point. That’s just not Steve Harrington’s style, apparently. No, his hands grab your hips and rub soothing little circles into the skin as his cock splits you open, and your nails scratch over his collar and up into his hair. 

“Fuck, Steve.” It does hurt, just a bit. That raw aching when he fills you, because you weren’t ready for it and he’s so fucking big that parts of you have to be moved out of the way to accommodate him. Your toes curl, and your mary janes pop off and scitter to the floor behind him when you wrap your legs around his waist. 

His voice low and quiet, right up against your ear, Steve gives you a small groan that tells you more about how desperate he is than his words do. “Told you. You’re so tight- think it’s too much for this little pussy.”

“N-no, it’s no-OT-” You writhe against him when he hollows out just slightly and pushes back in, getting half an inch deeper. Your hands tear at his clothes and his hair, looking for something to hold onto.  “Shitshitshit- Steve, Jesus Christ.”

Steve shushes you, cradling your body against him like he’s trying to console you while he keeps rocking himself into you. “You’re working yourself up, honey, you gotta just relax. Take a deep breath for me, baby. Deep breath, c’mon now-” 

You take a gasping breath that sort of stalls in your lungs because he’s still moving, and it hurts but it also feels so fucking good and cathartic that you’d kill him if he stopped. Steve’s arm is around your back to hold you by the neck, and his other hand has one of yours trapped in a crushing grip between your chests. He squeezes it softly with every slow push and pull he makes inside you. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck.” You’re hissing through your teeth, clawing at his back to urge him deeper and at the same time ground yourself. Each breath leaves you with a shallow, anguished moan attached, which would be embarrassing, except you’re not thinking clearly enough to sort through the muck of your emotions right now. “Don’t- don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop,” Steve assures you, inching forward just enough to sink his cock a little further into you before drawing slowly out, giving it to you in small doses. You whine as he pushes in, and he coos with a bit of gravel in his voice, “I know, it’s a lot. You’re taking it so well.”

“Love your cock,” you mutter weakly, surprising both Steve and yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

“I hope so,” Steve chuckles. He squeezes your hand in his comfortingly. “I’m gonna make you take all of it, I promise.”

That sounds… kind of threatening, when he puts it like that. Like a backhanded slap and then a swift kiss to the cheek. 

You like it so much. 

“Hear that?” he murmurs lightly, way too soft for the way his hand tightens on your neck. In the back of your mind you register what he’s talking about- the obnoxiously slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your cunt absolutely drowning him in your need. “You’re getting my cock all wet, babygirl. Being so good for da- me.”

Steve finally slams into you just then, and you loudly cry out his name at the feeling of him reaching the end of you. It disrupts your train of thought so thoroughly that you almost miss his little slip-up. Almost. 

As you recover you manage to reach up and take his chin in your hand. “Daddy?” 

His eyes are so dark, but he looks a little shy as you stare into his face. He blinks rapidly, cheeks flushing a deep pink. Gotcha. 

“Fuck,” Steve groans, his forehead falling to rest against yours. “Shit, don’t- you don’t have to call me that-”

“Maybe I want to,” you breathe, gasping when his hips lurch forward into yours. “I wanna be good for you, daddy.”

He growls under his breath, blunt nails scraping down your thighs. “Sounds so sweet when you say it.”

“Mm. Harder.”

Steve’s enthusiasm gives you a sort of perverse satisfaction. He hikes your knee up to his waist and buries himself inside you, his skin impacting yours and the desk thudding against the wall behind you. You whimper when he starts up a pace that has him panting against your ear. 

Your head rolls back on your shoulders, and Steve wastes no time tracing the line of it with his tongue. Half aware of what you’re doing, your hand shoots down and around his hip to grab a fistful of his ass, urging him on. He nearly snarls against your throat, hot air bursting across your skin as the arm holding you to him leaves your back and his hand slams loudly against the wall behind you. 

Steve really is a sight to behold when he loses his composure. He’s always gorgeous, of course- infuriatingly so, at times. But now your gaze is clouded with lust and your mind is stumbling while you blink your eyes open at him, and he’s so close to you with his hair falling across his brow and his lips parted as he stares directly into your face. His deep brown eyes are blown wide and black, heavy lidded, and you feel like you might burst.

“I’m gonna come,” you blurt suddenly, hands frantically scrambling up to his shoulders and clutching onto him tightly and trying to lock yourself down at the feeling. It bubbles up out of nowhere, like Steve managed to conjure it up just by looking at you.

You see a smirk break across his face just before your eyes fall shut. “So soon?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “S’too good. You feel so good, daddy.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, but there’s a little bit of a snicker there in it. His hand skims your thigh and then you feel his thumb touch your clit, and everything whites out of existence. “You’re too perfect. Come for me.”

You don’t answer him. You just do, and it sweeps through you before you’re able to brace yourself for it. Fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, you cry out, louder than you mean to be but beyond the point of caring. Your legs shake, tense and release with each wave because Steve just keeps going- not speeding up or slowing down, but just remaining the steady constant in the ebb and flow. 

Steve curses lowly, his lips dragging gently over yours but not quite going all the way in for a kiss. “Just like that- get my cock nice and creamy, baby.”

Your face burns. The rest of your skin feels hot and clammy, sticking to him wherever you touch his body. There’s a whirlwind of sound going on in your head; from Steve’s deep grunts, your moans, the desk banging against the wall and his skin impacting yours, you don’t know what’s what anymore. 

You almost don’t even notice it when the phone on the wall above your head starts ringing. 

“Fuck.” Steve rears back, pissed off and rutting his hips into yours so hard that you cry out. He glances at the clock on the far wall and scoffs, “Who the hell calls this late?” before snatching the phone off the hook. 

His free hand finds your throat, pinning you back against the wall. You whimper, defenseless as Steve presses the phone to his ear. “Thank you for calling Mimi’s Bakery, this is Steve.”

For fuck’s sake. 

You feel like you’re going to combust. You’re still too sensitive from your orgasm and Steve’s hand on your throat locks you in place to hold you still while he starts fucking into you harder. Skin on skin on skin, bent backwards over the desk as his hips slam into yours and the messy patch of hair at the base of his cock grinds up against your clit. You whine loudly, and Steve’s hand just tightens that much more to silence you. 

He’s not even looking at you. Steve’s eyes have drifted off to the side, focused on whatever the person on the phone is saying. He tilts his head, gnawing on his lip and humming low in his throat while he considers whatever the question is. 

“Mmm… dunno, let me check on that for you.” Steve finally looks you directly in the eye. “Do we have cream pies tonight?”

Your brain short circuits. What the… what? He… he fucking put the selection of cream pies out himself earlier? Why would he ask you?

Then he nods downward, his eyes flickering to where he pulls back and drives his cock into you. Steve looks back up at you questioningly. 

Oh. Oh fuck. 

You nod your head quickly, your nails biting into the skin of his forearm. You don’t even second guess it. You’re so close to your second orgasm that you can taste it on the back of your tongue, and you don’t think you could handle it if he pulled out now. 

Steve grins, and you think it’s probably the prettiest thing you’ve seen all night. “Yes sir, we do. However the bakery is closed tonight, so those will be available tomorrow. Would you like me to set those aside for you? Mhm, how many?”

He goes on like that for another minute, but you’re barely listening anymore. Your cunt pulses, so wet that you can hear every slow drag of his cock before he reaches the end of you again. All your muscles lock down, your head digs back against the wall, and you come again. Hard. 

“Thank you for calling sir have a good night bye,” Steve chokes out in one long breath, and then his hand slams the phone down onto the receiver. He buckles forward over you and gasps loudly. “Holy shit, oh my god. Good girl, good fucking girl-”

And his mouth is on yours, sucking at your bottom lip as his thrusts turn sloppy. His hand leaves your throat to skim around your waist and pull your chest flush to his. He cradles you close and plants his hips against yours, stealing your breath with kisses and moaning sweetly as he comes. 

Afterwards, the room is way too fucking still and quiet. Your skin tingles, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks as it milks his cock, but the silence makes your ears ring. You card your fingers through his hair, letting Steve sweep his tongue against yours as many times as he wants as long as it means he’ll stay this close to you for a little while. 

“That wasn’t how I thought it would be.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your lip. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dunno.” You pause as he presses a chaste kiss to your closed lips, your eyes fluttering. “Maybe we could do it in a bed next time?”

Steve laughs at that. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to you, his voice touched with something so genuine that it rattles you, nearly making tears prick at your eyes. You just cling to him, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to sniffle about it. 

“Thank you,” you mumble wetly into his neck. 

Steve sighs when he pulls back. His hand comes up to softly smooth your hair back as he takes in your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Nothing. You’re just… you’re so sweet.”

He hums softly, catching a stray tear on his thumb as it falls down your cheek. To your relief, he doesn’t mock you or seem disturbed by it, he just takes it in stride. “Do you want me to… not be?”

“No, it’s- it’s a good thing, I swear-” You lean your cheek into his hand, letting him hold your face as you reel yourself in. “I’m just getting used to it, that's all.”

“Good. ‘Cuz it’s only gonna get worse from here,” Steve whispers with a gentle smile. He pets your thigh. “Feel better now?”

You grumble in the back of your throat. “The fuck’s that s’posed to mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve been looking like you wanted to rip my clothes off since you got here.” Steve chuckles a bit when you whack him on the arm, “Only an observation, you’re not good at hiding it.”

Serves you right for thinking he was oblivious. “You guys have me fucking figured out and I’ve been with you for, like, a day.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He hisses when he takes your hip in his hand and slowly pulls out of you, leaving you whining from the emptiness. “I know, honey. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you mutter, biting your lip when he adjusts the front of your dress and buttons it back up for you carefully. “No, you’re really wonderful. Daddy.”

Steve tilts his head and purses his lips, trying to hide the smile on his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting you to pick up on that.”

“You’re not good at hiding it.”

Steve snickers, pulling you close to rest his forehead against yours again. He presses a few slow kisses to your lips, lingering over them like he’s trying to decide whether he really wants to go back to work or not. You’re not about to tell him to stop. 

CRASH!

You both instantly freeze, listening to the ungodly loud clatter of a million pastry boxes hitting the ground. Steve’s brows dig into a deep frown very quickly, while you put the front of his pants to rights and push yourself forward off the desk. 

“The fuck was that?”

“Why are you asking me, hot shot?” You smack him on the back, making him lurch toward the door. “If we’re being burgled, I’m the only one here not wearing pants.”

Still, you grip onto his belt and creep behind him through the door to the kitchen, peering cautiously over his shoulder. You don’t immediately see anything amiss in the bakery, except that half a display of muffins and cinnamon rolls has been knocked halfway to hell. Things are eerily quiet for a few more seconds, before something leaps up off the ground and starts flapping around the bakery lobby, snarling and snapping. 

You scream, clutching onto Steve’s middle and nearly hauling him back into the back room again. It looks like a giant flying… stingray? No, stingrays don’t have teeth. It’s like a weird, disgustingly large bat with no actual head. Like a leech with long teeth and wings. 

You vaguely hear Steve saying something, but you’re too busy trying to battle the bat in a game of who-can-screech-the-loudest. It’s only when Steve finally turns, grabbing you by the shoulders so that you can look at him, that you stop to consider what he’s saying. 

“-fire, get me something with fire, okay?”

“Fire?” You try to maintain a steady balance, keeping an eye on the thing in the bakery lobby and his face. 

“Yes, babe, fire. That hot shit that burns stuff, remember? Get me some of that.”

You nod mutely, starting to shake from adrenaline. You watch Steve pick up a giant metal rolling pin off the baker’s table, twirling the pin in his hand in a way that should not be as attractive as it is. 

You try to think of something in the bakery that creates fire- something handheld, you assume, because the only thing coming to mind is the little stove in the corner used primarily to melt chocolate and different icings. For a kitchen, not too many things in it conjure up flames at a moment's notice. 

But then you remember, on Saturdays the morning team makes crème brûlée for the brunch crowd. 

You dive for the decorators table, but you honestly have no idea where they keep the blow torches. It’s a long shot in the dark, but you just start hauling shit out of the cupboards like your life depends on it. 

It might, you think wearily. 

Over the counter, you can hear Steve scuffling with the screeching bat, and you pause long enough to glance up at what’s going on in the lobby. You manage to catch him at the exact moment that he cracks the bat with the rolling pin, knocking it across the bakery like a baseball and making it slam into the wall beside the pastry case. 

You blink down at the half empty cupboard in front of you and see the emerald green can of a blow torch, shining up at you like the light at the end of the tunnel. Your shaking hands fumble with it as you yank it out. “STEVE!” 

He turns just in time to see you hurl the blowtorch across the front counter at him. Which is probably not great in the grand scheme of safety measures, but y’know. 

He snatches the blowtorch out of the air right as the fucking bat starts writhing around again. Steve flicks it on and lights the damn thing up without a second thought, creating a blazing inferno on the bakery floor. 

It takes a second for the fire to die down, and in that time you kind of army crawl around the counter to sit and stare at the bat with wide, unblinking eyes. 

Steve says your name. You don’t respond. 

He takes a couple steps toward you, but then stops short. When you snap your eyes to him, he’s running his hand frustratedly through his hair, staring at the pastry case. 

You hesitantly inch forward on your knees and look around the side of it at what he’s fussing over. The case itself is intact, a few of the pastries themselves gone askew when, you presume, the giant ass demon bat flew out of it. But the back of it… that’s a whole other story. 

Where before there was what appeared to be just a giant, slick grease stain, now there’s a gaping hole with a glowing membrane across it. You don’t know what it is, but Steve seems to as he swears like a sailor and drops to sit on the ground next to you. 

“Bats,” you blurt out, catching Steve's attention. He turns to gaze at you, holding his head in his hands. You look at him apprehensively. “Eddie said he was attacked by bats.”

Steve is quiet for way too long, blinking at you like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then, he nods slowly. “We need to call Eddie.”

[fairyysoup]

matters of taste

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Not all trainees are great on the job. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson in a bakery, however? Absolutely unmatched.

words: 7.8k

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, threesome - F/M/M, semi-public sex, handjobs, oral (f+m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, spitroast, fluids play, dumbification, praise, degradation, implied masochism, hatefucking (i mean kinda but they all have crushes on each other), workplace sex, briefest mention of a housewife kink, steve harrington has a big dick, steve and eddie are already in a situationship bc i said so

additional notes: i love working customer service hahaha /j

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

It’s… you know what. It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

You pause midway through frosting some cinnamon rolls to watch one of the newbies wheeling a cart of mislabelled muffins past your decorating table. You strategically keep your voice void of inflection as you say, “Price stickers, Harrington.”

“FUCK!” 

You watch Steve dramatically jostle the cart back around to wheel it toward the rack that contains the multitudes of different flavor and price stickers used in the bakery, swearing like a sailor the whole time. He collides with another cart, and slams it directly into your other trainee, Eddie Munson. 

“Shitshitshitshit shit-” Eddie curses and stumbles into a rolling rack of donuts. He grabs the rack before it can topple over, and succeeds in catching four trays of donuts when they fall out of their slots and into his arms. 

You roll your eyes at the spectacle the two of them create, which is quickly becoming the norm, and go back to stroking globs of cream cheese frosting across the cinnamon rolls in front of you. 

It’s not like they’re the world’s worst trainees or anything. It’s not like they’re completely incompetent, or that they purposefully goes out of their way to make your job unnecessarily difficult or anything. It’s not like, together, they create the most chaotic and hazardous environment possible.

No, sir. Nothing to see here. No problems to be had. 

“‘You didn’t put the price stickers on, Steve-’” you hear Steve mocking you in a purposefully insulting falsetto, and give him a side-eye that you know he can’t see. “Mehmehmeh- ‘You didn’t put the bagels in properly. You didn’t frost the bundt cakes just right.’”

“‘You didn’t circumcise the bread bags,’” Eddie adds as he shoves the trays of smushed donuts back onto the rack and grabs a rag to wipe icing from his apron.

“Fucking what?” You turn to look at them fully, holding your frosting covered hands out in front of you.

“I don’t know!” Steve whirls around to sneer at you. His bubblegum pink uniform shirt is just about the same color as his face, rosy and flushed with the heat from the ovens and probably his climbing heart rate. “Why’s everything gotta be packaged differently? It’s just bread!”

“I don’t make the rules! Don’t argue with me and just do it!” That’s another thing. Steve’s just so argumentative, about everything. How you package things, how you wash the dishes, how you clean the floors at the end of the day. Meanwhile, Eddie won’t argue with you per-se, but the day he does something correctly will be the day pigs fly. It’s the most annoying fucking thing you’ve had to deal with at this job, and you’re stuck training them. 

It’s not a particularly hard job. You’re just clerks at Mimi’s Bakery, nothing is out of the realm of doability- it’s more of a stamina sport. You’re all closers, so that means a lot of packaging and a lot of cleaning, interspersed with helping some late afternoon and evening customers, within an eight hour shift. It isn’t very busy anymore, either; summer’s over, and you still have about a month until the holiday rushes start. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for them, but they’ve both been here for two weeks and still act like they were born yesterday.

Steve spends an extraordinarily long time putting the price tags on the packages of muffins- and putting them on crooked, anyway, so that the entire pile looks janky and rushed despite his slow pace. Eddie’s too busy wiping chocolate icing from his arms to notice Steve’s haphazard labeling. 

Your eyes trail the wet rag that Eddie drags across his skin, leaving behind only the ink from his tattoos for you to scrutinize. During the lull, the bakery’s PA system comically offsets the tension in the room with a generic old jazz standard. Your boss, Mimi Callaghan, has an enthusiasm for novelties from her youth- hence the confectionary shop-style pink pinstriped uniform dress you wear, and your clashing forest green apron just oozing with sex appeal. Steve looks like a knockoff Ken doll in his similar blouse and khakis, but he confessed to you on his first day that he used to work at the Scoops Ahoy in the old Hawkins Mall, so you assume he isn’t too phased by it. You’re not about to tell him that he makes it work. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like someone picked him up at the Local Smokes down the street and thrust him into the uniform against his will, like he’s not really supposed to be here. You hate that you find the weird juxtaposition of his tattoos to the pink and green uniform kind of hot.

“Don’t forget to face the shelves when you put them out,” you tell Steve as he pushes the cart past you again. 

Steve’s ears glow bright red. “I’ll put out something-”

“Suck my fucking nuts, Harrington, you wanna do the job right or not?”

Eddie cackles loudly as Steve turns around, but instead of glaring at you he just looks mildly amused, like Eddie’s hysterical laughter rubbed off on him. “Why’re you so mean to me, huh?”

“What?” You splutter, gloved hands flexing in the air and squishing frosting between your fingers. “Why- why’re you so fucking difficult? Put the goddamn muffins out, we don’t have all day-”

“I think she likes you, Harrington.” 

You squint at Eddie, still rubbing himself down leisurely with the rag, twisting his rings around his fingers idly even though he didn’t even get any icing on them. He leans against the counter with a smirk on his pretty pink lips like he thinks he’s done something. Like there can’t be another reason for why you’re so easily frustrated by Steve- by either of them, really. Like their lack of decorum or work ethic are completely out of the question, you guess, to his way of thinking. 

“Like him?” you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to smacking cream cheese frosting across the pans of pastries in front of you. “Puh- lease. He’s infuriating, he doesn't listen to directions. Also, Steve, your customer service voice? It- you know what, it’s obnoxious. We work in a bakery, you don’t have to put the moves on every girl that comes in.”

“Oh, okay. Hear me out- maybe you don’t like my customer service voice because you’re jealous.” Steve hums, rocking back on his heels and looking even more smug than he did a few seconds ago. “I can put the moves on you, too, if you’re feeling left out.”

You don’t dignify that offer with a response. You kind of just want to punch him in the face. “Go put the muffins out and let me listen to the goddamn PA in peace.”

He has the decency to look shocked. “You like this goofy old shit?”

“I love this goofy old shit, which is more than I can say about you.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” Eddie hums casually, in as condescending of a voice as he can muster. “You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t into Harrington. I know I am.” 

“And you, Munson-” You whirl on him, pointing one frosting covered finger angrily in his direction, at which his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Don’t even get me started. Your fucking hair gets everywhere. I swear I had to excavate an entire gerbil from the garlic bread you made yesterday. Take a fucking weedwacker to that thing, for the love of god. And… and your tattoos are fucking dumb.” 

You don’t want to admit that you like the sight of the tattoos, actually. When Mimi had told you that the newbies you’d be training were gonna be “that darling Steve Harrington, and his friend, the Munson boy” you’d been a little bit pleased. There isn’t much to admire in a bakery except cakes, and if having the two of them around the bakery means things just got a little more scenic, then you were happy to have them. 

Unfortunately, a pretty face often means an infernal personality. Finding one without the other would probably take an act of god at this point. Times two, you got stuck with the fucking chaos twins.

“Dumb?” Eddie wolf whistles. “That smarts, sweetheart. It really does. You haven’t even seen all of my tattoos yet. I’d love to give you a tour of them, though-”

Your face burns at the thought of Eddie Munson letting you get a first class look at his tattoos. He probably has ones in places even god doesn’t know about, and you glare down at the cinnamon rolls in front of you to hide how flustered you are about it. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“I wish you would.”

“For christ’s sake- Steve. Muffins, now.” 

Steve does what he’s told, for a change. It doesn’t give you as much of an ego boost as it usually does- really, you just feel sort of dull as you snap your rubber gloves off and throw them in the trash can to the side. You don’t know why you let them bother you as much as they do, but for some reason they just jerk your chain like nothing else.

The bell over the front door jingles, alerting you to the arrival of a customer. You take a quick peek at the ovens behind you to check the time; it’s nearly 8, and the bakery closes at 10. You fight to not roll your eyes as you grab a pair of gloves in case whoever it is wants something out of the display case. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Your voice is sing-songy enough that you want to smack yourself. A middle aged woman has made a bee-line for the counter, straight past where Steve is bent over a display table, struggling to shift all the old muffin boxes to the top and slide the newer ones underneath them. 

You stare at his ass for… probably way longer than necessary, honestly. 

The woman points at a singular cake box left on the counter from today’s special orders, and immediately reaches up to take it without any other introduction. 

Oh. One of these customers. The ones who come in and grab stuff off the counter without asking for assistance, who will walk back into the kitchen to look at the overstock racks and help themselves to things that haven’t been put out on the floor yet.

A tight smile curls at your lips as you snag the tag on the box and look at the name before she can yank it off the counter from you. “For Linda?”

The woman nods curtly. As you turn the box to face her, your eyes shift back to Steve as he moves around the side of the display table. He stretches his arm out to reach for a stack on a higher shelf, and your eyes linger on the way the short sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up to expose his bicep.

“This is not the cake I ordered.”

“What?” You snap your eyes back to Linda’s pinched face, glaring down at the cake on the counter. It’s a basic sheet cake, with white frosting and a screaming red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ on it. Not necessarily a masterpiece, but a neat and pretty cake nonetheless.

“I ordered a cake with a winning streak theme. This has nothing on it,” Linda says icily as you snatch up the order slip you had taken off of the box and inspect it.

“A marble quarter sheet with white buttercream and a red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ in black icing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… what’s on the cake, ma’am.”

“But there’s no other decoration. Where’s the winning streak theme?” 

You blink, and briefly make eye contact with Steve over the woman’s shoulder. He’s all but abandoned his task of stacking muffin boxes, instead watching your face carefully as your conversation plays out. He raises one eyebrow at you, and you’re not sure if that’s him trying to be condescending or supportive. 

“I- I apologize, ma’am-” you start, looking for a way to dig your way out of the situation, “The order does say that you requested the theme, but you didn’t specify any decorations. Our decorators won’t take liberties with the order on their own if you don’t request-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Linda interjects, and you clamp your mouth shut with a dull ache beginning to throb in your temples. “I’m supposed to be at a winning streak themed party in twenty minutes and I have an embarrassment of a cake to show for it. I should be reimbursed.”

“The cake wasn’t paid for in advance,” you tell her mildly, trying not to crinkle the page with her order on it as you hold it up. 

“Uh… accommodated, then. I shouldn’t have to pay for something I didn’t want in the first place!”

“I’m afraid I can’t just give you a cake for free, ma’am. I’m not authorized.”

“Can I speak to your manager, then?” 

You open your mouth to say that, technically, you are what amounts to the shift manager. It’s just you and Eddie and Steve in the store, and even though neither of your job descriptions really include the word ‘manager’ in them, seniority rules over all. You’ve been here long enough to be able to train them, so by right you’re the one in charge. 

But then a warm hand touches the curve of your lower back, and Steve appears out of thin air to gently scoot you aside without so much as a hello.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Steve smiles, and you could almost mistake him for being sincere if his fingertips didn’t dig into your back just slightly before pulling away. 

Linda visibly softens her demeanor, smoothing her stringy blonde hair away from her face. “Are you the manager?”

You scrutinize his profile, trying for all the world to read his fucking mind, because you have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s barely even taken a cake order, let alone dealt with a disgruntled customer with a botched one.

“That, I am!” Steve declares, and oh. Cheeky motherfucker. He’s doing the voice. He bats his eyelashes- big, long, sweeping blinks that you think can make him take flight if he tries much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“This girl,” Linda tells him shortly, not even looking at you when she motions in your direction, “is refusing to compromise about this cake. It’s not what I ordered, and if I have to show up for this party without a winning streak themed cake, I’m going to be embarrassed. The customer is always right!”

“In matters of taste,” Eddie says from over your shoulder.

Linda fixes Eddie with a cold stare. “I’m sorry?”

“That, uh… that saying.” Eddie steps up to your other side, obviously choking back a laugh as he clears his throat. “The full saying is, ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste.’ Meaning you’re right about your order, we can’t argue with your personal preferences.” 

“Exactly.” Steve shrugs easily, the picture of self-assurance as he takes the order sheet from your hand and looks it over. You’re not even sure if he entirely understands how to dissect the order sheet itself, but he looks convincing enough while doing it. “If you don’t like the cake, you don’t have to buy it. But my gi- ‘ this’ girl is right.”

You snap your eyes toward Steve, the back of your neck burning. His what? 

Steve continues like he’s made no mistake whatsoever. “We can’t give you the cake for free- the only person who can do that is the owner.”

Linda scowls. “‘Take it or leave it,’ you mean?”

Steve affords her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to pull any of our cakes out of the display instead, if you see any you prefer.”

“No,” Linda insists, obviously unhappy about it, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years and this has never happened, the owner knows me-”

“We can call Mimi, if you’d like,” he adds. 

“No, like I said, I have a party in twenty minutes,” Linda says sourly, and begins digging through her purse. “No, I’ll pay for this one, I guess.”

Behind the counter, you watch Steve ball up Linda’s cake order sheet in his palm, squeeze it unnecessarily hard, and toss it into the waste bin. Then, faster than fucking lightning, you watch Eddie type the price of the cake into the cash register. He hits the sales tax button twice.

“Come back soon!” Eddie says cheerfully as he hands her the receipt. 

You stand motionless behind them both, dumbfounded, until Linda leaves. And then Steve’s immediately cursing, shaking his head as he turns and starts walking toward the back room, hands untying the bow at his waist to undo his apron. “They’ll say anything for free shit. Anything. What the fuck is a ‘winning streak’ theme, anyways? I swear- no, you know what, I don’t actually fucking care. I used to give out freebies all the time at Scoops. But this isn’t corporate, and Mimi knows my family-” 

You follow him closely, disappearing into the back with him as he continues blathering. “Why did you do that?” 

“Hm?” Steve pauses as he’s pulling his apron over his head, and stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn’t even know what you’re referring to. And then, you see his brown eyes widen. “Oh! I guess… I mean, I could see it going bad, and I figured if she wasn’t listening to you, then she’d probably listen to me. If I, y’know. Put the moves on her.”

You snort loudly. “Always so fuckin’ cute- I could have handled it myself.”

“No, I know you could have. I know.” Steve nods, his hair sort of fluttering around his face as he looks away from you. “But… y’know, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, while I’m here. I’ve been tortured by KGB and fought monsters, I can deal with an angry customer-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh…” He pauses, eyes drifting off to the side, to meet Eddie’s, who trailed behind you into the back room and is lingering over your shoulder. “Dun- Dungeons and… and Dragons? Yeah… yeah! Have you- have you played it?”

“You?” Your giggle splutters loudly in your chest before bubbling up out of your throat unexpectedly. “Steve Harrington plays Dungeons and Dragons? You like that goofy sword and sorcery shit?”

“Fucking metal sword and sorcery shit, thank you very much,” Eddie snaps, and you scoff at him. 

Steve chuckles at your little jab at his words from earlier, looking anywhere but at your face. “Yeah, sort of. I mean… Munson taught me a bit about it.”

“Everything he knows.” Eddie’s grin is wide and holds an air of mystery to it, like he knows something you don’t.

“Hm. Put that on a t-shirt for me and maybe I’ll buy it.” You blush, staring at Steve’s profile as he pulls a water bottle out of the employee break cabinet and takes a long drink from it. Then, you turn to Eddie, who leans against the door jamb. “Where’d you learn that thing about ‘the customer is always right,’ anyways?”

“Hm? Oh… I used to help my uncle Wayne in his garage,” Eddie explains nonchalantly. “Learned a lot from watching him deal with customers.”

“Right,” you hum, nodding slowly, and then turn to Steve. “And you. You could get in so much fucking trouble if Mimi finds out about that whole thing. Where did you pick that up?”

“My best friend- Robin Buckley? You know her?” Steve says as he puts the bottle back in the cabinet and snaps it shut. You shake your head, and he goes on. “Yeah. She’s crazy smart. We worked together at Scoops, and Family Video. Always had a way to respond to everything, even though she’s awkward as hell. And before you ask- yes, she would have tried to put the moves on Linda, too.”

“Would she?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve grins at you fondly, making your heart stall in your chest a bit. “Every single move in the book. If you ask me, she’s better with the ladies than I am.”

You laugh, then nod your head slowly, looking him up and down. “Okay. You’re actually fucking hilarious, Harrington. Too bad I hate your guts.”

“Really? I’m moving up in the world.” Steve grunts. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, my darling dearest.”

“Is that why you almost called me ‘your girl?’”

His smirk creates cute little dimples in his cheeks. “No, I almost did that because you’re the only one who can tell me to suck on their nuts, and I’ll actually consider doing it.”

Before you can even take a moment to process that little wise-crack, Eddie’s distracting you. His hand passes through your line of vision, then comes up and presses against the front of your green apron, just against your breast. You genuinely think he’s trying to feel you up, and you snap your eyes down to find his ringed fingers scraping a giant drop of cream cheese frosting off of your chest. 

You feel your cheeks heat up. That must have come from when you were frosting the cinnamon rolls- more like smacking them around with frosting, really- and the fact that it was there the entire time Linda was here is more than humiliating. You must have looked like such an idiot, trying to conduct yourself like a manager-

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, using that same fucking condescending tone that makes your hair stand on end, before meeting your eye and sucking the glob of frosting off of his two fingers.

You get a sudden head rush, and it takes way more self restraint than it should to not audibly whimper. Oh, he really shouldn’t have done that. 

You stare at him for a long moment, your eyes flickering between his, and his fingers in between his ungodly pink lips. You… you feel like you’re fucking drowning, floundering around with your head underwater and you don’t know what to do. You snap your eyes to Steve, looking for some sort of sympathy or support, but he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, he just winks. 

No. They absolutely should not have done that.

“Fucking… fuck this. Fuck both of you- I have work to do,” you hiss, trying to skirt past buckets of frosting to get around where Eddie’s blocking the doorway, but he refuses to step aside, instead creating a one-man barricade while he snickers and continues sucking on his fingers just to rile you up even more. “Fucking move, Eddie.”

“Oh, it’s Eddie now?” He grins, obviously enjoying how much you’re struggling, with your chest pushed up against his and your arm nearly circling his waist to lever yourself against the other side of the door. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, for a lack of anything else to say. 

“For the second time, I wish you would.” Eddie raises his hand and captures your chin, tilting your head up so that you look at him, instead of over his shoulder or to the side at Steve. Your heart jumps into your throat, feeling his damp fingers on your cheek and remembering how he had been sucking on them a second ago. “Might clean out that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” You snatch Eddie by his pinstriped collar, simultaneously pulling him down to your height and also pushing him back against the wire rack of boxes along the far wall. Eddie curses, stumbling and grabbing onto your hips as if that will steady himself. His nose nudges yours from this angle, and how close you crowd up against him. “You drive me up the fucking wall, Munson. You think you can just sweet talk me like I’m some uptight customer?”

“Woah,” Steve says from behind you, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. More amused, and intrigued. “I think you struck a nerve.” 

“Did I?” Eddie whispers, with a hint of a smirk still on his face. His dark eyes are looking directly into yours.

He doesn’t even have time to breathe before you kiss him. Desperately. Long and hard and sort of angry, open-mouthed so that you can taste the frosting still on his tongue. He makes the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard- somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his hands come up to cup your face and pull you closer into him. His knee slotting between your legs, not pushing up but just remaining solidly there for you to lean against it. It takes an inordinate amount of strength for you not to grind yourself down onto his thigh.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Steve says calmly from just beside you. 

Eddie pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, thumbs stroking your cheekbones in a mockery of a tender embrace. “Go on. Show Harrington how much you hate him, too.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you grumble, but your hands have better plans. One stays on Eddie’s shoulder, but the other snatches Steve by the collar and pulls him forward so that you can attack his face with the same amount of fervor. Eddie has no compunction to be gentlemanly- while Steve’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, Eddie’s creeps up underneath your skirt to give your ass a tight squeeze, pulling you forward to grind against his thigh and making you gasp against Steve’s mouth so that his tongue can lick deeper into yours.

Nothing quite prepares you for how Eddie’s voice affects you when he says, “Uh oh, Harrington. I think I was right- she likes you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You make a short noise in your throat, your hand sliding down Steve’s chest to his waist, fingers beginning to make quick work of his fly. “Let’s- let’s just double check, huh? Make extra sure.”

“God- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- be on the safe side.” Steve’s tongue is burning up when it touches your neck, his head nuzzling down so that he can graze your throat with his teeth. 

Eddie catches your hand before you manage to wiggle it beneath his waistband, and looks you directly in the eye just before he spits onto your palm. You whimper noisily at the feeling of it, warm and wet, dripping between your fingers while Steve licks at your neck and heat simmers under the tender skin between your thighs.

Air punches from Steve’s mouth when you work his trousers down his hips and pull his erection out of his boxers- he’s not quite pulsing and swollen yet, but your fingertips still just barely manage to meet from how thick he is. 

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” you curse as you give him a languid stroke, feeling him shudder when you brush your thumb over his tip and then drag your hand down his length again. Eddie’s saliva helps to make the motion fluid and smooth, adding a slick sound to punctuate Steve’s loud gasp. 

“What?” Steve hisses, trying his best to appear passive, but his voice betrays him and cracks. He gazes at you a bit apprehensively, his doe eyes looking a little foggy with need as they flicker over your face and focus on your lips. 

“Nothing on earth needs to be this big.” 

Eddie’s free hand coming up to weave through Steve’s hair and jerking his head back. His teeth catch Steve’s earlobe just before he murmurs, “Told ya, big boy.” Eddie looks directly at you over Steve’s shoulder. “Harrington’s packing a fucking monster, isn’t he?”

You hum as you let your fingers drift along the length of him. Steve’s gaze suddenly turns darker, and his chuckle falls flat out of his mouth like an exclamation of awe more than anything. “Think you can take it?”

You don’t answer that. Your grip tightens just a bit and he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Are you one of those guys that’ll come as soon as I gag?” 

“Fuck, maybe?” Steve’s hands cup the sides of your neck and trail up to cradle your head as you lower yourself in front of him. 

Eddie scoffs. “He can’t handle it worth a shit. Don’t go easy on him.”

“Then he’d better hold on to something.” You scrape your nails down his exposed thigh, reveling in the way his entire body shakes at the feeling. 

And, without any further warning, you wrap your lips around his cock. 

Steve curses, hands balling into fists just before he slams them down against the shelf he’s leaning on. Through your lashes, you watch him gasp for breath and you wonder if he’s honestly going to last long enough to fuck you properly. Not that it really matters, though, because Eddie seems like he’ll be more than happy to pick up where Steve leaves off. 

Eddie’s hand rests on the crown of your head, guiding you on Steve’s cock. His tip leaks with precum that tastes salty on your tongue when you lick at his slit, and as you take him further into your mouth, you realize just how right you were. He hits the back of your throat, making tears spring up in your eyes and a quiet moan bubble up out of your chest on its own when you choke. 

Steve just about loses his mind over it. He groans loudly, scrambling for a place to put his hands and ending up with a fistful of Eddie’s uniform shirt while he tries to compose himself. 

“Holy fuck, you look so good with your mouth full,” Steve grunts, his free hand coming up your chin as he slides his cock out of your mouth and back in again.

“I think I like her more when she can’t talk back to us,” Eddie chuckles darkly, pressing on the back of your head and making you choke again. 

Steve hisses, his fingers tightening on your cheek. “Look at me, let me see those eyes- there you go. Pretty baby.”

You whimper, letting your jaw go slack so that Steve can fuck your mouth all he wants while you try to steady yourself. You should hate it. You should hate this- you hate them both. You think. 

Wait. Do you? 

You’ve never been this needy before, but hell if your cunt isn’t just throbbing in your uncomfortably wet panties, and your nails are digging into Steve’s skin where you grip his thighs for support. If he notices any pain from it, he doesn’t say anything- just keeps giving you these erotic little gasps every time his cock nudges the back of your throat and your eyes flicker shut for a moment before he taps your cheek and makes you open them again. 

“We should do this more often,” Steve says thickly, and without thinking, you hum in agreement. You add a little resistance against Eddie’s hand on your head to regain a bit of control, letting your tongue roll against Steve’s length however you want. 

“You think she’ll give it this good if she’s getting fucked?” Eddie muses suddenly, his finger’s toying with your hair rather than guiding you anymore. 

“Fuck- only one way to find out.” Steve shakily releases the fistful he has of Eddie’s shirt, letting him slip away from his side. Eddie’s hand leaves your head, instead falling to the tie on his apron to start undoing it. 

You whine softly, shuffling up on your knees and nearly slipping when you feel Eddie’s hands flipping the skirt of your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. His large hand smooths over the hem of your underwear, then lowers to stroke the cleft of your pussy through the fabric. 

“Oh, poor thing.”  

“What is it?” Steve asks. 

“She’s soaked through these pretty panties,” Eddie coos softly as his fingers stroke back and forth over the fabric, nudging your clit with achingly gentle, indirect touches. You moan, arching your back for more. “Baby got so wet from sucking Steve’s cock, huh? Sweet little pussy needs some attention?”

“Shit. God, that’s so hot. Fuck-” Steve grabs your hair, guiding you off of his cock with a wet noise that makes Eddie’s fingers press on your clit just a little bit harder. You splutter, drool trailing from your lips and dripping down your chin as you try to catch your breath. Something you can’t quite do, because Eddie won’t stop touching you. 

Steve tilts your head up, leveraging you backwards a bit as he kneels in front of you. “You want Eddie to fuck you? Is that what you need?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around Steve’s wet cock and giving him a few slow pumps. “Yeah, I-” you hiccup when you feel Eddie’s fingers hook your panties to the side, and dip through your dripping folds, unobstructed. “Oh fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Don’t hate us so goddamn much now?” Eddie croons as he presses two fingers deep into your pussy. 

You groan and hang your head, forehead pressing up against Steve’s navel and your nails sinking into the meat of his thigh. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and it occurs to you that he likes that pain- or maybe he just likes holding you against him while Eddie fingerfucks you.

Steve’s fingers card through your hair tenderly. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Munson. I think she’s having trouble talking.”

“For a change.” Eddie curls his fingers, and you nearly lose your balance, thankful that you have Steve to hold you up. “So fuckin’ wet… I think I want to taste it first.”

Eddie’s fingers leave you, and you openly sob against Steve’s stomach as his grip tightens in your hair. “E-eddie…”

His two hands curl around the waistband of your panties, and rip through the fabric as though it’s only paper. “Hold her up, Steve, it sounds like she’s gonna need it.”

Steve puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you up, rocking back so that he can get a good look at your face. Eddie spreads your legs apart, and you can feel him crowding his body in between them. There’s a slight pause, and then his tongue touches you, licking a stripe of fucking fire through your cunt from behind. 

Oh shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s too good, too warm and slick when you’ve been aching for it for way too long, your clit pulsing desperately and burning hot when his tongue strokes over it. You strain up against Steve’s hands, but he keeps pushing you forward, keeping you there against Eddie’s mouth. You moan obscenely loud, your hands tearing at Steve’s shirt like it’ll somehow convince him to let you go. 

“You’re so damn pretty like this, angel,” Steve whispers, tilting your chin up when your head falls so he can keep looking at your face. He’s flushed, his lips parted and his eyes drooping and so dark that you nearly balk under his gaze.

Eddie groans in the back of his throat and finally pulls back, and you’re not sure whether to chase his mouth or to sob for relief, so you sort of do both at the same time. He plants a hand on your ass to keep you from falling backwards into him. 

“Fuck, she tastes so sweet. Here-” You feel him move, and then Steve holds up a hand to catch something that Eddie tosses to him. 

You lift your eyes and discover that Steve is holding your torn underwear. The light blue fabric looks so out of place and innocent, little pink flowers decorating the waistband. It makes it worse that he’s looking directly at you, keeping you frozen in place. He holds them up to his nose and breathes deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut just briefly before he looks at you again and drags the soaked crotch of them across his tongue. 

“Steve…” you breathe, overwhelmed by the sight of him and the sound of his groan of pleasure. You search for something to say to him, but nothing comes before you feel something hot and thick pushing into your soaking entrance. You gasp, and then claw at Steve’s thigh in lieu of something to hold onto. “Fuck, Eddie-”  

“Shouldn’t you be choking on Steve’s cock right about now?” Eddie hisses through his teeth, sounding strained and letting out a low groan to punctuate it. 

You whine, feeling unbelievably stretched and full as Eddie splits you open, but you still scramble backwards and sink your mouth onto Steve’s cock so quickly that a gasp leaps out of his chest. 

Steve punches out a little laugh, his hand twisting your hair and pushing you down until your eyes water. “So agreeable once you get your pussy filled.”

“God, she’s so tight,” Eddie grunts as he hollows out and starts thrusting, reaching deeper inside you each time. You don’t think it’s so much that you’re tight as he’s just big- you haven’t seen his cock, but you can feel it, like you haven’t fucking felt anything else before, and it’s good. You can feel every inch, every ridge, and it makes your eyes fully roll back into your skull. “Fuck, you gotta feel this-”

“Can’t. ‘M not gonna last, shit…” Steve sounds wrecked, his words coming out sharp and desperate. The hand on your head is shaking, and you’re honestly impressed he’s lasted as long as he has. “‘M gonna come down this pretty throat.”

“You hear that, sweet pea? You gonna swallow all of Steve’s come?” Eddie’s hand weaves through your hair around Steve’s fingers, aiding in shoving your head down onto his cock. 

As if you weren’t going to, and as if he wasn’t already fucking your mouth faster than you could reasonably keep up. But you whimper and bury your nose in the patch of coarse hair at the base of Steve’s cock, inhaling his scent and tasting his musky flavor on your tongue, and you swallow around him. And then you keep swallowing, because Steve comes hard.  

He sounds absolutely gorgeous when he does it, too. If Eddie wasn’t fucking you so hard that you couldn’t stop whining, you think it would be nearly like a symphony to hear Steve reduced to quiet whimpers. By the time the hands on your head relax enough to let you off of him, though, he’s completely out of breath. 

“Good girl,” Steve pants, his hand lifting up to caress your cheek and to wipe a little dribble of his come from the corner of your mouth, so soft that it could be construed as sweet if there wasn’t any context to it. “Fuck… you were so good.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie coos into your ear, still driving his hips into yours with such force that it’s jolting you toward Steve. “Good baby, pretty baby- takes cock like a perfect little slut.”

You groan, hanging your head and arching your back toward Eddie. You seize up, your orgasm simmering low in you like the receding tide before a fucking tsunami, and you’re almost scared of how big it feels. 

“She liked that,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bending further over you so that his breath tickles your ear. “You like it when I call you a slut, huh? Our perfect. Little. Slut.” 

You open your mouth to say his name, tell him to shut up, or keep going, or anything, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. Your hand juts forward and clamps down like a vise onto Steve’s thigh, finding that he’s pulled his pants up. Your nails scratch at stiff khaki twill, trying to beg him to take pity on you, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. 

“Pick her up,” Steve says above you. “I want to see her face when she comes.”

Oh, so he’s trying to kill you, actually. That tracks.

Eddie’s arm snakes around your waist and hauls you up, and he rocks back onto his heels to pull your back against his chest. He hugs you close to him, shushing you when his cock hits you from a different angle and you cry out sharply from the feeling. 

“Pretty thing can’t take it,” Steve murmurs as he crowds in close, his hands coming up to caress you through your dress. The fabric is too goddamn rough and itchy, and your skin is too sensitive for him to be toying with you now. 

“Oh, she can take it.” Eddie sounds so sure, his voice rough and stony as he rocks his pelvis up against you while, at the same time, pulling you down into his lap. “She can take all of it. Can’t you, baby?”

You hope the question is rhetorical. You’re trembling, too lost in the feeling of the mind-numbing bliss Eddie’s giving you to come up with a response at this point. Your hand plunges back over your shoulder into a mess of curly hair, and you feel him turn his head to brush his lips against your ear. 

Steve’s hand brushes up your thigh, creeping under your skirt that’s draped across both you and Eddie’s knees. You barely have time to pick your head up and intellectualize what he’s doing before his thumb touches your clit. 

“Oh fuck-” Eddie chokes out urgently, just at the same time as you sink your nails into his forearm and all of your floor muscles lock down around him. 

And then the tsunami hits. 

You nearly scream, your cunt tightening up to wring everything out of the sensation that it can. Eddie’s cock is so hard and it hits inside you so perfectly every time that you swear you’re going to die from it. You’re collapsing forward, despite Eddie’s grip on your waist and Steve’s solid chest creating a barrier for you to fall into- your limbs feel liquid, all your muscles finally relaxing all at once. 

You feel Eddie falter, his hand slipping on your waist so that you do fall into Steve’s chest. While Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and his moans fill your ears, Steve’s hands cup your face and tilt your head up toward his. And then his lips are on yours, and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth at the same time as you feel Eddie come deep inside your cunt. 

You don’t want Eddie to pull out. Not really. You’re not going to tell him to stay there inside you while you’re both crouched awkwardly on the hard floor, but you do wish he’d take at least a few seconds before he does, because the aching emptiness he leaves in his place is enough to make tears spring up in your eyes. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you did so well,” Eddie whispers as you sob openly from the sensation, his arm coming back around your waist to pull you against him. And then you both sort of topple backwards, his shoulders hitting the stacks of backstock frosting buckets as Steve shuffles back to lean against the wire rack across from you. He pulls your legs into his lap and starts stroking his hand across your bare calf. 

You try to catch your breath while Eddie reaches for something on the floor off to the side. You blink your eyes open to find him fiddling with his discarded green apron, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket in it before wadding it up into a little ball. 

He promptly tucks it between your legs and starts cleaning you up with it. 

“R’you using your apron… as a cum rag?” You slur tiredly at him, squeaking a little as the rough fabric scrapes across your overly sensitive clit. 

“Don’t want to leave a mess,” he mutters easily, making Steve chuckle across from you. “Why s’it that I can fuck you half out of your mind and you’ll still bitch me out about how I clean shit?”

“‘Cause it’s fun t’see you all mad. You’re pretty when you’re pissy.” You feel his chest shake with laughter as he finishes wiping you down and tosses the apron aside, then wraps his arms snugly around your middle. 

“Good thing you’re pretty all the time, then.” Eddie huffs, rocking you back and forth a little as he fits his head on your shoulder. You tap your fingers across his forearm, looking down at them and humming contentedly. 

“What is it?” Steve asks, smiling at you almost fondly. 

You sigh, dragging your fingertip along Eddie’s skin. “I like his tattoos.”

“I knew it,” Eddie whispers, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, making you giggle and shut your eyes. “I still haven’t shown you the rest of ‘em.”

“There’s always next time.”

Steve blinks. “You want to do this again?”

“Of course I want to fucking do this again, Steve,” you snap, rolling your eyes playflully. “Been wanting to jump both of you since you started, wasn’t it fucking obvious?”

“Was to me.” Eddie’s finger traces along your collar, toying with the first button on the front of your uniform dress. “Also, I haven’t seen your tits, so. I’m not done with you yet.”

“I dunno, the dress kind of does it for me,” Steve admits, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… cute. Like a 50s housewife or something.”

“Let’s get you a string of pearls and see how long ‘Big Dick’ Harrington lasts then,” Eddie snickers, and you laugh tiredly as you watch Steve flush. 

You fall into easy silence, but just as soon as you relax into Eddie’s arms, the bell over the front door of the bakery jingles. And then the hand bell on the front counter dings loudly. 

And dings again. And dings again. And dings agai-

“You gonna get it, this time?” Steve asks Eddie, sounding a little bit grumpy already. 

“No, I’m gonna hold her a while longer,” Eddie says coolly, not leaving any room for discussion. He presses a tiny kiss to your neck, just underneath your ear, and you squeak in surprise at the lightness of it. “Go get ‘em, Mr. Manager Man.”

“Fuckin’-” Steve rolls his eyes as he gently sets your legs aside before gracelessly clambering up off the ground. He smooths out his uniform, tucking in the tail of his shirt before striding through the door into the kitchen. “What’s up, party people?”

“Do you have any chocolate cakes with white buttercream already made? I need it for tonight.”

Eddie scoffs in your ear, his hand drifting across your thigh to rest just shy of your pussy, making your breath hitch and your hips cant up toward his touch. “They always wait for the last fuckin’ minute, don’t they?”

[mysweetpoisons]

Excuse me? I think I've just died and gone to heaven, the slut's heaven

[piastrinorris]

Fake It 'Til You Make It

alternate AO3 link

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader (no pronouns/gendered terms)

Genre: fluff

Summary: You didn't mean to call THE Steve Harrington of your high school days, the pet name you always call your best friend. But after seeing Dustin's reaction to it, how could you possibly pass up the opportunity to annoy your little brother even further?

Word count: 2115

“Alright, I’ll see you in five, hon!” you chime as you hang up the phone on your best friend. Taking your bag off of its place on your closet door and swinging it onto your shoulder, you check yourself once more in the mirror before running down the stairs. Looking around on the table next to the door, where you all keep your keys, you can’t find yours. Trying to retrace your steps, you remember having made a beeline for the kitchen last time you came into the house, because your mom had ordered your favourite food in for after work and you really needed that.

Completely forgetting that your brother was going to have one of his friends over while your mom was at work, you get into the kitchen and walk straight into someone. Still completely in your own world, you blurt out a, “Sorry, hon!” as you keep looking around.

You’re pulled out of your trance by your brother loudly interjecting with an, “Uh-uh, pause. What the fuck is this?!” You look over at Dustin to see him pointing between you and the person you’d collided with. Who you now realise is Steve Harrington himself. Shit. 

How he went from being the guy everyone felt lucky to be blessed to be in the same room as, to one of your baby brother’s best friends, you can never truly understand, but it seems like he’s always around. Having never really been the type that Steve would have even looked at, you usually tend to keep out of his way as though you would have done at school.

“Uh, language, dipshit,” you run the faucet and throw water at Dustin, who hisses at you, which makes Steve laugh under his breath. Shaking your hand dry, you look over at Steve, which feels almost sacrilegious, and hurriedly apologise. “Sorry, I was just on the phone to my friend, that’s what we call each other, my brain is frie- Hey, Dustbuster, have you seen my keys?”

Steve holds back a snort of laughter, “Dustbuster?”

“You’ve seen him eat, right?” you deadpan, and he laughs harder. He was always too… Untouchable in school to attach any kind of emotion to, but here in your kitchen, laughing at your dumb jokes aimed at your dumb brother, your heart soars.

Dustin glares, “Okay first, hate this,” he points between the two of you, then points to the counter behind you. “Keys are there.”

You pick them up just in time to hear your best friend pull up and sound her car horn outside. “Alright, I’m out, be good, Dustbuster!”

“Have a good time, hon!” Steve calls out as you walk out of the kitchen. You turn your head to stick your tongue out at him and he chuckles, winking at you through the doorway. The last thing you hear before you leave the house is the generic sound of Dustin yelling at Steve, though you can’t 100% make out the words.

You decide not to tell your friend about your interaction with Steve. Funny as it was, she might start trying to talk you into actually crushing on him, and you’d really rather not actually cross that line.

~~~

It becomes a regular inside joke now between you and Steve, every time you end up seeing him at your house, you refer to each other as various pet names. You quickly become confident with it, reminding yourself that you are not the kind of person King Steve would call “angel” outside of messing with Dustin, and so you’re able to match Steve’s energy well.

Today in particular, you’re in charge of making dinner. As you start to get your ingredients out, you hear a knock on the open kitchen door, and the familiar sound of Steve’s voice singsonging, “Honey, I’m home!”

Again all too familiar, Dustin screaming from down the hallway, “You’re not funny!”

You reply loudly, “Hey there, sweetcheeks,” taking delight in Dustin’s scream of anguish.

“What are we having for dinner tonight?” Steve asks, hopping onto the kitchen island right next to where you’d started unloading food.

You slap his knee jokingly, “You, if you’re gonna sit in the food prep zone!”

He leans close to you, “Are you saying I’m good enough to eat?” His voice is lower, quieter. Outside of Dustin’s range.

As you stand there, dumbfoundedly trying to process a response, Dustin walks in and starts shouting again. “Nope! No, no, no, absolutely not.” He walks over to you, waving his arms in the air in crossing motions before pushing you away to the other side of the kitchen.

“Why are you moving me?! I’m just trying to cook! Do you not want dinner tonight?!” you flip the peak of Dustin’s cap off of his head, and he squawks as he fumbles to pick it up from the ground. “Move him, I’ve gotta get started,” you jerk your head over at Steve, folding your arms impatiently.

Steve makes eye contact with Dustin, who silently gestures for Steve to move using only his eyes, and then looks over at you and smiles smugly. “I’ll move, if you ask nicely enough.”

Taking a deep breath in, you put on your best sickly smile. “Steve, sweetheart, would you be a darling and hop off here so I can be a good little housewife and cook you the greatest brisket you’ve ever eaten?”

Steve looks you up and down and slowly drags his teeth along his lower lip. “For you, baby? Anything.” 

“Have you pre-heated the oven yet? I wanna stick my head in it,” Dustin complains as Steve moves out of the way, making the effort to come over to you first to tap you on the nose playfully before walking back to your brother. “Just for that, you can drive me over to the hardware store, I need more batteries,” Dustin pokes his finger into Steve’s chest before turning to look at you. “We should be back in time for dinner, right?”

“Yeah, this’ll take hours, you kids have fun,” you smirk, waving them away. “Miss you already, hot stuff!” you shout to Steve as he gets through the doorway.

“Miss you more, honeybun!” he replies, though his voice sounds choppy. Your assumptions as to why ring true as you eventually hear him laugh, “Alright, Dustin, quit it!” above the sound of what is obviously your brother hitting him over and over again.

~~~

You’ve been enjoying having a day off with the house to yourself; your mom is working, and Dustin is spending time with his friends. You’re so immersed in your book that you don’t hear the front door unlocking, or Dustin running up the stairs. The only thing you hear is Steve, once he’s sat perched on the arm of the couch you’re sprawled across, after he pokes your foot lightly to get your attention. “Hey, babe!”

“What’s happening, cutie?” you ask instinctively, not looking away from your story. If you had looked up, you’d have realised Dustin isn’t even around to tease.

“Well, actually, I’ve got something I wanted to ask you. There’s a special drive-in screening of that new movie, the Ferris something’s Day Off? Anyway, I won this dumb radio contest I entered on a slow day at work, and I got two tickets, and it’s tonight. Wanna come?”

You finally look up over your book at him. “Your friends couldn’t make it?”

Steve shrugs, “I dunno, didn’t ask ’em.”

Your heart does a somersault. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got a plethora of phone numbers in your diary that have girls just waiting on the other end of each line for a chance to go to the movies with Steve Harrington. Surely not all of them have turned you down.”

Steve frowns and shakes his head. “None of them have, didn’t ask any of them, either.” You rack your brain to try and think of why on earth else Steve would ask you before anyone else, but he interrupts your train of thought with a, “So?”

You repeat, “So, what’s the motive then, are we taking Dustin or any of the other kids to see it, or -”

“Come on, you’re killing me,” he rests his elbow on his knee, and his jaw on his fist.

Running out of possible reasons that he could be asking you, now, you sigh in resignation. “You’re leaving it a bit late, what if I had plans?”

“Yeah, because you look so busy right now,” he leans down and throws your feet off the couch to sit on the cushion. You glare at him, and he simply stretches himself up to line his face level closer to yours. “What’cha readin- ooh, is that a romance novel?”

Your face turns beetroot as you shove the book between the cushion and the back of the couch. “Shut up. I’m doing market research, I’m running out of things to call you in front of Dustin.”

“Does that mean you’re picturing me as the big, brave hero?” he asks, rolling over so he’s on his back, tilting his head up to look at you upside-down. You’re not sure why he doesn’t just face the right way up, but he does look cute like this, with his hair falling in all directions.

“In your dreams,” you bend your leg to poke your foot into his side, and he laughs, cowering at the touch. "You know what? Yeah, I'll go with you. Any excuse to look at Matthew Broderick all over again."

Steve scoffs, rolling back over so that he's now laying on top of you. He interlocks his hands and rests them between your collarbone to push himself up to look at you. You notice every strand of hair that didn't quite fall back into place after he'd moved, every freckle on his face, the different shades of brown that live in his eyes. Your breath gets heavier, and you know it's not just from the added weight on your chest. "Are you saying I've got competition?"

You pull a face, confused. "Why would you be in any competition with him?!"

He tuts, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. "For your undivided attention, obviously," he replies smoothly, smiling ever so slightly. "Besides, you said again, right? So it's not like you'd need to watch it all, you know what happens. I can work with that."

You roll your eyes, though your insides are churning at an alarming rate. "Fine. Do I at least have time to get showered first, or have you left it that last minute?" He rolls himself completely off of both you and the couch, awkwardly standing up once his feet make contact with the floor. You bounce your eyebrows once, smirking, "Smooth moving, babygirl." He pulls an expression of mixed confusion and surprise, to which you laugh as you stand, "I told you I was running out of names!"

He squints and nods, picking up your book and throwing himself onto the couch, laying across it with his ankles crossed and one hand behind his head as he holds the book in the other. You look at him with fleeting horror and he smirks, "Doing a little research of my own, kitten, you go get ready."

Once you’re all showered, dried, dressed and (hastily) made-up, Steve’s waiting for you at the foot of the stairs. He smiles adoringly up at you. “Ready to go, pretty thing?”

Dustin scoffs from the other end of the hallway, “Nice try. This bit’s gone on too long, I know you’re only saying those things to mess with me, it’s getting old now.”

You run down the stairs and, much to his surprise, grab the front of Steve’s shirt and kiss him. He starts to react, moving his hands towards you, but you push him away to gauge the reaction you were hoping for: Dustin’s look of shocked disgust. “Well, don’t keep me waiting, loverboy,” you smirk as you head out the door. Dustin’s scream can still be heard even when Steve closes the door behind him, much to the amusement of the pair of you.

Just before you can get into Steve’s car, he reaches out to pull you close to him by the wrist, then rests his hands gently on your shoulders as he leans in close to kiss you again. Gentle pecks that press with the promise of more to come. His thumbs reach up to stroke just under your jaw as his grip on your shoulders pulls you ever closer to him. In that moment, the world only exists for you and Steve Harrington.

Until you can hear the muffled scream from your brother looking at you both through the window.

[mysweetpoisons]

Absolutely LOVED the characteristic Henderson's sassiness

[denim-mixtapes]

The Nice Guy Finishes Last - (Steve Harrington/Reader)

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Steve Harrington/F!Reader

Tags: Explicit Smut -- 18+ only, minors DNI. Best friends to lovers, mild jealous!reader mild possessive!steve, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, p in v sex, admissions of feelings, gooey fluff in the middle of sex.

Summary: When your best friend learns that none of your previous partners have taken care of your needs before their own (let alone gotten you off at all), he decides to take matters into his own hands -- literally, but even in the throes of passion, he's still your Steve.

Crackling speakers and a Madonna record provide the soundtrack to a house party at the Harrington house as you make your rounds to visit with friends. Steve’s friends mostly. Steve and Robin are the only two in attendance you would actually call close friends, Nancy and Eddie and Vickie were friendly, of course, but outside of that small circle everyone who showed up to these things you would call an acquaintance at best, and strangers that you can’t stand at worst. 

Still, as Steve’s best friend and often the co-host of these things, you feel inclined to at least greet as many people as possible before letting loose and enjoying yourself. After quite some time and a couple watered down mixed drinks, you decide that you’ve done enough mingling and try to find your actual friends.

You half expected to see Steve wrapped up in some new girl already by the time you joined him on the couch, but bit back the bitter thought before it could show on your face. To your surprise, he’s engaged in an animated conversation with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan Byers, who you didn’t even know was in town until you saw him sitting on that couch. His arm is snug around Nancy’s shoulder and she’s leaning on him heavily, drunk with laughter and cheeks red at whatever they’re talking about, which is a far cry from the tense arguing they had been doing the last time he was in town, but you’re happy to see her happy. 

She and Robin smile at you in greeting as you fall into the couch beside Steve heavily, the cushion bouncing your body a little on impact. 

Steve doesn’t greet you, he’s mid-sentence, but his arm wraps around your waist in a too-familiar way and pulls you closer. Robin raises her eyebrows at the pair of you, but you just glare back. 

She’s been on your back for months about your relationship with Steve, or lack thereof. You made the mistake of mentioning your feelings for him in casual conversation, and ever since then she has been insisting he feels the same way, but if that were the case, you would think the endless parade of dates and new women he brought around would at least slow down, right? Still, there have been times you were inclined to believe her. When his smile would soften when you entered a room, or he would hold on for a beat too long after hugging you. The sudden flush on his cheeks and down his chest at his pool parties when you would catch him staring. Sometimes it’s easy to pretend he might feel the same way. Either way, you’ve been best friends since elementary school, and you’d rather keep it that way than take the risk and ruin it all. 

His fingers squeeze at your waist now, and you hide your blush behind another sip of your vodka-something.  

“That’s what ‘nice guys finish last’ actually means, Byers!” He scoffs, pulling his arm from around you to lean forward into the conversation, elbows on his knees. “It’s not some lament about not getting the girl, it's about getting the girl off before you do.” 

There’s a bitterness in your throat as you scoff into your drink. You can understand why Nancy is red as a cherry now, but the comment still doesn’t sit right with you. 

“You got somethin’ to say over there, babe?” Steve asks, turning to you with a quirked brow and a challenge in his eye. 

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes and discard your empty cup on the coffee table. It cracks with the force. When you continue, you lay on the sarcasm just as heavy as he just did. “Sure do. ‘Cause most guys definitely let their partner finish at all, let alone first.” 

“Nah, nah, nah,” Steve waves your comment out of the air before his hand lands on your knee and he lays back onto the back of the couch. Looking up at you, forehead wrinkled with faux concern, he continues, stumbling over his words under the intensity of your glare. “The right guys do. You can’t tell me not one guy you’ve been with has…taken care of you first before themselves? Not a single one?” 

If your eyes could physically roll out of your head, you’re sure they would. What little liquor you’ve had is hot, liquid courage in your veins and you couldn’t hold back your candid, bitter response if you wanted to. 

“Steven,” you chide, the sound of his full name draws a chorus of ‘oooohs’ from the group around you. “I have never had a single orgasm that wasn’t from my own hands. Not one.” 

Pressure on your knee where his grip tightens at your words. His eyes darken with mirth and some heated expression you can’t quite place, and he opens his mouth to reply, but Robin interrupts. 

“Okay let’s not give Harrington another opportunity to stick his foot in his mouth,” she’s across the circle in seconds, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up off the couch. “Come on, I need another drink, you do too.” 

You put up some resistance against her hold on your wrist, but follow her without complaint. She remains wordless until you’re safe in the kitchen, where the only other soul is Jonathan’s friend Argyle, already asleep on the floor by the sliding patio door. 

“What the hell was that?” Robin whispers harshly, looking over your shoulder to make sure nobody followed. 

“What?” You replied simply, “he was being an asshole.” 

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Her tone is light and teasing as she talks, mocking your previous conversation. “Oh, Steven, nice touch by the way with his full name, Nobody’s ever made me cum before, maybe I need YOU to give it a try.” Her smile widens as your eyes do. “Jesus, it’s like you were begging him to take you upstairs here and now.” 

“I was not.” You insist, then shove her shoulder playfully when all she does is smirk. “He just says shit like that to push my buttons. I’ve confided in him before about the guys that I dated, he knows they’ve been less than stellar in bed. He was definitely trying to get under my skin. Rub it in.” 

You just barely catch her mutter under her breath, “he wants to rub something alright.” 

An annoyed groan is your only response, before pouring yourself another drink and joining the rest of the party. 

By the time the party starts winding down, most of the attendees headed home to their own beds or onto the next party and your close circle of friends each claiming a room for themselves to sleep in, you’ve sobered quite a bit. Perpetually afraid of hangovers, you made it a habit to switch to water after a certain point in the night. Especially because you were also the one who stayed up even later to clean up a bit before knocking out, yourself. The only thing worse than a hangover was being put to work while hungover, so you tried to prevent either. 

You think you’re the only one awake, stacking cups and dumping out half-drunk beers in the kitchen sink. When you go to close the curtains to the patio you notice that at some point, Argyle has moved out to the pool deck and is asleep on one of the vinyl loungers, cuddling a garden gnome. (Thinking back, you’re almost certain the Harringtons do not have any garden gnomes.)

Giggling at the sight, you shake your head and make sure the door is unlocked, just in case he decides to come back in before shutting the curtains. 

Movement and a voice behind you makes you jump. “What’s so funny?” 

You turn to the voice, knowing it belonged to your best friend before you even saw him, but still clutching your chest in surprise. “Oh uh,” you point your thumb out back, “Argyle. Snuggling with lawn ornaments.” 

Steve nods slowly, fidgeting with the empty beer can in his hand. “Sounds about right…what are you still doing up? Everyone’s asleep.” 

“I always do this,” you say, then tease, “what did you think there was some magic party fairy that always cleaned up while you slept?” 

He has the audacity to look innocent, looking around at all the mess and shrugs. “I guess I never realized how bad it was when I went to bed.” 

Yeah, because you’re usually already upstairs with the flavor of the week before everyone leaves anyway. 

You shake the bitter thought from your mind and opt for a friendly, “Yeah well, cleaning relaxes me anyway so no big deal.” 

“Here, I’ll help,” before you can even protest he continues, mumbling, “‘M not even tired, I slept until, like, 1 PM today.” 

So the two of you move through the house in a silence that sits somewhere between comfortable and not, stepping over an occasional sleeping body, collecting trash and recycling, straightening books and blankets and anything out of place. Your conversation from earlier hangs in the air, and you can hear Robin’s voice urging you to say something about it as you move through the house. It’s like a dance, his body always close to yours. You step to the side, he follows, you move on to another room, he follows, always within arms reach but never reaching out. You can feel the heat from his body nearby when you reach up on your tiptoes to grab a red plastic cup from the top of the bookshelf, just out of your reach. Before you can step away to ask for assistance, you feel his hand on your lower back, steadying you, and his chest presses up against your shoulder as he slides up behind you to reach it himself. 

He mumbles an apology and you swear you can see his cheeks pink in the dim light of the den. 

“Hey,” he starts, voice soft and close. “I’m sorry if I was an asshole earlier. I just…never mind. I was just drunk.” 

“No,” you protest, “go on. You just what?” You steel yourself for his admission, that he was just doing it to get a rise out of you, but it never comes. 

“I can’t believe it, I guess.” 

“What, that most men are the worst?” Your words are hard, but your voice is light. You cross your arms over your stomach comfortingly and lean on the armrest of the couch behind you. 

“No, that-” he pinches the bridge of his nose. You’ve known him long enough to know that this expression means he’s at a loss for words. That what he wants to say is on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say it. A sigh. A brush of his fingers through his hair. “I mean, yeah, I guess, but I just can’t believe not one person has put your needs before their own. You deserve that. At least that, and so much more.” 

You snort, “well, keep spreading your gospel like you were to Byers earlier and maybe the trend will catch on.” You can feel yourself shrinking, your posture drawn inward at his words. You deserve that. You have to remind yourself to not twist them into something with more meaning. 

“No,” he says, firm, and with a step forward. He rests his hands on the armrest on either side of your hips, bringing his eyes down to your level. They’re sincere. The soft, sweet Steve you’ve always known, but they’re dark, pupils wide and lids heavy as he studies your face. “I’m serious. Those assholes don’t even know what they’re missing out on.” 

“I-” your breath catches in your throat. Steve’s face is so close to yours that his hair tickles your forehead. You could play connect the dots with his freckles at this proximity, and your eyes do just that, following them from his eyes, down his cheekbones and over the prominent ones on his neck. His adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard when you lift your gaze to his lips, wondering if that’s where this is headed. “What do you mean?” 

His own eyes fall to your mouth as he replies, “how drunk are you?” 

“Not at all.” 

You intend to ask him again what he means, but he’s inching even closer still. Just before he closes the gap entirely, he murmurs a soft, “good,” and then his lips are on yours, warm and wanting and insistent. He brings a hand up to your jaw, holding you in place as his lips work against your own, tongue sweeping at the seam, awaiting your consent to keep going.  They part on their own accord, granting him the access you both desperately crave. You melt into him, arms winding around his neck as his tongue brushes yours and his teeth graze your lower lip. 

This kiss has a sense of urgency, but an all around feeling of ‘finally.” He smells like the same Ralph Lauren Polo he always has, spice and pine and something a little sweet, and tastes like whiskey. You can’t seem to pull him close enough. 

Breath ragged as he breaks the kiss, his thumb strokes your lip and his chest heaves, a look of elation and a little bit of a challenge dances on his features. 

You avert your gaze, suddenly shy once again, cheeks warm and lips pressed into a thin line as you study the floor. 

“Look at me,” he says, thumb on your chin and pulling your attention back up from the ground. “I’ll say it again. Those assholes don’t know what they’re missing out on, because if you look like this after one kiss,” he pauses to run his fingertips over the deepening color on your cheeks, down the length of your neck, and along the collarbone rising and falling with your rapid breath, eyes following the path his fingers drew. “I can only imagine how spectacular you look as you cum.” You bite your lip in an attempt to stop another grin, and he stands abruptly, startling you with his sudden change in demeanor and taking a few steps back. His hands rake through his hair as he paces, then land on his hips as he turns back to face you. 

Unsure of what to say, you giggle out a soft, “their loss I guess?”

“No fucking kidding,” Steve muses, bringing onefist up to rest his chin as he studies you. This new side of you he’s never been granted access to, flushed and breathless and still somehow shy, lips wet and pink and parted as you wait for him to respond. “God, if I were them...if given the opportunity I would-” He cuts himself off. Presses his lips together to hold in whatever it was he was about to admit. He looks away this time, a hint of worry in his eyes. 

You reach out with your foot to kick his own softly, your socked toes nudging against his ankle playfully. “You’d what?” 

“Full honesty?” He asks. It’s something you’ve been doing since you were kids. In serious moments, in moments of struggle or heavy emotion, if either of you asked for full honesty, the other would give it without question. You nod. His eyes darken again as he mulls the words over in his head. Then, meeting your eyes with a renewed intensity he says, “well, I’d get you to three before I was even undressed.” 

Not for the first time tonight, your breath stutters, catching in your throat at his admission. You itch to respond, inside your head you’re screaming to say something clever, or even just say anything, but you’re just sitting there on the armrest of the couch, looking up at your best friend with this dumbstruck expression. 

He can see your internal struggle, the awestruck look in your eyes, and the hint of a smile twitches at the corners of his lips, but he’s still been left hanging, vulnerable. So he asks, “what’s going on in your head? Full honesty.” 

“I’m-” You hesitate. Your heart is racing, and there’s so much you want to tell him. So much more than orgasms and the order in which they should be given. So much more than playdates and best friends and platonic I love you’s, but he’s looking at your lips again and all you can think about is how much you need to feel his against them again, so you decide that the feelings talk will have to wait. You settle on a hushed, “I’m thinking that you’ve had that opportunity for a while…and that I might lose my mind if you don’t kiss me again, Harrington.” You were speaking to the floor, a little unsure, looking at the spot just in front of his feet, but when his name leaves your tongue, you finally look back up at him. He’s just as stunned as you had been, his mouth agape and eyes studying you for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he’s back on you in seconds, grip on your chin once more as he bends to meet your lips. You stand, slowly, pressing your chest to him, needing to be closer. 

He doesn’t seek permission this time, licking into your mouth with a hot, hungry enthusiasm. Greedy hands wrap around your waist, exploring the expanse of your back, up your neck to fist in your hair, down to rest on your ass and squeeze. Your own rest on his chest, keeping you steady as he kisses you senseless. Static fills your brain, fuzzy, warm, and all you can smell is Steve. 

This is the Steve you always dreamed of kissing. All roaming hands and hot skin and hungry kisses. He moves with a confidence you only ever saw through jealous eyes, but now that he’s in your arms it’s addicting. Self assured, confident hands creep below your cheeks and wrap around your upper thighs, lifting without a word, breaking your kiss and drawing a squeal from you as you’re swept off your feet. You wrap your legs around his waist for stability, and place a hand on his neck, grinning down at him from your new vantage point. He busies himself with your neck, nosing along your pulse, breathing you in. A sloppy kiss here, a gentle peck there, scraping teeth against your pulse point as he explores your skin. He stops when he notices your breath hitch, smirking into your skin and knowing he’s found a sweet spot. He focuses his attention there, another bite soothed by the caress of his tongue before he latches on and sucks. 

A whimper falls from your lips, your hand grabbing hold of the long hair at the nape of his neck. “Steve-” you whine, torn between pushing him away and holding him there in that very spot, “don’t - people are gonna notice.” Even in your haze, you’re worried about what people might say, knowing that everyone in this house will know exactly who left those marks, come morning. 

“Let ‘em talk.” He mumbles into your flesh, looking up at you through fanned lashes before nipping his way across your throat to give the other side the same attention. “Been wanting this for so long...gonna mark you up however I want, show everyone you’re mine.” He practically growls the last word before craning his neck for another feverish kiss. 

Steve walks you around the couch and sits back into it, pressing your knees to the plush cushion on either side of him. His hands roam again, fingers play at the strip of exposed skin between your top and jeans, hook in your belt loops, creep up your spine beneath your shirt. 

Gripping the edges of your top, he raises a brow in question. “Can I…” he doesn’t finish the question, just taps the skin where his hands rest. 

You’re about to nod, but movement in the next room stops you both. There’s a shuffle, some footsteps, and then the bathroom door closes. 

You both look at the entry to the den, an open arched doorway with no actual door to be seen. A fit of giggles threatens to escape, but Steve holds a finger to his lips and taps your hips so that you stand. You poke your head out the doorway, making sure the bathroom door is still closed. It is, so you make a break for it, Steve hot on your heels and both of you hushing your laughter as you run up the stairs and try to make it to his bedroom before anyone else wakes up or your friend in the bathroom comes back out. 

The door clicks behind you. Stood in front of it, giggling, you look on as Steve sits on the edge of his unmade bed and leans back on his elbows. Your laughter subsides as he looks you up and down, his once soft, fond simile turning devious as you both remember where you had been just moments before. 

You lock the door quickly before padding across the carpet to stand in front of him, and he sits up fully, gripping your waist again and nosing at your stomach. He lifts the hem of your shirt and places an open mouthed kiss on your hip bone, smirking up at you when you gasp at the action. 

“Where were we?” He asks, inching the fabric even higher. Your nod is near imperceptible but he notices, and he’s pulling the garment up and over your head and tossing it aside. “Oh,” he chuckles in disbelief and shakes his head. His hands cover his face, rubbing his eyes and then reach out for you, finding purchase on your neck and waist, pulling you down into him. It’s like neither of you can believe you’ve wound up here. “C’mere.” 

His lips find yours again, fingers splaying across the cups of your bra, teasing along the lace trim. Without warning, he flips you, your body bouncing lightly on the mattress. Eyes raking your body with admiration, he pulls at the cups of your bra, exposing your breasts to his gaze and the cool air. Your nipples perk under his stare and the chill, and you already know that your flush has made its way down your chest, but Steve is looking at you in awe and you’re already touch drunk before he’s even gotten started. He continues his earlier assault on your neck, moving on even lower to bite and suck deep purple marks into the swell of your breast, lapping at one nipple hungrily while tweaking the other with his fingers before switching to give each side equal attention. You keen at the pinch of his fingers, arching into his touch with a whine. The way he looks at you floods your core with arousal, and you don’t realize that you’re doing it, but you push on his shoulder to urge him further south. 

He tsks, “little eager, are we?” 

You huff, hiding in your hands, dragging them down your face and grinning at the ceiling. “Shut up.”

The pop of the button on your jeans is his only response. Your pulse races, tiny fires igniting along your skin wherever he touches as he drags your pants down your legs. He settles himself on the floor, gripping your ankles and pulling you to the very edge of the bed. His gaze zeroes in on your core, the little wet patch on your panties making his mouth water. He looks like a man starved, like he could absolutely devour you, and he intends to. 

Wasting no time, he dives in, sucking another mark into your thigh before turning his head to mouth at your clothed mound. His nose brushes against your clit through the fabric, and it feels like lightning to your nerves. You cry out, hands balling into fists in his sheets as he groans at your wetness. He plucks at your waistband with his teeth, letting it snap back into your skin once before deciding now is not the time to tease and finally pulling them off. 

Steve rests his head on your thigh, smiling innocently up at you when he reaches out to drag a digit between your folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertip and circling your clit once before bringing the finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. He lets out another heady groan, eyes closing as he gets his first taste of you, and then returns to the task at hand. He swipes between your lips again, prodding at your entrance before thrusting in with two fingers. Your responding moan takes you by surprise and has you clamping a hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he urges, pressing a kiss into your thigh where his head rests. Fingers pump in and out, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your bundle of nerves. “Everyone else is asleep, and they’re all downstairs. I wanna hear you.” You clench around his fingers at that, drawing unison moans from both of you. Steve mutters praise into your skin as he fucks you with his fingers, curling them every so often to stroke that sweet spot inside you. “That’s it, let it out,” when you let out another high-pitched moan. “So wet for me, doin’ so well,” when your hips stutter to meet his touch even faster. “You smell so good, baby, I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.” 

Your pleasure coils tight and low in your belly, and you hold Steve’s gaze for as long as you can stand. The intensity of his stare and the press of his fingers to your core is all too much and you’re already so close to the edge. He can tell, and he smirks, sinking a third finger into you on his next thrust. “C’mon,” he urges, pumping faster, working harder at your nub. “Let go for me.” 

You do as he says. Skin prickling and toes curling, your orgasm takes over you. Head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, you cry out your pleasure as he works you through it. Every thrust of his fingers sends another shockwave through you, but he takes mercy and moves his thumb, giving your sensitive clit a much needed break. He’s stroking you lazily now. No urgency to his touch, but just enough to keep you on edge, keep you wanting more. 

The laugh that he gives is cocky, downright devilish as he says, “That’s one.” 

You throw an arm over your closed eyes, giggling at the comment and shaking your head. Even with his fingers buried deep inside you and his breath ghosting your pussy, he’s still the same old Harrington. 

“I get it Steve, you made your point.” 

“Uh-uh.” He says, shaking his own head. He withdraws his fingers and you whimper at the loss, clenching around nothing when he once again licks the digits clean. He crawls back up your body, stopping to hover over you with a fist on either side of your head. Leaning down he gives you another messy, hurried kiss. “I believe I promised you three.” Just as quickly as last time, Steve rolls again, shuffling higher onto the bed and pulling your body atop his. You both groan as your hips settle on his clothed, hard cock. His hips thrust up into you, the rough denim of his jeans a new, delicious kind of friction that has you whining into his mouth. Settling heavier into his pillows, Steve’s hands grip your hips and urge you forward. You break the kiss, scandalized at what you think he’s suggesting. You sit back, lips bitten and swollen and red, cheeks hot. You want to shake your head, tell him that’s not something you’re into but he looks so eager. Another hushed, “c’mere,” tumbles from him and you’re letting him guide you forward. 

Your thighs cage him in, and his arms wrapped around them hold you steady. You’re hovering just above his smug grin, and instead of making some smart comment, you reach down to run your fingers affectionately through his hair. His tongue laps at your entrance, circling your hole with a pointed tip before dipping inside. His nose bumps at your clit with his fervor, and you mewl at the sensation. The lower half of his face is covered by your cunt, wet and sloppy and slick, tongue gliding through your folds. He groans, eating you out like a man starved being offered the most delectable meal. Your legs shake with the effort to keep still. Steve takes notice, reaching for your hips to shift you forward, pulling your full weight onto him. 

You yelp, tumbling forward and steadying yourself with a firm grip on the headboard. He guides you from there, rocking your hips against his mouth. Your shallow pants fill the room, and the sounds coming from Steve are downright obscene. Wet, greedy sounds, paired with a moan that sends vibrations through your whole core. If you weren’t already wet enough, his hungry, desperate sounds keep sending shockwaves through you, and he tilts your hips forward so that he can wrap his lips around your clit, tongue sweeping over it insistently. The pressure in your belly returns, your thighs clenching on either side of his face as your vision goes out of focus. You barely mutter a needy, “close,” before another orgasm rips through you, throwing your head back with another wild moan and gripping the headboard with both hands. 

Steve doesn’t let up. 

Not only does he work your through your second orgasm, but he keeps you right on the edge of a third; sucking desperately at your lower lips, fucking into you with his tongue, humming around your clit to send vibrations straight through you. You didn’t know it was possible to be this close again this quickly, but Steve has you singing his praises and whining his name as he makes you cum for the third time that night. 

Your thighs quake, your head resting heavily against your arms on the headboard, and you can’t stop the bubble of a laugh from escaping your lips. You’re giddy, drunk on Steve, utterly exhausted but desperate for more. He slows, still lapping at your wetness and working you down from two over-the-top orgasms. When it all becomes too much, your hips twitch back, overstimulated, and he takes the hint, kissing your thigh gently and helping you down onto the mattress beside him. 

Steve leans up on his elbow, hovering over you with a dreamy look plastered on his smug face. You reach out for him, pulling his face to yours and tasting yourself on his tongue. It’s sinful, how much the taste of your arousal on his tongue only turns you on more, and you find yourself reaching for the hem of his shirt. Breaking apart only to allow the shirt to slip over his head, then he’s back on you, a little distracted trying to undo his pants, but unable to keep his lips off of you for another second longer. 

Jeans tossed aside, kicked off his legs as if they offended him, you reach out to palm him through his boxers, savoring the animalistic grunt that it pulls from him, and pull back the waistband, reaching in to fist his cock. His lips part, forehead resting on your own as you stroke him, panting and disheveled above you. You shift up onto your knees and crawl down the bed a little further, hovering in front of his member as you stroke, drooling. 

He stops you with his thumb and forefinger on your chin, pulling you back up the bed. 

“As much as I would love – and trust me I would love – for you to suck my dick, this night will be over a lot quicker than I’d like it to be if you do…” He holds your face with both hands and presses a heated kiss to your lips, “...and I know you’ve still got one more in you, don’t you?” 

You only nod dumbly, lower lip captured between your teeth, and Steve chuckles as he reaches across you to fish in the bedside table for a condom. He makes quick work of tearing open the packet and rolling it on, then he’s hovering over you once again, reaching down to trail his fingers through your wetness one more time. He grins when you give a weak, spent moan, and bumps your nose with his own. A twinkle of the Steve you know and love, a familiar smile and soft eyes. He kisses you softly, a tender contrast to the dirty talk and rough hands from before, and works himself into you slowly, letting you savor the stretch. He bottoms out with a huff, and peppers kisses over your cheekbones. He stays that way until you’re whining for it and gripping at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. 

Pulling almost all the way out, he thrusts slowly once, twice, and then you give a deep moan and he lets go. The room fills with the wet slap of skin on skin as he fucks you, groaning, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His sense of urgency is back, like the only thing on his mind now that he’s inside you is getting you off again. 

Your hips buck off the mattress to meet his as white hot pleasure licks up your spine. Already thoroughly fucked out, you know you won’t last much longer, a fact that would embarrass you any other day but when Steve smiles at you and snakes his hand between your bodies to toy with your clit, you know no shame. 

Steve invades all your senses, his cologne and musk surround you, his ragged breathing ringing in your ears. You can taste his sweat on your tongue and every inch of your skin he touches is alight with pleasure. 

“One more,” he pleads, hips stuttering. He’s close, chasing his own release but holding back just enough to drag another from you first. His fingers pick up speed and his teeth graze the shell of your ear, whispering, “just gimme one more, cum for me one more time, baby.” 

His words scorch your skin, hot and heavy in your ear. Your heart is racing, but so is his, pulse thrumming against your hands when you reach out to pull him into a final bruising kiss by the neck. 

You moan your release into his open mouth, biting onto his lower lip and walls squeezing around him one last time. Steve isn’t far behind you, his pace faltering as he thrusts into you and stilling as he spills into the condom, forehead on yours and eyes screwed shut. 

Both of you stay that way for a while, quiet, breathing each other in. Your hand absently plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he dusts little kisses along your collarbone. When he does pull out, it's with a shudder and a sigh, and he turns away only briefly to toss the condom into the trash. Searching the bed blindly, he finds his top sheet and pulls it up to cover your lower halves and pulls you in to spoon him, one arm wrapped around your middle, the other playing with your hair. 

There’s never been a more comfortable silence between the two of you, and here in his arms, facing the darkness of his room, you feel a surge of bravery. Taking his hand, you play with his fingers and breathe deeply. 

“Hey, Stevie?” 

“Hmm?” His voice is quiet, just as content and sleep heavy as yours. A kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Was this…this wasn’t just a one time thing, right? Full honesty.” 

His hold on you tightens, “I sure hope not.” 

You beam into the darkness before you and snuggle in closer. “Good,” you mumble. “‘Cause I think I’m kinda in love with you.” 

“Yeah,” he grips your hand tighter and brings it above your head to place a kiss on your knuckles. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I think I’ve been in love with you for years.” 

You let the quiet take over, then. There’ll be much more to talk about in the morning, when the sun is up and you’ve both rested, but you’re about to fall asleep in his arms with this new and somehow familiar feeling of comfort surrounding you. This is home, Steve is home…and he’s damn generous in bed.

[mysweetpoisons]

Guess I'm a Steve girl now 🤭

[s-brant]

Class Buddy

Ever since Steve got the job at Scoops Ahoy, Y/N has had some interesting feelings about the uniform. One day, she decides to do something about it.

14k (18+)

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[clints-lucky-arrow-deactivated]

exit light, enter night. || [1.]

morpheus “dream” of the endless x f!reader.

He’s determined to hate you. Unfortunately, fate has other plans. There’s only so long that one—even Dream of the Endless—can stave off the inevitable.

Reluctant Allies to Lovers. Grumpy x (Somewhat) Sunshine. Unwilling Soulmates.

WORD COUNT: 7.6k

WARNINGS: Explicit 18+ ONLY; Enemies to Lovers Elements; Slight Tinges of Toxicity; Angst (Honestly, These Two Will Give You Whiplash); Mentions of Blood; Biting/Marking; Vaginal Fingering; Oral Sex; Other Potentially Non-Exhaustive Warnings: Read at Own Risk; The Sandman (2022) Spoilers; Not Beta Read.

MASTERLIST || NOTIFICATIONS

Support your content creators! Likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are golden!  

A/N: Let’s be very clear up front. I am only halfway through the season and I’ve never read the comics. All of this could be extremely innacurate in the lore— but a reminder that this isn’t to be taken too seriously. It’s fanfiction. A bit of fun. I’ve given you this little PSA so you know what you’re getting into.

“Are you going to let me go yet?” It’s a question, but not you’re not scared of the answer.

Dream of the Endless may be a god. Silent, mysterious, and most likely still vengeful— but right now, he needs you. It’s not often that one comes across someone with the gift of True Sight and Travel. You’re a Lucid Dreamer, as unpracticed as any might be, but it still gives you power in all realms. The ability to untether one’s own soul is rare, and all too useful.

So, his reply is not a surprise. “Your Order still has a debt to repay.”

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[mysweetpoisons]

Absolutely loved Dream in this one, the roasting at the ending got me wanting to high five reader, slay queen 💅