Fic where Steve finds the ring Jonathan was gonna give to Nancy (after Jancy already broke up so now it’s kinda just useless) and jokingly puts it on.
It gets stuck and he and Jonathan keep arguing as they try just about a thousand ways to get it off. Butter, oil, wrapping his hand in ice, El using her powers, soap, twine, anything that anyone reasonably thinks could get this damned ring off.
Robin’s having the time of her life. She keeps calling him Mrs. Jonathan Byers and playing the wedding march whenever they walk in the room. She turns up dressed as a priest at one point. No one knows where she got the outfit.
Robin calls Nancy (because of course she does) and Nancy arrives with a bouquet of flowers “For the happy couple.” She has absolutely no advice on how to get the ring off.
Dustin shows up with a little electric saw after everything else has failed and Steve nearly passes out. Lucas has him in a headlock to keep him from looking and Jonathan’s practically sitting on him to keep him from flinching and getting his finger cut off. Robin isn’t helping at all and is instead taunting him in the background, saying she can see bone and shit like that. (She’s still dressed as a priest.)
Robin only refers to this incident as “Steve’s first divorce” (“First? Are you expecting me to have multiple divorces?!”)
They thought it was over after that but Jonathan gets it fixed and resized and jokingly gives it to Steve for Christmas a couple of months later.
hover — steve harrington x jonathan byers x ditsy!reader
summary — you’re always talking to strangers, you don’t see a problem with it. steve does, the ever protective boyfriend that he is. jonathan trusts you but is always keeping an eye on you.
poly steve x jonathan x reader, ditsy!reader, steve being overprotective, 1.8k words
Steve realizes something is wrong when he turns around mid-sentence and you’re not there.
You had been there, very distinctly there, wedged comfortably between him and Jonathan in the cramped souvenir shop, humming under your breath and flipping through a rack of postcards.
Steve had been talking about nothing important. Something about the radio. Or gas prices. Or how Hawkins somehow managed to smell like mildew and hot tar at the same time.
Now there’s just empty air. Steve stops talking so abruptly that Jonathan takes another two steps before realizing he’s alone.
Jonathan turns back, squints, then follows Steve’s frozen stare across the shop.
“Oh,” Jonathan says calmly. “She wandered.”
Steve’s jaw tightens. “She what?”
Jonathan gestures with his chin, subtle and unbothered.
You’re by the front of the shop, talking to a man Steve would generously describe as concerning. He’s tall and angular, wearing a jacket that looks like it’s been through several decades and at least one fire. His hair is doing something philosophical. He’s leaning down slightly to hear you better.
Jonathan reaches out, not to stop him, but to slow him down. Two fingers hook into the belt loop of his jeans.
“Give it a second,” Jonathan says. “She’s just talking.”
“She’s always just talking,” Steve mutters, eyes locked on you like he might be able to telepathically summon you back through sheer panic.
From across the shop, you make a vague circular motion with your hands, as if describing the size of something important. The man nods, deeply invested. You tilt your head, listening, smiling faintly.
Steve’s stomach drops. “Why does he look like that?”
Jonathan considers. “Like what?”
“Like he owns a van,” Steve says flatly.
Jonathan hums. “You own a van.”
Steve opens his mouth to argue and then shuts it again because you laugh, a light, distracted sound, and the man laughs too. The interaction doesn’t look tense nor threatening. Steve hates that most of all. Especially because it's not him making you laugh.
A minute later, you drift back like nothing happened, slotting neatly into place between them.
“Oh hey,” you say, casually. “He wanted to know if the lake ever freezes solid. I told him not really, but that people underestimate hypothermia.”
Steve stares at you. Jonathan blinks. “Did he say why he was asking?”
You shrug. The stack of necklaces sparkle over your bare neck. You pull together your lips in a line, sticky with a pink gloss. “Something about statistics. Or ghosts.”
Steve drags a hand down his face. Puts his hands on his hips like a disgruntled father. “Okay. New rule.”
“No,” Jonathan and you say, perfectly in sync.
Steve frowns and looks between the two of you exasperatedly, his brows pulled together tightly. “You don’t even know the rule yet.”
“You always announce rules right before panicking,” Jonathan says and makes a good point. The two of you look at each other and roll your eyes.
You nod thoughtfully. “And they’re usually very situational.”
Steve points at you and you think he wants to stomp his foot. You wouldn't put it past him, he has a tendancy to act a little bit like a child sometimes. “Don’t let her talk to strangers.”
There’s a pause.
You tilt your head and smile, though it's more of a frown.“I don’t think that’s enforceable.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow and scoffs a little bit. You trust him to not fall for Steve's stupid ideas. A team. “Also, define ‘stranger.’”
Steve gestures vaguely toward the front of the shop with his head and doesn't uncross his arms. “That guy.”
“He's not a stranger anymore,” you say. “We spoke.”
“That’s—” Steve cuts himself off, takes a breath. “Okay. Fine. Revised. Don’t let her talk to sketchy strangers.”
“Subjective.” Jonathan hums again. “And she’s not stupid.”
You frown, considering. “He wasn’t sketchy. He was just…intense.”
Steve makes a noise like he’s being personally wronged by the universe. You take Jonathan by the arm and drag him along. You're not mad at him, he doesn't see you as a casualty. Though the rule, if it can even be called that, lasts exactly twelve minutes.
You’re at the diner down the street, sliding into a cracked vinyl booth. Steve complains immediately about the coffee. Too weak, somehow burnt and sour. Jonathan scans the menu like the three of you don't come here weekly.
“There’s a woman crying, going into the bathroom,” you say suddenly instead of sitting down with the boys. “Be right back.”
Steve reaches for your wrist out of instinct, and stops himself halfway. “Can't you stay here? What do you want to eat?”
Jonathan doesn’t look up. “Pancakes,” he guesses.
Steve watches you disappear down the hallway, jaw tight. He decides to stare at the menu too and decide what he wants himself. Maybe pancakes as well.
Jonathan sips his coffee. “You know she’s good at this.”
Steve exhales sharply. “Good at what.”
“People,” Jonathan says like it's kinda obvious. “In her own way.”
Steve opens his mouth, closes it, then taps his fingers against the table instead. Restless. Waiting. Five minutes stretch longer than they should.
Steve is halfway out of the booth, after arguing with Jonathan about it, when you return, holding a napkin and smiling faintly.
“She’s okay,” you say and throw yourself down into the booth. You place your hand onto Steve's thigh, red nail polish against the blue of his denim. “She just needed someone to listen, and a dollar. I gave her the dollar.”
Steve squints and looks down at your hand. “You just carry emergency money for strangers?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” you blink. “Did you order me pancakes?”
Jonathan snorts into his cup and decides to call the server over.
Steve stares at the table. “I’m losing control of my environment.”
By the third interaction of the day, Steve stops pretending he’s relaxed. The pretense is thin and fraying. Jonathan has given up entirely on worrying for the both of you. He leans on the assumption that you’ve got this covered, even if Steve’s jaw is tight and his stance rigid.
It’s the gas station. The air smells like fuel and hot pavement. Jonathan’s inside paying. Steve leans against the car, arms crossed, watching you pace loosely nearby, kicking stones with your beat up converse. Your movements are casual, almost bored, but your awareness hums under the surface.
A man at the next pump clears his throat. Steve straightens so quickly it’s like someone flipped a switch. The man says something to you, and your attention shifts immediately, turning your body toward him, polite but alert.
Steve pushes off the car. “God.” His tone is sharp, automatic, protective.
Jonathan appears at the door just then, a bag of snacks in hand. “What’s happening?” he asks, eyebrows raised, sensing the tension.
“She’s happening,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. A statement of fact, not opinion. He feels it keenly, the rhythm of the day, the way the three of you orbit each other. Today, it’s all in motion.
Jonathan glances just in time to see you nod seriously, lips moving in conversation. Whatever you said, it makes the man pause mid-word. A small, private smile spreads across his face as he shakes his head in quiet amusement.
“Huh,” the man murmurs, blinking once.
Steve is already halfway across the lot, boots crunching on gravel. “Hey—”
“It’s fine,” you call, dismissing him with a single, graceful wave. “He just wanted to know if the road curves after mile marker six. He’s got a horse in that trailer.”
Steve freezes, hand in mid-air. “Does it?”
“Yes,” you and Jonathan say in perfect unison, the sound of confirmation ringing clear in the sunbaked lot.
The man nods, thanks you, and leaves.
Steve stands there, dumbstruck, blinking at the empty space where the encounter just happened. Jonathan watches him, quiet but sharp-eyed. “He needed help.”
Steve exhales, a rush of frustration and admiration tangled together. “I know. I just,” He gestures helplessly at you. “You don’t screen people.”
You pause and think. “I do. Just not consciously.”
Jonathan tilts his head. “Pattern recognition.”
Steve squints, unimpressed. “You’re not helping.”
Later, the humor has thinned, leaving a quieter, more persistent kind of worry. You’re perched on the hood of the car, legs swinging freely, watching clouds drift in shapes only you recognize. Jonathan leans casually nearby, camera dangling from one hand. Steve lingers a few steps back, tense but patient.
“I trust you,” Steve says finally, careful, deliberate, as if weighing every word before letting it go. “I do. I just worry because you don’t always see what I see.”
You study him for a long moment, quiet, reflective. Your gaze softens, not defensive, just thoughtful, taking him in. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl slightly at his sides, the stubborn pride mixed with worry, it’s all visible if you look closely enough.
“I see different things,” you reply, soft, matter-of-fact. Your voice carries no judgment, just a simple statement of truth.
Jonathan glances between the two of you, his expression open curiosity. His camera forgotten for a moment.
“I leave when it feels wrong,” you add, letting your words hang in the air. “I just don’t announce it.”
Steve blinks, surprised. His chest rises and falls as he processes the admission. “You do?” His voice is quieter now.
“Yes,” you say simply, a calm, grounding certainty to your tone, as if that alone should settle any lingering doubt.
Jonathan smiles faintly, the corner of his lips tilting in recognition. “She’s actually very good at disengaging,” he observes. “She just engages first.”
Steve lets out a low laugh despite himself, a sound half exasperated, half impressed. “That’s the worst possible order.”
You grin, the corners of your mouth tilting up with quiet pride. “It works.”
Steve nods slowly, letting it sink in. “Okay. No rule.” His voice is lighter now, tinged with relief, though still cautious.
Jonathan waits a beat, amusement flickering in his eyes like he’s silently enjoying the quiet negotiation unfolding.
Steve exhales sharply, a little too theatrically, and throws his hands up in mock surrender. “New plan. You talk, we hover.”
You consider it carefully, tilting your head as your eyes follow the clouds above. “Reasonable.”
Jonathan nods, clearly satisfied. “That was already happening.”
Steve groans, dragging a hand down his face in exaggerated frustration, but there’s no real anger in it.
You hop down from the hood, letting your feet touch the sun-warmed asphalt. “You don’t have to worry so loudly,” you say to Steve. “We hear you anyway.”
Steve squeezes your hand, a quiet acknowledgment, and you see the tension in his chest ease fractionally. “Yeah. I know.”
⤷ tags: steve harrington x jonathan byers x reader, threesome, handjobs, blowjobs, oral f and m receiving, photography, 1k words
⤷ prompt: "Oooh you wanna write about reader giving jonathan and steve a double handjob sooo bad you wanna write about it sooo bad… 😝"
⤷ author's note: you know what they say, you haven't lived until you gave stonathan simultaneous handjobs (i said that)
“on your knees.”
you complied, swallowing laboriously. you could feel the cold floor digging into the joint of your knee in the most delicious manner. your clit palpitated in arousal and slickness gathered in your underwear.
glancing up, you felt a crimson colour flush across your face. they looked so smug, jonathan and steve, two pairs of brown eyes washing up and down your bare skin almost hungrily.
you could feel your hair cascading around your face, and your skin felt extraordinarily sensitive against any touch. steve unzipped his jeans, and jonathan followed suit. they were so big you could’ve almost cried from the imaginary feeling of them filling you up at once, splitting you into half like a fuckin’ pistachio.
your hands reached up to grab them, and you gently stroked the length. steve let out a low, guttural groan while jonathan whimpered. moving your hand down, you let your thumbs press against the slit at their tips, flicking off pre-cum. they moaned, synchronized, and you could’ve came from the sound alone.
“s-smile,” jonathan whispered, stuttering. “smile for the camera, baby,”
you looked up to meet the flash of a camera. somehow knowing jonathan would be in the hawkins high photography studio, printing and hanging your disheveled state on the walls had you shivering- the thrill of your unravelling being exposed to the world.
meeting his gaze, you planted delicate kisses on the underside of his shaft, thumb rubbing careful circles over his tip while he grabbed your hair and tugged. you let out a sinful moan.
“hey, what about me?” steve whined petulantly.
you rolled your eyes before turning to him, hand still stroking up and down jonathan’s length.
“so fuckin’ greedy, harrington,” you breathed, before suddenly moving with a newfound ferocity. both men wailed, hips grinding up and down against your fingers. without warning, you took steve’s entire length into your mouth before gagging, once, twice, until tears came to your eyes and steve let out a broken moan.
you withdrew with an obscene “pop”, the sound making the three of you sigh in sync. a trail of spit connected your bright red lips to steve. you licked your lips, the taste of pre-cum smacking onto your tastebuds before you slipped your mouth onto jonathan’s tip, tongue lapping deliberately slowly at his slit until he arched into you, entire body shaking in pleasure.
with your continuous stroking, it wasn’t long before jonathan came. you quickly stuffed him into your mouth, swallowing every drop of his viscousness and pleasure. he ran fingers through his messy hair before flopping onto the bed in fatigue.
“you were always easy, byers.” steve snarked, but not before he fell into a stream of groans when your teeth grazed the top of his shaft. his high came sudden and hard. he convulsed against you before releasing into your throat. the delectable taste of steve and jonathan mixed- it was high heaven.
“fuck,” you murmured, drops of white coating the corners of your mouth.
it was barely a second before steve picked you up by the hips with a sudden fierceness, setting you on the bed and ripping your panties off. he grabbed the inside of your thighs and shoved until your wetness was written out for both of them to admire.
“they were new, steve!” you whined, but your eyes told a different story- all teary and glazed over with desire.
“i’ll get you as much lingerie as you want, baby,” steve said. “let me thank you for that fucking amazing blowjob.” he stroked your hair, his face lowering down to your cunt. you could feel his hot breath against you, and you shuddered.
click. another camera shutter. you could picture it already- jonathan bringing a photo to you, all blushing and shy. “look at it,” he would say, his dimple poking out before turning away. you, all spread out and turned on, face flushed with arousal, steve gazing seductively into your hole.
without warning, steve gave a harsh lick from the depths of your cunt to the top of your clit and you squealed, the sound muffled by the sudden, passionate kiss jonathan had engulfed you in. you could feel the crevices of his lips puzzling into yours, but not without steve’s meticulous licking at your clit, or the abruptness of his three fingers stuffing you full. your hips rolled up and down, desperate for more friction.
steve pulled his fingers out of you, other hand still rubbing tight circles at your clit. he sucked his index and groaned at your taste, before stuffing his middle finger into jonathan’s mouth, and his ring finger into yours. “suck,” he said, the words echoing around the walls.
“fuck,” jonathan breathed heavily. “you taste so good, doll.”
you shivered as jonathan leaned down again, painting a trail of kisses down your neck and onto your breasts. steve worked diligently, his hands never faltering as your walls stretched against him, his fingers hitting every sensitive spot.
when jonathan wrapped your nipple into his swollen lips, giving the tiniest bite, a loud moan escaped you, suddenly shuddering as your high hit you. steve worked you through it, his tongue pushing harsh flicks against your clit.
as your breathing slowed, they lay down next to you, steve on one side, jonathan on the other.
“she’s so pretty when she’s fucked out, steve,” jonathan remarked, causing you to whine.
“we should do this more,” steve sighed, glancing wistfully at the both of you, and you two murmured in agreement.
there you lay, sunset flooding inside the window through the tainted glass of the harrington house, painting everything an orangish-pink. it wouldn’t be long before steve suddenly looked at you with a renewed vigor, jonathan too, as they found a sudden urge for round two.
It's something trivial- Jonathan isn't even sure why he knows this- but he does. It's evident in the way Steve stiffens whenever there is a crash or bang, how if they're out doing something with the kids and they hear a hunter off in the distance, he will go on alert, how he tries to avoid things where there are going to be loud sounds.
Robin isn't a fan either, she is jumpy, but in some ways she isn't as bad as he is. It's only after Jonathan brings it up one night when he and Robin are digging through their collection of records at the WSOK that she looks at him with a raised eyebrow and says, "probably because of the mall. And the Russians, duh." like that made all the sense in the world.
He didn't bother to ask why, besides he never got a chance to after that conversation- the end of the world happened.
That happened almost a year ago now, and they're in the heat of the summer and for once truly living like there is a tomorrow. The kids are being kids, Nancy and Robin are lying in the grass talking, and Jonathan has just come back from grabbing the cooler that was in the back of Steve's new truck.
It's the Fourth of July, they're all up a hill waiting for fireworks, and Steve looks like he's going to shit himself. And then Jonathan remembers this trivial fact about his friend. He put the cooler down, before patting Will on the back to get his attention, "there's soda and pops in there- do not drink our stuff. Got it?" Will raised his hands with a cheeky smile, something Jonathan wished he could etch to his frontal lobe, "I can't promise anything," he teased, earning another playful swat from the older of the two before he watched Will walk over to his friends telling them they had drinks while they waited.
Jonathan took it as his opportunity to stalk out the fearless leader of the group.
Steve was sitting on the edge of the hill, picking blades of grass and discarding them in a sort of daze, trying not to let his clear discomfort swallow him alive, "Hey, you ok?" Steve looked up at Jonathan, his big doe eyes somehow bigger in the night sky. Everyone was wearing shorts and some form of a cut-off crop, tank top, or t-shirt, and Steve was no exception to this. He was wearing a pair of thigh-high jean shorts and an old Hawkins' Swim team shirt he'd cut off into a crop (fucking HELL why did he look so good-) and his long white socks and beat up Nikes. He looked bewildered that Jonathan had asked him that at all, but nodded anyway, "yeah, yeah, I'm- yeah, I'm good. I'm great. I'm- why's that?"
Oh that sold it for sure.
Jonathan shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know, man. You look uncomfortable." Steve mouthed a little oh but didn't combat it or confirm it, just continued to stare. Jonathan looked over at the kids; Will was on Lucas' back, Jane and Dustin were jumping up and down, hollering something as Mike and Max laughed in amusement, Erica looks both impressed and impish, but Jonathan does not want to know why. They looked like kids. How it should be. Robin and Nancy were still locked into their conversation and not at all bothered by the sound. Jonathan used it to his advantage, "Is it the fireworks?" he asked, and Steve looked up at him in some cross of horror and relief, "what if I said it is?" he asked, his own voice sounding unsure.
Jonathan sighed, shrugged, and threw himself down to sit beside Steve. The grass prickled at his bare legs. He didn't often wear shorts, but tonight he did, they were baggier than typical shorts and a little longer- a pair of jeans that had ripped enough that he just cut them off above the knee- and for the love of the game, he paired it with his bowie shirt. "I'd say that's the least crazy thing I've heard." he said as nonchalantly as he could, getting a raised eyebrow from the former king of Hawkins High. "What? All I'm saying is I've heard stranger things," he defended as Steve chuckled.
Hearing Steve laugh, even if it was small, felt like a win, so he prodded some more, "Besides... I think I get it. I mean. We all had to deal with the big ugly monster thing a couple of summers ago," Steve looked down at his scarred knees, "then why am I the only one being a wuss?" he muttered, his tone sharp and directed at himself, "because you weren't just dealing with the monster thing- I mean, you'd gotten drugged and tortured right?" Steve shrugged, picking the grass again, "you got thrown into a table."
There wasn't a day that went by that Jonathan's fucked up back didn't remember that. "I'm not talking about me, Steve. I'm talking about what you went through." Steve sighed, before looking over at Jonathan, "Sometimes I still think about it- worry they're going to come for me..." Jonathan opened his mouth to respond as the first firework of the night shot up and blew up in the sky.
Steve froze, looking up at the sky, almost like he expected the firework to fall on top of them and burn them. The kids stopped goofing around and cheered, and Nancy and Robin sat up to watch, but Jonathan noticed how Nancy had offered Robin her cardigan, and how the other girl had used it to muffle the sound out.
Jonathan didn't have anything other than the shirt on his back, and he highly doubted that it could muffle much. instead, he stood up and walked to sit cross-legged behind Steve, before pulling the slightly older boy backwards until he had Steve's head on his lap, "What-" Steve sputtered before Jonathan looked down at him, "Just trust me, ok?" Steve nodded, not questioning him in the slightest as he relaxed into Jonathan's hold. The amateur photographer watched as another firework shot up in the sky, and before it could explode, he put his hands over Steve's ears, muffling out the sound.
It was a vibrant yellow that turned into a weeping willow, followed by several small blue and red ones, exploding like stars around it. They were gorgeous. Loud? Hell yeah. Reminders of the pain and terror of fighting off something? Also hell yeah. But beautiful?
Hell yeah.
It wasn't lost on him, the irony of how well that fit the description of other things- other people- and how no matter what label you put on them, he'd still say hell yeah.
Another exploded in the air; this time, it was green and orange, and he heard one of the boys say something about it being school colors. Steve was relaxed in his lap, his hands crossed over his stomach and his knees up, gently knocking into each other in that fidgety way that Steve was, unable to be still for long. Jonathan looked down at him, catching his eye as he looked up at him, "Better?" he asked, hoping his mouth was visible, and by how Steve was staring at his lips, he assumed it was, "Yeah. Thanks." He responded with a lopsided grin.
Jonathan wanted to punch air, finding Steve's smile to make him feel violent for some reason he could no explain.
Instead, he smiled back, giving a nod, before looking up at the sky as it became a vibrant red and yellow, wondering idly, if there would be any other time like this that he'd be able to enjoy the weight of Steve's head on his lap, and the tickle of Steve's long beautiful hair on his arms.
okay not gonna lie? I’m dying to see what smut you’re cooking up for this Stonathan x gem!reader poly fic…
#misha’s WIP game
oh, you want smut?
perfect. then i’ll give you filth.
alright, kicking off the WIP game (misha’s version) with some smutty unpublished work here from “at the château, we’ll be alright.”
AT THE CHÂTEAU, WE’LL BE ALRIGHT
by misha 🪽
Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x fem!reader
Steve’s eyes never left Jonathan’s as he wet his palm, his spit glistening on his large hand. He stroked his dick with his, lathering it. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, a hint of that charming smile gracing Jonathan’s gaze. Then, Steve looked back down at you. He leaned over you, ready to be inside of you…
The pretty noises that you made as Steve entered you were heavenly. Broken, choked and relieved, all at once. Steve mirrored them with pretty, pleasured sounds of his own. He slowly fucked into you, leaning down to suck at and groan into your neck. He couldn’t be close enough to you, and frankly you couldn’t either. The two of you were like missing puzzle pieces, finding one another after a long search and clicking together with urgency to finish the picture.
It had Jonathan mesmerized as he watched the two of you fucking. It was somehow filthy yet beautiful, the way that Steve hiked farther up into you and how you wrapped your legs around him. It felt like watching a young gladiator make love to a divine messenger of the gods.
“Go slower…” Jonathan said in a low voice, demanding.
Steve’s thrusts slowed, making you whine.
“Make her scream, Steve,” Jonathan added, stroking his twitching cock underneath his pants. Steve hitched into you, hard, making you yelp. Jonathan grinned, imagining himself beneath Steve. He chose to live vicariously through you, basking in it.
“Give her a reason to fucking scream for more,” Jonathan growled.
Give me a reason to scream out loud, he means.
Steve groaned loudly into your open mouth, and Jonathan tells him to go faster. He does, pounding into you and gasping for air as he clung to you.
The keening cries falling from your lips were sinful.
“Tell her how tight she is,” Jonathan said, quickening his own pace inside of his slacks.
“You’re so fucking tight, babygirl,” Steve panted against you. “So. Fucking. Tight. Fuck.”
Sweat poured from his brow onto your forehead, his eyes boring into yours as he fucked you senseless. You were the most beautiful mess below him, all whimpering and darling and dreamlike. It drove Steve mad, which only heightened Jonathan’s nearing climax.
“Steve,” you whined. “Can f-feel you…in my—r-ribcage, god—”
Your words, and the sight of you falling apart, made Jonathan and Steve both see angels and devils and god. It was the holiest thing, despite everything being straight from the underworld. You were all damned to hell for this, no doubt.
And none of you could have cared fucking less.
“Like me there, baby?” Steve rasped, his thrusts picking up speed and cock ready to explode into you. “Like me all up inside’a you?”
“—g-gonna,” you stuttered. “Gonna c-c—”
“Me too —” Steve wheezed.
“NO.”
The abrupt command, though not yelled, made you and Steve both turn to look at Jonathan in blissfully fucked out horror. What?
“Not unless you plan on cumming twice.”
If you could have snapped a picture of Jonathan in this moment, you would have tucked it away to keep forever and always. He looked so driven with lust and love, dark eyes ignited with hunger and desire. There was a devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, all cheshire-like as he discovered newfound adoration for this little game.
i know that everyone is so in love with season 5 stonathan but just imagine season 1/2 stonathan
like them reconnecting; steve reaching out to jonathan cuz he wants to right his past wrongs or he just sees jonathan struggling and tries to help
like the angst guys just imagine the angst. jonathan taking ages to feel comfortable around steve because he has a hard time trusting people, steve knowing this but trying his hardest anyway??? and then the denial of feelings that comes with this??? guys do you understand how peak this is?
anyways guys if yall know any fics like this, feel free to reblog or comment them cuz god i cant get enough
