requests are tentitively open, but i make no guaruntees to write every request. feel free to send me your thoughts and headcanons though, i'd love to hear them!
* the compendium
* the recommendations
please note:
i do not give my permission for any of my works to be copied, altered, or reposted on tumblr or any other platforms. my work is not to be submitted through any ai programs.
this blog is strictly for an 18+ audience. minors; please do not interact.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
you and Steve finally finish courting. beyond the sea au. [9k]
cw: reader is a mermaid shapeshifter! and a virgin, is very inexperienced, praise, guidance, mild talking you through it, soft sex, heat cycle, vanilla, language barrier, mature content for 18+ readersÂ
âđźâ.ŕłŕż:â
To be fair to Dariyay, she told you this was going to happen. If you stay out of your natural form for long enough and spend that time around a suitable mate, your body will go into heat. Mermaids change for a reason. The heat was to be expected.Â
You werenât expecting it to feel as it sounds. Itâs a warmth from your stomach, spreading everywhere that Steve touches while youâre sitting in his lap. His hands on your hips are burning you, and Steve looks unlike himself. His head thrown back, pretty moles dotting his face to be kissed, as though heâs become as uncomfortably hot as you have.Â
You slide as close to his chest as you can, nosing at his throat, thinking. âDariyay and Robin, not stay,â you say. Robinâs taken to riding to Steveâs house on her bike so that she can take it to Nancyâs after work. Sheâll need a ride.
âYeah. Yeah, I think so, honey,â Steve murmurs, sounding distinctly distracted.Â
âCan ask?â
âMm-hm. Are you okay, though?â Steve peers at you through a slit of his eyelids. Pink blush climbs his neck. âCan you head upstairs by yourself while I ask? Just, you⌠youâre kinda looking at me like youâre about to eat me.âÂ
You feel like youâll die if you arenât near him, but you donât want Dariyay to see you like this. Not having a heat before doesnât mean you arenât aware of what they are, and what they do. You donât want your sister to see you this tightly and obviously wound: the sex-talk she gave you was bad enough.
You shuffle against his hips. He hisses, and he laughs. âHoney, enough. Two minutes, let me make sure Dariyayâs gonna be alright with Robin.âÂ
âItâ it is hotââ
âI know, I can feel it. Feel you,â he says quietly.
âPlease, justâ upstairs with me, now, andâ Robin and Dariyay go.â
âI gotta tell Robin first, sheâs gonna be pissed that Iâm not giving her a rideââ
âDariyay can drive her.â
Steve tilts his head to the side. âShit, yeah. She can take her. Youâre a smart girl, you know?â
Your hips rock more insistently at the praise, even if heâs teasing. âNow, fast, kiss me and kiss more.âÂ
Steve holds you tight by the hips to ease you back. âWeâll get caught,â he says with a big laugh. âThis heat, I actually have some questionsââ
âWhat question?â you ask, allowing the space he desires while the heat in your stomach melts like lava, slow and blistering.Â
âWell, youâre fucking boiling in your skin, babe, so I guess Iâm wondering if itâs hurting?â
You press your hand to your tummy. âSmall hurt. Lots want, lots sensitive?â
âHuh.â Heâs so pink youâd think he was the one cooking in his skin.
You take his hand on your hip and begin dragging it over your tummy, but you donât get far, interrupted by a quiet creak of the door.
âSister?â Dariyay asks.
You both flinch. Dariyay is standing in the kitchen doorway with her empty plate, and sheâs frowning, but itâs friendly for her. If she were mad, sheâd be scowling.Â
âOh,â she says, hesitating when she notices your position atop him, âsorry.â Then, in Mer, âI thought I heard my name. Are you okay?âÂ
âI think itâs the heat,â you say. âIt feels awful.â
She bites her lip. âOh, okay. Do youâ will you be okay, with him? You donât have to choose a courting partner now if youâre not sure.â
Steve has a great talent for turning hot and heavy into gentle, steady. He shifts you downward and holds you close like youâre sick, not horny. Itâs funny as it is assuring.Â
âI love him. Heâs not the awful part,â you say.Â
Dariyay shoves her plates onto the nearest countertop. âThen itâll be fun. Just be careful, okay?âÂ
âHe wouldnât hurt me,â you say.Â
She offers a real smile. âThatâs so gross. I will go, then, and play at being a human at the ray-dee-oh. Maybe I can get Eddie to come and be my entertainment.âÂ
âHe can be your courting partner.â
âI think he is destined to be my best friend,â she says, which is not a rejection. She says it like it could be a joke, or equally like Eddie might end up her husband. Youâre wondering how okay with that Eddieâd be as the rattle of a bike being shoved against the front of the house echoes from the foyer.Â
âThatâs Robin,â Steve says.Â
You let your embarrassment overtake the heat for a little while, forehead to Steveâs chest, listening to Dariyay scamper down the hall. She and Robin have a stilted conversation that ends with both girls laughing, and Robin shouting, âHappy for you, dingus!â down the hall.
âWhat say?â you ask his chest.Â
Steve tips your head back by the nape.
Your eyes go owlish. Youâre unbelievably warmâSteve feels cold in contrast when he slips his arms under your thighs to lift you, but itâs not want or need you feel as he carries you upstairs, itâs adoring. He carries you without complaint, doesnât huff about how heavy you are, nor the mess you leave in the kitchen. He may love to bitch but Steveâs never complained about looking after you, and doesnât sound anything but eager as he elbows open the bedroom door, laying you out on the bottom of the bed. Heâs laughing to himself. Youâre inclined to feel it.Â
âKiss?â you ask. âPlease. Please? Please.â
Steve takes too long to lean down, but when he does the kiss is slow, his tongue working into your mouth while his hand curls behind your neck, leaning his weight into you carefully.Â
âKiss,â you insist.Â
âThis is kissing.â
You donât know the human word for what you want, but thereâs a thrumming in your chest and you know where you need his hands, his entire body. You wriggle up the bed with his shirt screwed in your gasp, forcing him to climb and follow. The kiss you take then is searching, your nose pushing against his nose until he returns the kiss.Â
Heâs too gentle.Â
âKiss,â you murmur into his mouth.Â
âBaby.â
âPlease, kiss me.âÂ
Steve frames your face in his paw of a hand, his eyes dark, his lashes kissing in their corners as he squints. âYou remember what ow means?â he asks, which is patronising. You pinch him. He laughs. âYeah, ow. I hurt you, you tell me no. Is that okay? Can you do that for me?â
âYes,â you say under your breath, so hot now that itâs uncomfortable. The only place even mildly cool is the apex of your thighs, your panties moving slick against the crease of your cunt as you search for traction. âPlease. Kiss me.â
You take his hand where itâs resting at your hip and pull it to your tummy, wanting to force him lower and scared to at the same time.Â
Steve looks between your bodies. His thumb draws a circle into your navel, flicking your shirt over your belly button to expose the heaving plane of skin there. Itâs not low enough.
âTouch you?â he says, so quietly itâs almost a whisper.Â
âPlease.â
âYeah?â He rests his hand over the bump of your cunt. âHere?â
You squirm.Â
Steve laughs nicely, shaking his head, and fits another kiss against your mouth, his hand drifting up to tease the hot skin of your stomach, a frustrating diversion.Â
Youâre mildly annoyed and overly excited, your eyes squeezing closed as Steve kisses you so fiercely you canât breathe. It takes long seconds, maybe a whole minute of kissing before youâre wondering how much air a human boy can go without, another minute to get him panting over your mouth. You make a noise into his kissing, a pleading, beggy sigh, your hips rolling up to find him hard above you.Â
Thereâve been many mornings where youâve woken to find him already hard behind you without so much as a kiss, but more recently youâve started teasing it out of him, just to hear the hitch in his breath when you touch him, all pained longing.Â
You feel cruel, now. This is the pained longing.Â
You scrabble for his hand and guide it down again. âPlease,â you whisper, practically choked with wanting, âneed you, I need touch.â
âSorry,â he whispers back, resting the tip of his nose on your cheek, like heâs collecting himself, ââm I making it worse? Is it still hurting?âÂ
âNo, feels like⌠like it can hurt later, not now.â
âLike it could hurt, if you donâtâ if we donât fix it?â he asks.Â
âMm,â you hum.Â
âWell, we canât have that,â he says, the hint of his smile on your cheek as he pulls up.Â
His eyes are blown, cheeks full of red and the beginnings of dampness in the hair by his ears. Itâs getting warmer in here, but you donât want to ask him to open the window or turn on the fan. You can't picture the absence of him.Â
âYou know what this is?â he asks.
âMm?â
âThis, baby,â he says, his hand turning, fingers laying over the softness of your cunt. âYou know what this is, yeah?â
You know what you have, if thatâs what heâs worried about, but youâre thinking heâs asking about sex, instead. âDariyay tell me,â you say, âtold me. The heat, and theâ the fit?âÂ
âYeah. How we go together? She explained it to you?â
âYes. Know it.â You knew of sex before, but Dariyay had given you specifics, because sheâd seen the way you looked at Steve. Coupling is not much more complicated than youâd imagined.
âAnd thatâs what you want?â he asks, tilting your head to the side with the flat of his palm, before dragging his pinky finger along your cheek.Â
âYeah, thatâs what I want,â you say, softly and quietly, happy to be touched however he wants to do it.Â
âYeah? We can go slow.â That pinky finger drags down your neck, where he lays his hand at the base of your throat so gently itâs a wonder you can feel his touch at all. âI donât want to hurt you.â
âDo you hurt me?â you ask him.Â
âNo, never.âÂ
You want him to realise that this is you knowing everything you want, despite the heat, the tug inside you begging to be taken. You wanted all of him before your insides began to melt. âYou donât hurt me,â you say.Â
He turns his head to the side, gathering your cheek again in his big hand to hold you. âYou remember what love is?â he asks.Â
âInside of love. Me and you.â
âYeah, me and you. So this is something I need your help with.â
You settle back into soft sheets. Heâs so pretty. You arenât sure what to do now beyond let him have you. âNot know how to help.â
âJust talk to me, baby. Thatâs all I need. Can you do that?âÂ
âYeah, I can talk you.âÂ
He smiles at you strangely. Strange for Steve, so somber and measured. âI love your voice. Love your voice.â He kisses your cheek, your jaw, and your throat. âHere, your voice. It makes everything you say⌠Itâs beautiful.âÂ
You like this game. Exactly how it went when he kissed you that first time, the trail of kisses and praises down your wrist to your shoulder. He kisses you now, at the base of your throat and your chest despite the clothes, over your heart, his hair already a brown mess from your eagerness. You stroke it out of his eyes.Â
âTalk to me,â he says gently.Â
âLove your voice.â
âYeah?â
âWarm, and⌠smooth.â You rub his back, demonstrating in the same way he had when he introduced the word. âIn mornings, voice isâ is not smooth. Like most.âÂ
Steveâs hands are shaking.Â
You catch them, one on your tummy, one by your heart, and you hold them tightly. Can practically feel both your pulses beating in the press of your palms. âYou are okay?â you ask him.Â
Steve breathes out suddenly. âNo. I mean, yes. I meanââ He laughs. âI just want you and Iâm scared Iâm gonnaâ Iâm scared you wonât know what you need, that Iâm gonna hurt you, and I want you. Fuck, I want you.âÂ
You laugh. âI am not scared,â you say.Â
âNo?â he asks.Â
âNo. So youâ you kiss me, now? Please. And me and you, not scared. Not scary.â You squeeze his hands. âSorry I not know how say.âÂ
âYouâre sorry? Donât be sorry, are you kidding? Youâre amazing. Youâre so muchâ youâre more than Iââ Steve giggles and tips down to rest his head on your chest. He squeezes your hands back, âIâm sorry Iâm such a loser, I used to be so fucking cool and I knew how to do this, but you are really important to me, and Iâm fucking so nervous.â
âNervous word?â
âLike little scared.âÂ
âMe?â you ask, lifting your chin, shoving at him until heâll look at you. âScared me?â
âScared of me,â he says.Â
You laugh. âYou are not scary, I say that. Listen me. You tell me talk, I talk, you do not listen.â
âAlright!â he says, laughing again, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss. âIâm listening now. Nobodyâs scared.â
âLittle scared,â you say softly.Â
âYeah?âÂ
âLittle.â
âDo you want me to talk you through it?âÂ
Your lips part of their own accord. âTalk through?âÂ
âDo you want me to tell you how we do it, before it happens? I donât mind, baby.â
âTell me,â you say.Â
Steve rubs your stomach slowly. âSex is easy. It should be easy.â His hand sinks lower. âItâs mostly touch, yeah? And yourââ He swallows around nothing, squares his expression, and lets his voice drop and droop into honey. âI can make you feel good with my hands, or my mouth, or I can fuck you. It doesnât have to be fast, or rough, weâll start slow. Itâs just me and you in here.â
Thatâs the togetherness. You nod surely. âI know.â
âYou do?â He licks his lips. âI figure first Iâd warm you up, you can figure out what feels good and I can learn how to do it to you.â Steve laughs like it bubbles up. âShit, Iâm so fucking hard, I think youâre killing me.â
âHard?â
Steve takes your hand and presses it to his stomach.Â
You laugh, but itâs all air, all breath as you feel down the solidness of his front. Youâre not brave enough to touch him.
He shakes himself in front of you like heâs trying to dry off. âAlright, Iâm gonna make a mess in my pants if I donât take them off, soâ soâ Iâm gonna take my shirt off.â
He begins pulling off his shirt and the damn breaksâyou get your elbow in your shirt to yank it off, lift your hips and kick out of your skirt, searching behind yourself for the catch on your stupid bra until Steveâs taking you by the wrists. âI can do it.â
âOff?â
âRight now, let me get it.â
He lifts you up toward him, his forearms either side of you as his fingers slip under the line of your bra. It brings his face into reach again, any hesitation forgotten while you kiss his jaw, your lips parting, bottom teeth scratching upward as you bite him gently.Â
âFucking thing,â he mumbles, letting the catch of your bra fall open.Â
âFucking thing?â
âYou. Youâre such a fucking thing, youâre a nuisance, youâŚâ Steve takes a very deep breath as he sits up and looks down at your naked chest, your bra having fallen into your lap. âYouâre everything.â
Steve ducks down to kiss your chest, and you startle so hard you burst out laughing. The laughter doesnât last, wobbling into weariness as he places half-moon kisses over your sternum, his hand just above it forcing you into the sheets. It wanders after that.Â
You flinch from his touch, right over your heart, then lower, and lower.Â
Steve doesnât worry, but he does rest his face on your tummy and look up at you to ask, âOkay?âÂ
âSensitive.â
âYeah, really sensitive. Feel good?âÂ
âDo again?âÂ
Steve runs his fingertips over your nipple, brushes his thumb into it roughly, smiling as you shudder. He kisses under your breast again then downward, hands swiftly following. He kisses your belly and your hip, kisses the band on your panties and rubs his nose into the fabric. You seize up, worried heâll feel the wetness there and laugh, wanting him to be faster, wanting him to strip it away from you.Â
âTouch?â you ask.Â
He kisses your stomach with the same tenacity heâd have kissed your mouth, hand skirting around all fluttery and warm. You want him to go lower, but he doesnât. He kisses and kisses and scratches at you with his teeth. He even eases the panties down to kiss along the line, anywhere but where you need him. Youâre aching. Your heart is starting to go again, that neediness you felt at the kitchen table returned triple fold right there at the apex of your thighs.Â
âGonna take these off, yeah? Give your cunt some attention,â he says quietly.Â
Cunt. Thatâs the word Dariyay had said, seceretive-like under her breath. Steve says it without shame, like itâs nothing to be ashamed of, so you donât think as you ask, âPlease, kiss?âÂ
âKiss you here?â he asks, hand on your thigh now, fingers slipping into the leg of your panties and hand coming up, forcing the fabric down.Â
You canât help giving another giddy laugh. âKiss me all place.âÂ
Steve brings your underwear down to your knees and goes silent above you.Â
You press your legs together automatically, unsure, but Steve braces his hand on the softness of your inner thigh and eases the mere millimetres apart. Your heart lurches, but you arenât as shy as youâd imagined. Maybe itâs Steveâs clear, rabid adoration, maybe itâs because heâs seen it before in simpler moments, maybe itâs the rampant tugging in your tummy and your cunt. It feels like youâve needed this for hours.Â
âJesus,â he murmurs, hitting at your thigh with the back of his hand, like a pat, worse when you shift your leg to the side to oblige him and feel the slickness thatâs wetting you spreading over your thighs, âaw, Jesus, fuck. Fuck.â
âFuck ow?â you murmur back. Or fuck now?Â
âFuck like beautiful,â he says, his thumb ghosting up the softness of your cunt. You jump, tickled, and his eyes flash to your face. When he sees your bitten lip, he brings his thumb flat to your cunt and feels at you all over again. âYouâre so wet.âÂ
âWet, I know,â you worry.Â
âNo, itâs good. Itâs pretty.âÂ
âKiss?âÂ
âCan I?âÂ
âAsk and ask and ask.â
Steve rolls your panties the rest of the way down your legs with some manoeuvring, kisses the inside of your knee, and suddenly pulls one leg over his shoulder, his face seeking into your cunt unabashedly.Â
âAh!â you say, startled by the hot, wide press of his tongue, not sure what you were expecting as youâd begged to be kissed, but surely not this. âSteve.âÂ
A nose pressed hard into the petal folds of you, his tongue against wetness, plushness, kisses up to the apex and thenâÂ
âFuck!â you say, your heel digging into his naked shoulder. âOh, no!âÂ
âOh no?â he asks, pulling away fast, wetness shining on his chin and cheek. âHurt you?âÂ
âNo stop,â you say, taking his face into your hand and yanking. Donât stop, you mean, but the words arenât clear right now.Â
âFelt good?â
âYes!â
âDonât say oh no, you scared me.â
âWhatâ hahââ You shiver, a burst of pleasure as he kitten licks your cunt, right against the sweet spot at the very top. âWhat say, honey boy?â
âYou can say Steve?â He laughs, and you sigh, wondering if the pulse of wetness from you is visible to him where heâs ducked eye-level to your cunt. âSay anything. Say you like it.â
âI like it.â
âYou like it?â he asks, brushing over your clit with his thumb.Â
You dissolve into some squirmy version of yes and discover it can feel even better than it does. Steve lays down, the entire lower half of his face to your cunt and kissing, working up to your clit to suckle until you squeal. Then he pulls away and licks at the wetness heâs spread around with his face, around your thighs and everywhere except where you need him. Itâs ten times more sense than whenever youâve touched yourself. (Not often, and never as expertly as Steve touches now, never constant, occasionally curious after heâs kissed you and disappeared to the bathroom.)Â
There is an exceptional Mer word for this sort of pleasure, and it slips from you in a whiny moan. He laughs into your cunt, kisses you again, the tip of his thumb at your opening now and feeling through wetness like heâs playing. Itâsâ itâs hotter than youâd thought. Fuck, your knee kicks in toward your chest as the pleasure gets burning andâ and cresting, like itâll hurt. You seize up and Steve pushes your leg into your tummy, murmurs, âRelax,â as the very tip of his thumb presses into you and his lips close around your clit and he sucks. Heâs barely pushed into you when youâre crying out, startled, reaching for his hair to hold as the climax heâd been working you toward tenses your tummy and has your cunt pulsing over and over, weirdly tight.Â
It goes on for ages, has you half-crying beneath him, âSteve, oh no, ohââ
âBabyââ
ââSteve, Steve.â You cover your eyes, then immediately peek at him through your fingers, panting for air as the pleasure eases but doesnât wane, not too fast.Â
He pulls away from you, his lips and chin and nose a shocking red, his thumb pulling out of your cunt with aching care. âSorry,â he says, his eyebrows yanked together in fear, âdid it hurt? I was just trying toââ
âIn again,â you say, scratching at his scalp. Youâre so in love with this stupid human you could shake him. âIs perfect. You are perfect.âÂ
His lips flatten into a smug smile. âYouâre perfect. Prettiest cunt Iâve ever seen. I knew⌠I mean, I know what you look like, but this is different.â He kisses your thigh, your tummy, then sits up and over you to bend down and kiss you on the mouth gently. âHow was that? Are you feeling better? Less hot?âÂ
âNo.â
He kisses you again. âThat was fast, so I guess it is about, you know, being ready for, you know...â
âI know?â
âMating?â he asks reluctantly.Â
âOh. Yes. Ready now, can you kiss me?âÂ
âCan I kiss you? Or do you need another word? Iâm starting to think you donât mean kiss.â
You think about it for a second, chest still heaving under his hand. âKiss me, angel,â you say.Â
Steve leans in and kisses you, tasting of you, smiling.Â
â
Steve is gonna cum in his pants like a fucking loser if he doesnât get a hand on himself.Â
He unbuttons his jeans as he kisses you and shoves his hand into his boxers, squeezing around the base of his cock in a desperate bid to stop the worst thing that could ever happen from happening.
There is no word in the English language to describe how it felt to have your cunt pulsing down on his thumb. Itâs not as though he couldâve entered you too deep like that, felt like a safe bet, and it sank into your heat without a problem. It felt like heaven. Steveâs pretty sure heâll cum the second his cock even touches your cunt, but thatâs a problem for Steve in five minutes or so.Â
That is, if you still want him to fuck you. Heâs kinda shit scared heâs gonna hurt you. He hasnât had sex with someone inexperienced in years and never with somebody so⌠oceanic.Â
You wrap your arms around his back and sigh, your face slinking down into his neck, kiss broken. Steveâs wondering if the foreplay was enough for you, if this painful heat is over, but you giggle and mumble into his chest, his ears piqued like a bloodhound at the sound.Â
âTogether,â you say. âWhat word say before? Fuck like not ow⌠fuck me.â Youâre voice is quiet and raw enough to force a bead of precum over his fingers.Â
âJesus Christ,â he says.Â
âPlease, Stevie?â
Oh my god. Steve whites out. You whine something in Mer and Steve grabs you under the arms to get your head on a pillow, you poor girl laid out in the middle of the bed this entire time. He not so expertly kicks off his jeans, and his boxers slip down his hips, his cock hard and aching as it bends up toward his stomach. Steve doesnât wanna, like, shove it into your hand, but it might be nice for you to see it. He widens the gap between your bodies just enough to show you.Â
âThis is how Iâm gonna fuck you, honey,â he says, âIâm gonna work you open with my hand, and then Iâm gonna ease into you, okay? âCos youâve never done it before, itâll be so slow, yeah? So careful. Thereâs nothing to worry about.â
âTake it now.â
âNo, you canât. You canât, listen to me.â
You pout, but Steve laughs, kissing your sweaty forehead with a smack.Â
âFuck me now and now, and slow, ready now,â you promise.Â
Steve grins at you with all the adoring he possesses, cannot express to you how much he wishes he could spread you open now and have you, but Steveâs not about to hurt you for the sake of five minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. He entices you in for a pulling kiss, the distracting kind, head turning this way and that as he licks into your mouth and runs his hand over your hip, to your cunt, to all the slickness there.Â
The first finger pushes in easy. He does it slow, waits for pain. You huff a little but kiss him the same, so Steve gives a careful pump and drives in with a second finger.Â
Thatâs when you shudder.Â
âHowâs that?â he asks, pausing.Â
âFine.â
âFine?â Steve slows the rock of his hand. âHurting?â
âGood, justââ
âJust different, huh?â He twists his hand a little to press his thumb to your clit. âYou tell me if it hurts you, honey girl,â âyou melt like sugar at the name, as saccharine as it isâ âI donât wanna hurt you. You gotta talk to me, you know?â
âNotâ not much talk, much, hahââÂ
That little hah sound has gotta be his favourite noise youâve ever made. Like a shiver through a smile, not half as sweet as your urgent moaning with a thigh clamped around his head, it reminds him of your stupid laugh whenever youâre pleased. Totally self-indulgent.Â
He doesnât try another finger for a while, isnât sure how long, just kisses you and works into you until his wrist is aching from the upward thrust. Right toward the front, where he knows youâllâÂ
âOh.â You turn into Steve, weight on your hip and torso moving into his touch to take it quicker. âAh, Steve, touch please, touch there.â
He circles his thumb against your clit.
You flinch. Cry out a little at the pleasure and press your face into his shoulder as Steve eases that third finger into your cunt. Heâs in ecstasy, his cock throbbing erratically against his stomach, head weeping and red as you whimper into his skin, his name on your tongue, your cunt dripping slick between the cleft of your ass.
âWanna cum again?â he asks. âSay? Can you take it again?âÂ
His thumb is dedicated now to your clit, rubbing in tight, wet circles as your thighs twitch, and twitch. You cum before Steve can hear your answer. Itâs honestly faster than he meant. This heat in you is like a dial set to eleven.Â
This time, youâre annoyed. Laughing and angry, you shove at his chest and Steve wishes he had a camera to get your smile for keeps. âSaid was ready! Tummy jump, now, you did.â
Steve kisses your nose. âWill you shut up? You liked it, didnât you? Youâre such a complainer.â
âNot complain! Ecstatic! Want Steve ecstatic, together, fix my ow.â
âYou said it doesnât hurt.â
âNeed you, Steve. Please.â
How many times can a girl say please before Steve cums in his hand? Apparently, heâs got one more please left before he shoots. He has to squeeze himself especially hard to make that happen. Doesnât have a chance in fucking hell to last, but (and he feels like a bitch even thinking it), itâs not like youâll know heâs cumming fast. You havenât exactly held out, here.Â
âCan you stay still?â he asks.Â
âNo.âÂ
âOkay, awesome,â he says, pinching your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to his. âYou donât let me hurt you.â
âI love you,â you say.Â
Steve feels his eyes get hot and his nose burn right at the back. âYeah?âÂ
âMost,â you confide, wrapping yourself around him.Â
Steve gets his arm behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Itâs unbelievable, he thinks, that the crook of his elbow fits your head perfectly. That the girl heâs been searching for was waiting at the bottom of the ocean. With his free hand, he reaches down to squeeze his aching cock again, and you must know enough to lift your leg over his hip and close the gap.Â
âReady?â he asks softly.Â
âYeah, ready.â
Steve strokes your cheek. âI love you,â he says, âa lot.â
Your smile is especially bemused. âI know, tell me much and lots, tell me all time, do lots tell, always inside of love with me.âÂ
âItâs true all the time,â he says with a pout.Â
âSteve!âÂ
âI know, I know, Iâm just making sure I tell you back.â
You nuzzle your nose into the side of his. âTell again,â you say quietly.Â
âI love you,â he says, taking a wonky kiss from the corner of your lips.Â
Steve lines up and presses in.Â
Youâre wet enough and relaxed enough that he could sink to the hilt, but he knows he canât, and he wonât. He lets your chests touch but keeps your hips apart and rocks into you slowly, lets the pleasure in his stomach lick up his spine and take over every bit of sense he has left. Heâs surprised it took this long to tell you he loved you plainly. It comes to the surface and lingers now, love you love you love you as you choke on a moan and hide under his jaw. Steve canât let you stay there too long, drawing you up with murmured pleading, come back, let me see you, miss your face too much when youâre hiding, like an angel, real pretty sweetheart, tries to gauge your feelings as you take it. As he gives it, really. He feels like youâre not taking anything so much as youâre just there with him, his girl. Itâs sex, messy and simple, but itâs your first time, and this is more new to you than it would be to most. All Steve wants is to make it gentle. You take it sweetly, breathing out right in his ear, your voice colouring each breath with an addictive pull. It makes it hard to last. Makes going slow the only way heâs gonna get through this.Â
âOkay?â he asks, when youâve been quiet far too long, and heâs slowed to a pause inside you.Â
âLove,â you say, aiming for a big kiss.Â
Steve matches the kiss for every thrust and feels his thigh muscles go tight as violin strings as he sinks straight past any resistance to the hilt. He should not have done that, did not mean to, youâd rocked your hips down and heâs already pulling out, murmuring, âSorry, angel, Iâm sorryââ as you whisper a fervent, âAgain, please.âÂ
He checks your face.Â
âAgain,â you say, eyebrows drawing together in pleasure.Â
So Steve sinks in and he fucks you slow, like a drag, a rut into heat and wet and plushness that makes him groan. Hits into resistance and feels how much you like it. Steve groans.Â
âSound good,â you whisper.Â
âCanât help it.â
âBeautiful.â You draw a hand over his abdomen. âWhat word?â
âHandsome?â he teases.Â
You reach down to his quads and pull at him, prompting another heavy thrust. Another. Steve takes a couple of kisses while heâs still breathing, but then heâs so close to heaven he has to stop.Â
âOkay?âÂ
âGonna cum,â he squeezes out.Â
âCum,â you say, like you know what it means, and it doesnât matter. Steve was too chicken shit to explain it, but he did ask you first, didnât he? You pick up everything quickly.Â
âCanât yet. Canât. Didnât fuck you like you wanted.â
âThis what I wanted,â you say, abandoning his hip to take his face into your hand. Youâre clammy and cool, now, not burning like you were. Your thumb rubs into his cheek slowly, like heâs made of glass. Like one of those Venus flower sponges from the ocean, thin and delicate as drops of ice. âMe and you. This is all what I wanted, okay? You fixed me.â
You smile at him with stars in your eyes as your hips shift and Steve has to pull out, cumming in his hand a second later, panting like his life depends on it as strings of cum line his fingers.Â
You stare in surprise. âOh. Not happen to me.âÂ
âItâs a boy thing,â he rasps out, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.Â
You reach between your legs to touch yourself, laughing as you do, like youâre drunk or high or something, giggly-soft as Steve tries to catch his breath.Â
You give up on whatever light exploring youâd desired and offer your arms for a real cuddle, hips flat together and sticky. âHold me?â you ask.Â
Steve wipes his hand in the sheets with a sigh and gathers you into his arms. âYeah.â
â
Did you know when a boy who loves you fucks you, it kind of feels like youâre the most beautiful girl who ever existed?Â
Steve fucked you and held you and kissed your cheeks and cuddled you to him and he never stopped asking how it felt, and if you were okay, and his hand had drifted down to your chest to touch you, to make you feel good, and all of it felt like a honeypot coil in your tummy getting tighter. âMatingâ or getting âfuckedâ by someone whoâs in love with you is better than all your best firsts. Itâs like finding a new way to swim, like feeling the sun on your skin through the depths with a hand in your hair, raking it back. Itâs like being kissed all over, all the time.Â
If merpeople developed the ability to change just to do this with one another, you totally get it.Â
Steve hugs you for a good ten minutes while you doze, tired, sated after a big meal, and then he gets up on his knees and puts his nose to your forehead without kissing you. âIâm gonna get you some water, and check that I set the alarm on the door. Do you want something to eat?â
âDo not go.â
âIâll be fast.â
âStay. Hold me more.â
So Steve lays down and holds you until you fall asleep.Â
You wake up again an indeterminable amount of time later to many different things. Thereâs a glass of water on the nightstand opposite you, a bowl of rice with cut slices of bright, fresh fish beside it. Steve is rolling deodorant onto his armpits in a pair of boxers sitting by your legs. You need to pee, a pain like a knife between your legs.Â
âHurt,â you say softly.Â
Steve turns to you, his mouth puckered in worry. âYeah, what hurts?â
âPee.â
âOh. Thatâs normal. Want me to carry you?â
âNo,â you say with a laugh. âNot broken.âÂ
âI can see that.â
You realise that heâs wiped you clean as you stand, which is oh so nice, and not at all a surprise from your kind boy, earning him a kiss behind his ear as you rush to the en-suite bathroom. You close the door but donât lock it and do your business quick.Â
Youâre delighted to find the extremely sensitive feeling and all your slickness is over. You wash your hands and face before opening the door some to peer at Steve through the gap. âStevie?â you ask softly.Â
âWhatâs up, beautiful?â
You arenât sure.Â
He scratches a hand through damp hair. âCome here,â he prompts when you fail to return, âcome on, you can sit in my lap and eat something. You didnât eat anything at breakfast.â
âYou not eat anything. I had pancake.â
âYou had a bite of pancake, thatâs not enough.â
You head back to him and sit in his lap as heâs asked you, not worried about falling considering the speed with which he pulls you close. âBest bite of pancake ever. Ever. You feed me, best pancake.â
âTheyre not as good as the pancakes you made,â he says.Â
You shake your head, tracing along his beauty marks with a pearlescent fingernail. Thinking very hard about each word before it comes out, taking time to sew the sentence tightly, you say, âWhen you feed me pancakes from plate, your plate, it is important. Understand? Word, I think, like love. Mermaid feed you, meanâŚâÂ
âLike a kiss?â he asks. âYou kiss sometimes to share food, right?â
âSort of like kiss, like, swear you care for me.âÂ
âHey, speaking of kisses, I got to thinking while you were sleeping. How come your spit doesnât magically glue my mouth closed whenever we kiss? Isnât it like, super strong?âÂ
âWhat?â you ask.Â
âYour spit! You fixed your tummy with it, and my foot, but when we kiss we donât get stuck together.â
âOnly fix when hurt, duh.â You roll your eyes. âWhatever. Silly boy, not want talk to you.â
âRude.â
You canât fake a huff. Youâre currently too heavily imbued with happy hormones to do anything besides sit here and wish heâd tell you he loved you again.Â
He taps at your nose with the tip of his until you lift your lips, kissing you briefly, then slotting his head over your shoulder, his hand spread and waving against your back. âSo this sharing from the same plate thing, thatâs important to you?âÂ
You smile. Glad he canât see it. Heâd know youâre totally gone for him if he could. âImportant for mermaid, inside of love, yeah? Many important.â
âIs that what made you⌠you know, excited?â
âHeat not sâposed happen but is wait happen, also? Make me, when share.â
âIâm sorry.â
âNot be sorry. Not ever, please.â
âIâm not sorry about this,â he says, patting your shoulder, âjust sorry I made you uncomfortable doing something I shouldâve done before. We never shared before?â
âHas to be with want. Not like, uh, share foals and flounder.â
âYouâre confusing me.â
âHas to be⌠go of love?âÂ
âI have to do it because I love you?â
âYes. Have to do because you love me, care me, give me.â
âWell, Iâve cared about you for a really long time, and Iâve been feeding you since we met, baby.â
You shake your head, picking gently at a mole behind his shoulder blade. Not to hurt him, only to feel it. âPlate. Feed me your plate.â
Steve leans into you with a loving sigh, smelling your neck. âI think I understand. Itâs symbolic, like a tradition.âÂ
âTradition?âÂ
âA tradition is something you do that has rules. You do it because itâs important, and because people have done it before you? Or, like, humans get married. You remember that from Watership Down? They say promises and exchange rings because itâs important to them. I understand it now.â His voice warms your skin. âYou couldâve told me. I wouldâve shared with you off of the same fork months ago.âÂ
âMonths!â Youâre scandalised. You and Steve have not known each other for more than four months, youâd say.Â
Four months, and he is already so special to you. Just four months.Â
You figure youâll explain the intention of the courting process some other time and encourage his head back instead, meeting his brown eyes, their almond shape gone soft from his long eyelashes. There are too many places on his face youâve failed to kiss. You know youâve never kissed above his eyebrows before, leaning up to rectify the issue quickly. âAll Steve need kiss,â you say decidedly.Â
He offers his hand.Â
You kiss every finger, knuckle to tip, then his palm.Â
He holds your face in it when youâre done, giving your chin a little wobble.Â
âHow are you feeling?â he asks.Â
âOkay.â
âAnd you slept okay? Not tired?â
âSlept nice. Want you sleep and me next time.â
âSleep with you, next time.â
âI know,â you say quietly. âCan tell something?â
âYou can tell me anything. Not kidding.âÂ
You hold your hands together against his tummy. âFeel⌠sad, now and before and before, when I can not⌠give word, right word. Feel like me and Steve, very important, and can not give words important.âÂ
Steve draws along your face with a single fingertip. âNot give words important,â he repeats.Â
âAll wrong word. I am sorry.â
âYou donât ever have to be sorry. Not for anything, and not for how you tell me what you need.âÂ
âYou haveâŚâ Steve deserves to hear how loved he is in perfect sentences, but youâre just not there. You understand almost every single word he offers up now, but it is so hard to recollect what joiner word to say and what order to say them in when you arenât hearing them. âI learn more word, swear.â
âAre you kidding?â he says, shifting your legs over his lap to hold the small of your back. âI donât know a single word in Mer that isnât your name and youâre apologising to me? Do you hear that? You learned how to speak a new language so you could talk to me. You stay with me, you want to be here, and you think you need to be sorry about how you talk?â He tilts his head to better meet your gaze, ducking a touch, forcing your full attention. âYou told me you loved me, earlier. You think thatâs not good enough? Thatâs fucking everything. I donât need you to say the right words, I only want you to tell me how you feel. As long as I know what you need, and you can complain, weâre fine. We donât need anything else.â
Really? you want to say. Irony is you canât think of the word. âYou are okay?â
âYes, beautiful, I promise you. I promise. Yes and yes and yes, youâre perfect.â
âPerfect most beautiful.â
âMost,â he says, raising his eyebrows at you.Â
It gets tiring, always learning. Some days Dariyay or Dustin try to teach you knew words and you cannot be bothered to ingest them, but it was worth it, in the end, to let Steve teach you. There are times like now where youâre trying hard to make sense and forgetting words you knew, and messing up the simple stuff in an attempt to use the more complicated.Â
You wonder why it bothers you. Steve knows every part of you, now. This is it. He has everything, and he wants you just the same.Â
âNeed you,â you mumble, pressing your lips to his muscled shoulder. He is made up of such amazing shapes.
âHave me,â he says, rubbing a path down your spine, up again, slow as honey. âI promise, youâre everything I need like this.â
You glance at him sideways. Heâs nosing down your arm, his eyes fluttered closed as though heâs forgotten where he is.Â
âYou want share rice me?â you ask.
He smiles into your arm. âYes. Itâs important, right? From now on, me and you, we eat from the same plate. Good?â
He could lay you out right now and have you, thatâs how good it is.Â
You wonder if heâd like that.Â
â
Itâs a few hours later when Steve gets you into the bath.Â
All fucking remained gentle, yet you look like youâve been through the ringer by the time youâre done. Steve wanted to see if he could get you to cum six times, and he achieved his arbitrary goal all too quickly.Â
You, while pleased, have the air of a woman who needs electrolytes. Steve gives you a glass of apple juice and you sip it in the tub, submerged to the waist in bubbles and blinking beautifully slow blinks.
Whatever it was that was making you want to be fucked so badly has certainly dissipated. Youâd gone sore and achy in the middle of a second tryst so Steve had pulled out, kissing at the hurt he caused until you cried, real, big-drop tears that fourth time, and then the fifth. Steve sniffled his way through that fifth one with you, murmuring love into your skin, enchanted by the sight of you with your hands running over yourself.Â
The sixth was mostly accidental. Lazy, lazy kisses turned to a hickey which youâve apparently never had, turned to you hot against his leg, your hips rolling. He didnât have to touch you much to draw out a last climax, but the sound you made was borderline pained, so he didnât try again.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, kneeling beside the bath with his hand braces at your hairline, stroking.Â
âYes.â
âCan you use a couple more words?â
âFeel full.â
Steve laughs, stroking down your cheek with the back of his hand. âSated?âÂ
âWhat mean?â
âMeans you feel satisfied, like, everything is fixed. Like full, but without the feeling of, likeâŚâ Steve pets your cheek, then lets his hand fall further down. âPressure.âÂ
âPressure?âÂ
Steve squeezes your shoulder. âLike this?â
âSqueeze me.â
âYeah, Iâm applying pressure.â
âOh.â
You take another mouthful of apple juice, but your question is loaded up before youâre done, and he can hear you swallowing as you ask, âAre you okay, angel? Did I hurt you?â
âDid you hurt me? Never, why would you think that?â
âYou ask me lots times. Think if sex maybe hurt,â you say.Â
âIt doesnât usually hurt. Only sometimes, and most of the time by accident.â
âOh.â
âWant me to wash your hair now?â he asks.Â
âYes, please. Thank you. Best boyfriend.â
Youâre not kidding, is the worst part. You close your eyes and offer your glass to him blindly with a content smile on your face, waiting for him to pour water over you and wet your hair.Â
Heâs pretty sure youâre the first girlfriend heâs ever had to think this highly of him. He wants to earn it.
Steve taps your chin and kisses the slight bruise of a hickey, gentle, lest he hurt you twice. âYou are really perfect,â he says.Â
âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome.âÂ
He washes your hair carefully but quickly, wanting to get you out of the bath fast. He showered after your first fuck but needs to wash off again now, so he wraps you in a towel once youâre done and tells you to climb into bed, that heâll sort everything out for you when heâs done.Â
He showers and dries off, returning to the bedroom with a towel around his waist and a smile. Youâre cross-legged on the bed with one of your encyclopedias in the dip of your legs, the towel falling down your chest some, your written list of phonetics poking out behind the cover, but you arenât studying. Youâre tracing pictures with your finger, eyebrows lightly pinched.Â
âWet hair,â you say.Â
âYeah,â he says.
âFix.â
ââBout to.â
âAbout,â you correct.Â
Steve chuckles to himself. âYeah.âÂ
âAbout means⌠same, means close, means like new word.â
âKind of. Itâs a hard word to explain.âÂ
âAbout to go to bed,â you say. âHave in Mer, kind of.â
âYou do?â
âNot so different.â
Steve dries your hair and does his best to fix it. Dariyay fixed it for you this morning and he wouldnât have gotten it wet, only the sex seemed to have knocked it out of place and frizzed it to high heaven. He gives it his best shot and you trace shapes into his stomach where it stays near your hand. Steve wonât ask to fuck again, but your touch and the fresh memory of what it felt like to do that to you has his cock stirring. He wills it down. Wonders if heâs a sex pest now, or if youâre just that beautiful.Â
Itâs funny. Youâve been pretty this whole time, but Steve canât believe how much worse itâs gotten over time. He didnât think you could get any prettier.Â
âEcstatic,â you murmur.Â
He tips your head back. âYou are in love with me.â
âYes?â
âNo, like. Youâre a loser. Youâre gone for me.â
âWhat is loser, gone, shush. Say mean thing, think I not know, I know.â You scowl at him. âYou are loser.â
He wrinkle his nose. âAm not.â
âYes. Much loser.â
âWanna get dressed? I have the softest pajamas ever with your name written all over them.â
âName all over?â
âItâs a saying. Like⌠if I say Iâm jumping for joy, Iâm not really jumping, but I could be.â
âJoy happy?â
âYeah.â
âWe jump for joy, mermaid. Swim up to surface, jump, swim down. Fun.â
âIt sounds awesome.â
âMy name written all over, not real, but mine, mine a lot, so. Saying.â
âYeah, exactly.â
âMore saying human? Mer not have much saying. Mer moreââ You pause. âYes and yes.â
Steve takes the time to sort it through. âYou guys say what you mean. Humans are funny. We have lots of sayings. We have one that goes, âhe drinks like a fishâ, which means he likes a lot of beer.â
âFish not drink beer?â you say, laughing.Â
âNo, they donât. Itâs stupid, itâs because people think fish drink a ton of water. Hey, should we go swimming later?â he asks, digging through the top dresser drawer until he finds the sweet blue pajamas he has hiding away. Theyâre for your hard days, of which you donât have many, but the softness never fails to draw your awe. He thinks theyâll be nice for the occasion, extra comfort after a big first experience. âItâs been a while.â
âNot swim. Dariyay tell, after heat, water and me make tail.â
Steve snorts at the joke, even as he falters. âYouâll get your tail back, huh?â
âHave⌠what call? Foal.â
âBaby. Youâd have a baby.â
âRight. Oh, forgot. Two means.â
His stomach jolts uncomfortably at the idea of you changing back. âYeah, itâs one of those words⌠Shit, youâll really get your tail again? I donât want you to leave, yet. Dariyay said you have to go home soon, didnât she? But thereâs so much you havenât done, I wanted to take you on a real date, and on a rollercoaster, and to the movies, take you rollerblading. Thereâs so much stuff. I donât want you trapped in my pool again, but maybe I can go with you?â He canât think of a way to stay with you. âDonât go yet. Please.âÂ
You give him your own rare brand of puppy dog eyes. âNot want go, Steve. Tell you. You and me tomorrow and tomorrow, and love you, andâ not want. Miss tail, but miss you more,â you say, shrugging. âGet dressed now? I am cold.â
Steve gives you your pajamas and diverts the conversation from changing. He has the feeling that he is being very, very selfish, but he cannot bring himself to let you go.Â
The second he sits down, you get on your knees and shuffle around, pausing, shy for potentially the first time in your whole life. âCan I hold you?â you ask.
Steve lays down and you follow, interlocking on your sides like commas. You wrap your arms around him very specifically; the bottommost one looped around his matching arm, and the upper over his neck, your hand on his cheek, holding him like youâd asked.Â
âBest thing,â you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek. It is such a light touch that, for a second, he wants to squirm away. He relaxes the longer you do it, coaxed into total stillness, his eyes growing heavier and heavier. âMy boy.âÂ
Your fingers tumble down to the thin line of a scar that spans across his neck.Â
âHurting?â you murmur.Â
He closes his eyes. Lets himself melt into your chest. âNah. Not for a long time.âÂ
âđźâ.ŕłŕż:â
thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it! I would love to know what you thought, but no pressure đŠľ
I know it's been a while, but life kind of sucks rn. YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!! TIME FOR MORE RECS FOR THE PEOPLE!! Read the warnings in the original postsâ ď¸
Have fun reading!! <33
âFreaky Saturday | Steve Harrington <3 by @hexyissy [x henderson!reader] [basketball! captain Steve x cheerleading captain!reader]
âBox of Memories by @embeanwrites [x henderson!reader]
âsworn by @dearest-nell [knight!steve x princess!reader]
âShe said what? by @bemygelatinmode [dad!steve x mom!reader]
âWho's he? by ^^^ [dad!steve x mom!reader]
âHappy Birthday? by ^^^
âdetour by @voidreynolds [x byers! reader]
âFather's Day by @kandyscorner
âFAMILY LINE by @moonstoneandmoonlight [x byers!reader]
âwalking on sunshine by @levanswrites [x mom!reader]
âa sign to let go by @firelilyfox [x henderson!reader]
âit's no use, wheeler by @hearts4steve [x wheeler!reader]
âsteve when you get your wisdom teeth out by @milliesfishes
âhold me until i find the nerve by @luv-alwyz [childhood friends au]
âLeave on the light for me by @erule [x henderson!reader]
âFormer Ladies' Man by @prettybutaching [x bauman!reader]
âMY PERSON by @beeewee
âcomfort after a long day by @yeah-iveheardofbears
âsteve saves you from vecna by @gothicwhorror [ex's au]
summary: steve is sworn knight to the princess of the kingdom and sister of the king. the two share a quiet moment alone and reminisce how he came to be in her service.
warnings/inclusions: afab!reader. medieval!au. knight!steve. bit of angst.
a/n: i've been desperate to write some knight steve for a million years. reading way too much arthurian legend recently for my own good. feels like this will be a series...
âDid you ever think you would wind up in a place like this?â
It was an innocent enough question, one that roused Steve from his drifting to sharpen once again. He shouldnât have drifted at all, mind you. His job was to remain watchful, to never lose focus, even if the waters of the river glimmered like little tumbling jewels, the heat blanketing his cheeks in a gentle kiss from a kind sun, half sheathed by pillowed clouds. Late spring, a sea of flowers in a clearing of brush, the quiet of a morning outside the castle walls. A daydream made true.
He clutched his sword in its sheath, straightening, his eyes settling on you. This was not his time to waste. It did not matter how many other guards were a few shouts away. He should have been paying attention. âHow do you mean, my lady?âÂ
Even in his haze, heâd never lost sight of you. Perched on the river bank, skirts slipped scandalously high to bunch across silken thighs, your legs drifting carelessly through the water of this forgotten corner of the world. Your brother, the King, would only agree to send you out with his noble band of knights, who lingered not so far away, patrolling borders of the grove with expert care. A princess out of the castle was of high importance. His beloved sister, the Kingdoms sweet Lady. But Steve was your sworn knight. He was the shield at your back, and the only one who may linger wherever you might tread.Â
Your head tipped back slowly, lashes blinking up in a sleepy sort of manner towards him, a smile playing on your lips. A smile reserved just for him, he wondered, as it was too familiar, too tender for anyone else so strange. You had an air of laxness around Steve. A trust, he felt, to be vulnerable. Something so sacred to him. Something he never took for granted.
Softened curls slipped from your shoulder, his eyes helplessly trailing the curve before righting themselves back again at your face.Â
âWhen you fought the battle at Khyborne.â You clarify, lying back against the grass, strands of hair and grass weaving between one another in the breeze. Steve took a step closer, even patient. âWhen you won your Knighthood. What had you been thinking?âÂ
You would be the only one to ever ask him something like that â what he thought, how he felt â no one else could have ever given a damn. What were the thoughts of a farmerâs son to anyone? What was his worth? A boy who could not read until you had begun to teach him not so long ago. A man who could not point to your neighbouring kingdoms on a map. And yet every day, you asked. Question after question, little things here and there, a million musings over and over until he swore you might know his mind better than he himself did.Â
There was no satisfaction for you no matter how many answers he gave. You always wanted to know more. His life had been so unremarkable, heâd thought. But not to you. Never to you.
He smiled. âMy lady, Iâm not sure I was thinking anything, otherwise Iâdâve had the good sense to run the other way.âÂ
You scoffed, stretching, feline, a cat in the sun â all lithe limbs and draped in finery, ethereal, if heâd known the word. Sensual, a word he tried very hard not to acknowledge. He swallowed thickly.
âYouâre brave.â You stated. âYou were a knight even when you werenât one, otherwise you would have run.âÂ
Steve smiled, amused. âIf you say so.âÂ
You grinned back, toothy and joyous. âMhm. And Iâm always right, arenât I.âÂ
You werenât. You very much werenât. But Steve liked how much you believed so. He could not count the times you had forced yourself into great deals of trouble by some silly plan or poor words or strange adventure, nor the times heâd managed to only just coax you out of them, often at the risk of his own hide.
If he were honest, heâd admit how fond he was of such a task.Â
He chuckled, taking another step closer. âIf you say so.âÂ
You seemed to ignore his teasing completely. âBut did you not think much of it? Really? It was lost if not for you.âÂ
He watched you sit, resting upon the heels of your palms, turning ever so slightly to speak in that earnest way of yours, recounting his own story as if it were magic. Like he were some fable, some hero or warlock or king who the poets would write about when he was nothing but ash and bone, returned to the soil and the spirits.
âKhyborne would have fallen. All those people⌠I think you forget sometimes. You forget how many you saved.â The way you looked at him, he felt like something grand. Like someone worth telling stories about. Like someone worth looking at. He could believe it all if the stories came from you. But when he remembered that day, when he woke from trembling nightmares choking on smoke and blood and the sounds of screams, he felt anything but. He remembered the coldness of his fear, the sickness that came with knowing something horrible was about to happen.
He settled to kneel before you, dipping to catch your gaze. It was hard to long so much for your attention, and yet to suffocate under it all the same. He felt pinned, raw and exposed in your admiration. Desperate for your praise and vulnerable to your mercy. âPrincess⌠what is it you wish to know?âÂ
You blinked, a sudden bashfulness clouding your expression, as if you had been carried away by your thoughts. âDid you ever think it would bring you to the palace guard?âÂ
Everything within him softened at your tone, an involuntary response, smoothed like a stone under water. You shaped him so easily. âNot in my wildest dreams.â
Your legs lifted from the water, curling up upon the grassy bank beside you, and Steve was steadfast in keeping his expression fixated on your own, no matter how the delicate bend of you enticed even the most innocent, wanting of glances. What he wouldnât give for a moment, a breath, a chance. A single second for you to be his. To let his heart bleed dry in your palms, to feel your secrets murmured against his skin.
Your body shuffled closer, voice dropping to a near conspiratorial whisper. A tone meant for friends, companions, for lovers. The world closed in, just the two of you.
âAre you glad?â
His brow arched, a silent question, the delicate urging of your confession â what you really wished to ask â from your lips. âI mean to say,â you tried again, embarrassment creeping across your throat, âit is not so adventurous to be my sworn knight. All that standing and waiting and following and suchâŚâÂ
Your gaze slipped towards the stems beneath your fingertips, blades twirling around delicate, restless hands. His eyes followed, wrist twitching with an ache to reach, to settle you.
âWhen you were knighted, you could have chosen differently. I sometimes wonder if you regret it. Or why you chose it, maybe.âÂ
Steve was not an educated man. No one would ever credit him as learned or wise in the annals of time. He came from nothing, knew nothing but what the world taught him. The sky and the sea and the land and its people, his animals on the farm and the travellers that passed through. He knew what a pickpocket looked like before they struck, and which mushrooms in the forest would kill you outright, but nothing of science and languages and fancy books bound by monks and warlocks and keepers of time. He found, though, that observation was a skill heâd been blessed with. He could note the shyness in your tone, the wine flush staining across your cheeks, the way you avoided his stare as if it might burn you. Your insecurity, near timidness, as you asked him what must have felt like something vulnerable to you.Â
His impulse to comfort you never shook, not once, in moments like these. It was in his blood, in the very marrow of him. From the moment he first laid eyes upon you, that very first inhale, his aimless life from a nowhere countryside to a sideways city as a would be apprentice, had found purpose. A heartbeat to sync to. Footsteps to follow. Someone to protect, to guide, to shield, to live and die for.Â
He recalled it even now. Freshly knighted, brought before the king and court, on a busted knee with a smoke rasp in his lungs, burns still wrapped in ointments and linens from a healer â the royal healer! If only his mother could have seen him â heâd been asked that fatal, undoing question. What reward a man could crave for such a good deed as his own. To save a city and thousands inside. To end a siege.
Heâd only asked for one thing.Â
To swear himself to the Princess. To protect her with his life.Â
Steve removed a singular glove, an undeserving hand, marred yet steady, and pressed two fingertips below your chin, guiding you back to him. His words unwavering.
âI am exactly where I wish to be, My Princess. Take me back, and I would swear my oath to you over and over again. I am yours.âÂ
In any way you would have me. Until the end of my days.
He watched the way your lip trembled, mesmerised, the unconscious turn of your body that leaned closer and closer into his orbit. He knew he could not move to meet you, was forbidden to in all ways conceivable, but may the gods help him if he was meant to pull away.
Your eyes closed, face settling against his touch, a soft nuzzle into the coarse skin of his hand, a flower in the dirt. Your sigh made him ache. "I am afraid to go back."
A stark reminder. He knew what awaited you at the castle. All too well, knew the life you were being herded into. Like cattle. Helpless. His jaw clenched.
"I won't let anything happen to you." It was a promise. A vow. How he would achieve it, he could not say, but the words were an oath to you. A bond unbreakable, sworn to the only abiding force he would ever follow. His lady.
Fluttering, the wings of a bird, your lashes parted to look at him. "If they weren't here, you'd smuggle me away, wouldn't you?"
A halfhearted laugh slipped through you, though Steve knew the sound of defeat. Your ring of protectors, far out of sight, a tight band of reinforcement. Not just to protect, but to keep. No one to get in, no way to get out.
Steve nodded, solemn. "Weeks ago. You know I would have."
A pause. A sigh. A rustle of wind through the trees. The two of you breathed in what felt like the very last moment of freedom, his hand on your cheek, your legs drying in the sun, the sounds of the birds and the river and the wildness of a world neither of you would ever know all a mournful melody.
Steve allowed his hand to drop, a silent offer to tie your shoes, an unspoken language shared between the two of you. It needed not be said. He was your willing servant, always, and you, his trusting master. But somehow more, and somehow less, when you brushed stray curls of golden brown from his eyes, and his thumb circled a tender press into the bone of your ankle at the last tie of your ribbons. More than friends, less than lovers.
Composed, re-gloved, Steve guided you back to your feet, and felt your steadying breath ricochet through him.
"Well. I suppose I cannot delay it any longer. Shall we go meet my future husband?"
summary: steve is sworn knight to the princess of the kingdom and sister of the king. the two share a quiet moment alone and reminisce how he came to be in her service.
warnings/inclusions: afab!reader. medieval!au. knight!steve. bit of angst.
a/n: i've been desperate to write some knight steve for a million years. reading way too much arthurian legend recently for my own good. feels like this will be a series...
âDid you ever think you would wind up in a place like this?â
It was an innocent enough question, one that roused Steve from his drifting to sharpen once again. He shouldnât have drifted at all, mind you. His job was to remain watchful, to never lose focus, even if the waters of the river glimmered like little tumbling jewels, the heat blanketing his cheeks in a gentle kiss from a kind sun, half sheathed by pillowed clouds. Late spring, a sea of flowers in a clearing of brush, the quiet of a morning outside the castle walls. A daydream made true.
He clutched his sword in its sheath, straightening, his eyes settling on you. This was not his time to waste. It did not matter how many other guards were a few shouts away. He should have been paying attention. âHow do you mean, my lady?âÂ
Even in his haze, heâd never lost sight of you. Perched on the river bank, skirts slipped scandalously high to bunch across silken thighs, your legs drifting carelessly through the water of this forgotten corner of the world. Your brother, the King, would only agree to send you out with his noble band of knights, who lingered not so far away, patrolling borders of the grove with expert care. A princess out of the castle was of high importance. His beloved sister, the Kingdoms sweet Lady. But Steve was your sworn knight. He was the shield at your back, and the only one who may linger wherever you might tread.Â
Your head tipped back slowly, lashes blinking up in a sleepy sort of manner towards him, a smile playing on your lips. A smile reserved just for him, he wondered, as it was too familiar, too tender for anyone else so strange. You had an air of laxness around Steve. A trust, he felt, to be vulnerable. Something so sacred to him. Something he never took for granted.
Softened curls slipped from your shoulder, his eyes helplessly trailing the curve before righting themselves back again at your face.Â
âWhen you fought the battle at Khyborne.â You clarify, lying back against the grass, strands of hair and grass weaving between one another in the breeze. Steve took a step closer, even patient. âWhen you won your Knighthood. What had you been thinking?âÂ
You would be the only one to ever ask him something like that â what he thought, how he felt â no one else could have ever given a damn. What were the thoughts of a farmerâs son to anyone? What was his worth? A boy who could not read until you had begun to teach him not so long ago. A man who could not point to your neighbouring kingdoms on a map. And yet every day, you asked. Question after question, little things here and there, a million musings over and over until he swore you might know his mind better than he himself did.Â
There was no satisfaction for you no matter how many answers he gave. You always wanted to know more. His life had been so unremarkable, heâd thought. But not to you. Never to you.
He smiled. âMy lady, Iâm not sure I was thinking anything, otherwise Iâdâve had the good sense to run the other way.âÂ
You scoffed, stretching, feline, a cat in the sun â all lithe limbs and draped in finery, ethereal, if heâd known the word. Sensual, a word he tried very hard not to acknowledge. He swallowed thickly.
âYouâre brave.â You stated. âYou were a knight even when you werenât one, otherwise you would have run.âÂ
Steve smiled, amused. âIf you say so.âÂ
You grinned back, toothy and joyous. âMhm. And Iâm always right, arenât I.âÂ
You werenât. You very much werenât. But Steve liked how much you believed so. He could not count the times you had forced yourself into great deals of trouble by some silly plan or poor words or strange adventure, nor the times heâd managed to only just coax you out of them, often at the risk of his own hide.
If he were honest, heâd admit how fond he was of such a task.Â
He chuckled, taking another step closer. âIf you say so.âÂ
You seemed to ignore his teasing completely. âBut did you not think much of it? Really? It was lost if not for you.âÂ
He watched you sit, resting upon the heels of your palms, turning ever so slightly to speak in that earnest way of yours, recounting his own story as if it were magic. Like he were some fable, some hero or warlock or king who the poets would write about when he was nothing but ash and bone, returned to the soil and the spirits.
âKhyborne would have fallen. All those people⌠I think you forget sometimes. You forget how many you saved.â The way you looked at him, he felt like something grand. Like someone worth telling stories about. Like someone worth looking at. He could believe it all if the stories came from you. But when he remembered that day, when he woke from trembling nightmares choking on smoke and blood and the sounds of screams, he felt anything but. He remembered the coldness of his fear, the sickness that came with knowing something horrible was about to happen.
He settled to kneel before you, dipping to catch your gaze. It was hard to long so much for your attention, and yet to suffocate under it all the same. He felt pinned, raw and exposed in your admiration. Desperate for your praise and vulnerable to your mercy. âPrincess⌠what is it you wish to know?âÂ
You blinked, a sudden bashfulness clouding your expression, as if you had been carried away by your thoughts. âDid you ever think it would bring you to the palace guard?âÂ
Everything within him softened at your tone, an involuntary response, smoothed like a stone under water. You shaped him so easily. âNot in my wildest dreams.â
Your legs lifted from the water, curling up upon the grassy bank beside you, and Steve was steadfast in keeping his expression fixated on your own, no matter how the delicate bend of you enticed even the most innocent, wanting of glances. What he wouldnât give for a moment, a breath, a chance. A single second for you to be his. To let his heart bleed dry in your palms, to feel your secrets murmured against his skin.
Your body shuffled closer, voice dropping to a near conspiratorial whisper. A tone meant for friends, companions, for lovers. The world closed in, just the two of you.
âAre you glad?â
His brow arched, a silent question, the delicate urging of your confession â what you really wished to ask â from your lips. âI mean to say,â you tried again, embarrassment creeping across your throat, âit is not so adventurous to be my sworn knight. All that standing and waiting and following and suchâŚâÂ
Your gaze slipped towards the stems beneath your fingertips, blades twirling around delicate, restless hands. His eyes followed, wrist twitching with an ache to reach, to settle you.
âWhen you were knighted, you could have chosen differently. I sometimes wonder if you regret it. Or why you chose it, maybe.âÂ
Steve was not an educated man. No one would ever credit him as learned or wise in the annals of time. He came from nothing, knew nothing but what the world taught him. The sky and the sea and the land and its people, his animals on the farm and the travellers that passed through. He knew what a pickpocket looked like before they struck, and which mushrooms in the forest would kill you outright, but nothing of science and languages and fancy books bound by monks and warlocks and keepers of time. He found, though, that observation was a skill heâd been blessed with. He could note the shyness in your tone, the wine flush staining across your cheeks, the way you avoided his stare as if it might burn you. Your insecurity, near timidness, as you asked him what must have felt like something vulnerable to you.Â
His impulse to comfort you never shook, not once, in moments like these. It was in his blood, in the very marrow of him. From the moment he first laid eyes upon you, that very first inhale, his aimless life from a nowhere countryside to a sideways city as a would be apprentice, had found purpose. A heartbeat to sync to. Footsteps to follow. Someone to protect, to guide, to shield, to live and die for.Â
He recalled it even now. Freshly knighted, brought before the king and court, on a busted knee with a smoke rasp in his lungs, burns still wrapped in ointments and linens from a healer â the royal healer! If only his mother could have seen him â heâd been asked that fatal, undoing question. What reward a man could crave for such a good deed as his own. To save a city and thousands inside. To end a siege.
Heâd only asked for one thing.Â
To swear himself to the Princess. To protect her with his life.Â
Steve removed a singular glove, an undeserving hand, marred yet steady, and pressed two fingertips below your chin, guiding you back to him. His words unwavering.
âI am exactly where I wish to be, My Princess. Take me back, and I would swear my oath to you over and over again. I am yours.âÂ
In any way you would have me. Until the end of my days.
He watched the way your lip trembled, mesmerised, the unconscious turn of your body that leaned closer and closer into his orbit. He knew he could not move to meet you, was forbidden to in all ways conceivable, but may the gods help him if he was meant to pull away.
Your eyes closed, face settling against his touch, a soft nuzzle into the coarse skin of his hand, a flower in the dirt. Your sigh made him ache. "I am afraid to go back."
A stark reminder. He knew what awaited you at the castle. All too well, knew the life you were being herded into. Like cattle. Helpless. His jaw clenched.
"I won't let anything happen to you." It was a promise. A vow. How he would achieve it, he could not say, but the words were an oath to you. A bond unbreakable, sworn to the only abiding force he would ever follow. His lady.
Fluttering, the wings of a bird, your lashes parted to look at him. "If they weren't here, you'd smuggle me away, wouldn't you?"
A halfhearted laugh slipped through you, though Steve knew the sound of defeat. Your ring of protectors, far out of sight, a tight band of reinforcement. Not just to protect, but to keep. No one to get in, no way to get out.
Steve nodded, solemn. "Weeks ago. You know I would have."
A pause. A sigh. A rustle of wind through the trees. The two of you breathed in what felt like the very last moment of freedom, his hand on your cheek, your legs drying in the sun, the sounds of the birds and the river and the wildness of a world neither of you would ever know all a mournful melody.
Steve allowed his hand to drop, a silent offer to tie your shoes, an unspoken language shared between the two of you. It needed not be said. He was your willing servant, always, and you, his trusting master. But somehow more, and somehow less, when you brushed stray curls of golden brown from his eyes, and his thumb circled a tender press into the bone of your ankle at the last tie of your ribbons. More than friends, less than lovers.
Composed, re-gloved, Steve guided you back to your feet, and felt your steadying breath ricochet through him.
"Well. I suppose I cannot delay it any longer. Shall we go meet my future husband?"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
summary: steve is down bad for his girlfriend. when the two of you arrive at a house party separately after he works a late shift, and you look like a treat he just can't help but have, he's forced to take matters into his own hands. too bad not all bedrooms have doors with locks...
includes: pre-established steve x reader. afab!reader, fem pronouns. smut. fingering. mentions of oral (f!receiving). somewhat dom!steve, slightly sub!reader.
a/n: I've never published smut on this account before so lmk if this is a vibe. i didn't proof read this so my bad
The thump thump thump of a fist against the door is enough for you to blink startled eyes up at Steve, but he's merciless in the way he continues to drag his fingers from deep within you -- in and out, slow and steady, his pace languid enough for you to whimper at his composure.
"Occupied, man!" He shouts over your shoulder, the words edged with an assertive sort of sharpness that's met with what you hope is receding footsteps from the door. You're not sure whose room you're in. Hell, you barely remember what party you're at. All you can focus on is that torturous slip of calloused fingers between your thighs, Steve's knee pressed between your legs, your hands clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.
The door isn't locked, so you've had to make do. Steve's using your bodies to wedge you both as a door stopper, his own free hand white knuckle fisted against the grains by your head. He can't decide where to look. If he gives in completely, lets that fist slip between the buttons of your dress, to palm and squeeze and caress at your body the way he's burning to, he'll forget about the door. He'll get too lost in you. And you're counting on him, he thinks. Relying on him to not let some creep from a house party see all that sweetness between your legs, the pretty look in your eyes when you're being played with.
He won't let you down. But fuck, he needs you to cum.
"My girl," he rasps against your ear, his hips stuttering against your body, thick length rocking into whatever curve of you he can manage. He just can't help himself. You're a drug he'll let swallow him whole. "Baby, you're just too pretty, aren't y'. Got me playin' dangerous for you."
He moans shamelessly, pressing his hips harder against you, though his pace never quickens. It's agony, the slowness of his hand, two fingers pressing in and out like long, gentle breaths, his thumb circling your clit every so often in the way that's making you clench. It doesn't help how drunk on it he looks. Drunk on you. His voice is desperate, hungry swallows catching in his throat when the sound of your slick begins to reach his ears. You can't help but whine.
"Ohh, there she is." He teases, moving a little faster, a little deeper, just to relish in the sounds of your wetness, his eyes flicking up to catch the gape of your mouth, a moan on your lips. "Needy girl. Wants me to fuck her where everyone can hear. I'm tryin' 't go slow, but you want it too bad, don't you?"
Your eyes flutter with a ripple of pleasure, the tips of his fingers curling deep within your warmth, thighs in a motion of trembles. "I--"
You were at a loss for words, but he knew. He always knew. Knew exactly how to unravel you. Knew exactly what turned you undone. He was walking this tightrope now; building you up and bringing you back down. Speeding and slowing, focusing only to relax back right when you were on the precipice. It was maddening. You felt like a live wire.
His pace settled once more, leaving you to offer a mournful gaze in turn, eyes round and tear stained, mouth pouting with unsaid words. Steve's laugh was teasing, but even he sounded wrecked. "C'mon, baby. Say it to me. Say you wanna cum right here in this big house, right where anyone could hear you. Say you wanna make a pretty mess for me."
His lips parted your own, tongue brushing your canine, and you buckled, a pitiful sound escaping you. "Please, Steve! Please, baby, can I cum? I-- I wanna--"
The words were swallowed in a choke, another finger edging its way into your warmth beside the others, filling you just as you liked. He made a sound of relief, as if it were him now being offered reprieve from this long winded torture, his teeth sinking most lovingly into your bottom lip.
"Yeah-- that's it. Good girl. You just gotta take it. Take what I'm givin', baby."
He was unflinching in his movements, rapid to pick up his pace. He wanted this, wanted to see you come apart. He'd wanted it since the minute you'd gotten to this damn party. Couldn't think straight unless he had you squeezing around his fingers, the sounds of your soft sighs to soothe his heated skin.
This sickness, this unrelenting need -- you were his only cure.
"Ah! Fuck, Steve--" It was an angels cry, he swore, the way you praised him. hands reaching higher to ground yourself to him. He couldn't look away from you, wide eyed to stare at your glistening face, your bleary eyes and kiss bitten lips. His cock was throbbing painfully against his jeans, only reaching moments of relief when he managed to rock against your hip selfishly. He wasn't sure he'd even be sorry if he came like that, rutting like some sick, obsessed teen.
Your body was shaking now, half exhausted holding yourself up in this torture, half on the knife's edge of falling into your pleasure. Steve's thrusts into you became harsher, the rough pleasure of it leaving your head to fall lax against the door with a thunk.
Steve relinquished his battle against the door, his other hand slipping behind your head like a cushion, a quiet sorry, a note of concern as he brushed the tender spot, his lips caressing your own once more. The comfort made you whimper, and he pulled back so the world might hear it.
"I need to hear you cum. Don't hide. I need it. Need my pretty girl to cum all on my fingers."
Delirious, you nodded, because this was a task. The most important task. Steve -- your Steve -- needed you to cum for him, and so you would. You fell into him, and with practised hands and a caress of his lips, you fell.
Gasping, your body softly trembled, the prettiest sounds Steve had ever heard tumbling from your throat as you curled away into the security of his shoulder. He did not relent, not until he worked you through every wave of your pleasure, still moving a languid pace between your thighs until he felt you writhe with over stimulation.
"Fuck, that's it. That's my girl. So pretty when she cums for me."
You were pulled into the orbit of his chest, one hand still cradling your scalp as if it could frighten away any further offence. The other, Steve brought reverently to his lips, licking each finger clean in delighted, long strokes of his tongue.
"I'd've had you on my mouth if I'd thought I could keep that door shut." He chuckled, nuzzling his nose into your hair, his lungs filling greedily.
Your hum in response was amused, laced with exhaustion. "I thought you wanted everyone to hear?"
He scoffed, lowering his other arm to secure around your waist, a beast staking his claim on his treasure. "Hear. I'm throwin' punches if anyone even looks at you like they wanna take you."
You rolled your eyes, kissing the heated skin of his throat in little pecks "Brute."
Wide palm against your lower back, he thumbed circles into the notches of your spine. Steve smiled to himself, chuckling at the thought of it. His love for you. The very obsession of it. He's still throbbing in his jeans, and somehow he doesn't even mind. "For you? Totally caveman."
You nip at his jaw, pulling back just enough to smile dizzily up at him. "All this because I got ready without you?"
A melancholy groan, Steve made an effort to sound bereft. "Don't remind me. If you're gonna wear a dress like this, baby, I've gotta know in advance. Otherwise we're just gonna wind up here again."
You don't manage to stifle your giggle, and instead choose to ease his troubles with a reverent kiss. "No more night shifts for you then, for everyone's sake's."
Steve hums, pondering a moment, before lowering two hands, ensuring the gentlemanly act of slipping your underwear back into place before throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman.
"Now for my sake, we're finding a room that locks."
summary: steve is down bad for his girlfriend. when the two of you arrive at a house party separately after he works a late shift, and you look like a treat he just can't help but have, he's forced to take matters into his own hands. too bad not all bedrooms have doors with locks...
includes: pre-established steve x reader. afab!reader, fem pronouns. smut. fingering. mentions of oral (f!receiving). somewhat dom!steve, slightly sub!reader.
a/n: I've never published smut on this account before so lmk if this is a vibe. i didn't proof read this so my bad
The thump thump thump of a fist against the door is enough for you to blink startled eyes up at Steve, but he's merciless in the way he continues to drag his fingers from deep within you -- in and out, slow and steady, his pace languid enough for you to whimper at his composure.
"Occupied, man!" He shouts over your shoulder, the words edged with an assertive sort of sharpness that's met with what you hope is receding footsteps from the door. You're not sure whose room you're in. Hell, you barely remember what party you're at. All you can focus on is that torturous slip of calloused fingers between your thighs, Steve's knee pressed between your legs, your hands clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.
The door isn't locked, so you've had to make do. Steve's using your bodies to wedge you both as a door stopper, his own free hand white knuckle fisted against the grains by your head. He can't decide where to look. If he gives in completely, lets that fist slip between the buttons of your dress, to palm and squeeze and caress at your body the way he's burning to, he'll forget about the door. He'll get too lost in you. And you're counting on him, he thinks. Relying on him to not let some creep from a house party see all that sweetness between your legs, the pretty look in your eyes when you're being played with.
He won't let you down. But fuck, he needs you to cum.
"My girl," he rasps against your ear, his hips stuttering against your body, thick length rocking into whatever curve of you he can manage. He just can't help himself. You're a drug he'll let swallow him whole. "Baby, you're just too pretty, aren't y'. Got me playin' dangerous for you."
He moans shamelessly, pressing his hips harder against you, though his pace never quickens. It's agony, the slowness of his hand, two fingers pressing in and out like long, gentle breaths, his thumb circling your clit every so often in the way that's making you clench. It doesn't help how drunk on it he looks. Drunk on you. His voice is desperate, hungry swallows catching in his throat when the sound of your slick begins to reach his ears. You can't help but whine.
"Ohh, there she is." He teases, moving a little faster, a little deeper, just to relish in the sounds of your wetness, his eyes flicking up to catch the gape of your mouth, a moan on your lips. "Needy girl. Wants me to fuck her where everyone can hear. I'm tryin' 't go slow, but you want it too bad, don't you?"
Your eyes flutter with a ripple of pleasure, the tips of his fingers curling deep within your warmth, thighs in a motion of trembles. "I--"
You were at a loss for words, but he knew. He always knew. Knew exactly how to unravel you. Knew exactly what turned you undone. He was walking this tightrope now; building you up and bringing you back down. Speeding and slowing, focusing only to relax back right when you were on the precipice. It was maddening. You felt like a live wire.
His pace settled once more, leaving you to offer a mournful gaze in turn, eyes round and tear stained, mouth pouting with unsaid words. Steve's laugh was teasing, but even he sounded wrecked. "C'mon, baby. Say it to me. Say you wanna cum right here in this big house, right where anyone could hear you. Say you wanna make a pretty mess for me."
His lips parted your own, tongue brushing your canine, and you buckled, a pitiful sound escaping you. "Please, Steve! Please, baby, can I cum? I-- I wanna--"
The words were swallowed in a choke, another finger edging its way into your warmth beside the others, filling you just as you liked. He made a sound of relief, as if it were him now being offered reprieve from this long winded torture, his teeth sinking most lovingly into your bottom lip.
"Yeah-- that's it. Good girl. You just gotta take it. Take what I'm givin', baby."
He was unflinching in his movements, rapid to pick up his pace. He wanted this, wanted to see you come apart. He'd wanted it since the minute you'd gotten to this damn party. Couldn't think straight unless he had you squeezing around his fingers, the sounds of your soft sighs to soothe his heated skin.
This sickness, this unrelenting need -- you were his only cure.
"Ah! Fuck, Steve--" It was an angels cry, he swore, the way you praised him. hands reaching higher to ground yourself to him. He couldn't look away from you, wide eyed to stare at your glistening face, your bleary eyes and kiss bitten lips. His cock was throbbing painfully against his jeans, only reaching moments of relief when he managed to rock against your hip selfishly. He wasn't sure he'd even be sorry if he came like that, rutting like some sick, obsessed teen.
Your body was shaking now, half exhausted holding yourself up in this torture, half on the knife's edge of falling into your pleasure. Steve's thrusts into you became harsher, the rough pleasure of it leaving your head to fall lax against the door with a thunk.
Steve relinquished his battle against the door, his other hand slipping behind your head like a cushion, a quiet sorry, a note of concern as he brushed the tender spot, his lips caressing your own once more. The comfort made you whimper, and he pulled back so the world might hear it.
"I need to hear you cum. Don't hide. I need it. Need my pretty girl to cum all on my fingers."
Delirious, you nodded, because this was a task. The most important task. Steve -- your Steve -- needed you to cum for him, and so you would. You fell into him, and with practised hands and a caress of his lips, you fell.
Gasping, your body softly trembled, the prettiest sounds Steve had ever heard tumbling from your throat as you curled away into the security of his shoulder. He did not relent, not until he worked you through every wave of your pleasure, still moving a languid pace between your thighs until he felt you writhe with over stimulation.
"Fuck, that's it. That's my girl. So pretty when she cums for me."
You were pulled into the orbit of his chest, one hand still cradling your scalp as if it could frighten away any further offence. The other, Steve brought reverently to his lips, licking each finger clean in delighted, long strokes of his tongue.
"I'd've had you on my mouth if I'd thought I could keep that door shut." He chuckled, nuzzling his nose into your hair, his lungs filling greedily.
Your hum in response was amused, laced with exhaustion. "I thought you wanted everyone to hear?"
He scoffed, lowering his other arm to secure around your waist, a beast staking his claim on his treasure. "Hear. I'm throwin' punches if anyone even looks at you like they wanna take you."
You rolled your eyes, kissing the heated skin of his throat in little pecks "Brute."
Wide palm against your lower back, he thumbed circles into the notches of your spine. Steve smiled to himself, chuckling at the thought of it. His love for you. The very obsession of it. He's still throbbing in his jeans, and somehow he doesn't even mind. "For you? Totally caveman."
You nip at his jaw, pulling back just enough to smile dizzily up at him. "All this because I got ready without you?"
A melancholy groan, Steve made an effort to sound bereft. "Don't remind me. If you're gonna wear a dress like this, baby, I've gotta know in advance. Otherwise we're just gonna wind up here again."
You don't manage to stifle your giggle, and instead choose to ease his troubles with a reverent kiss. "No more night shifts for you then, for everyone's sake's."
Steve hums, pondering a moment, before lowering two hands, ensuring the gentlemanly act of slipping your underwear back into place before throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman.
"Now for my sake, we're finding a room that locks."
summary: in an apocalyptic town, steve and the reader take romance wherever they can. declarations of love live on air are always welcome...
includes: established steve x reader, a bit of angst to wet the palette, on air-romance, rockin' robin appreciation, sound guy steve (my beloved). gn!neutral, no use of y/n.
warnings: some poor mental health for steve and the reader. mentions of weight loss, not eating, not sleeping, nightmares, ptsd and ptsd symptoms. co-dependency (your honor, they're allowed).
a/n: idk if i'm back or just hanging out but hey there babes xoxo
Itâs truly starting to feel like the world is going to swallow you up whole any minute now. No one remembers Little Old Hawkins these days, not with the way the Military has this place shut up lock and key; one big metal band aid striped down the centre of its beating, cavernous wound - a reminder, a promise. This isnât over. Â
But what is there to do? You plan, you Crawl, you go about your days. Over and over, on and on, and endless wheel turning in on itself, never moving. It feels like madness, now, 13 months in, no end in sight. No sign of Vecna, no progress with the Militia. No escape from the borders of hell.Â
You feel like youâre going crazy, and Steve is going crazier. Heâs losing weight again, which feels funny compared to the softness heâd found in his body just a few years ago, settled and comfortable, a little lost in himself spiritually, but easy. He didnât feel stress then like he does now. Now, itâs all you two can think about.Â
You both arenât eating, no matter how hard the other tries to coax something gentle towards the other. Soup, vegetables, whatever can be made from whatever gets let into this godforsaken town â itâs not enough. Heâs thin, and youâre thinner than you were, and both of you are bruised and purple beneath the eyes. Bloodshot. Sick in the heart.
The sun is bleeding through windows youâd painstakingly washed the night before, hands trembling in the frosty midnight air, fingers numb, near frost bitten from the task youâd forced yourself on just to distract from everything else, and now your four or five hours into an overnight shift at the diner, though the clock is starting to look all topsy turvy every time you glance at it. The hands shouldnât be wiggling, the numbers certainly should be numeric, but youâre delirious, and the caffeine withdrawal isnât helping. You want to sleep when you get home. Hopping up on coffee wonât get you anywhere fast. Youâre trying to cut down. Itâs making your anxiety worse these days.Â
You didnât sleep well the night before, and the night before that, youâre not sure you slept at all. The warm months are fading cold now, and sweet, sticky nights of Indiana heat are sharper than usual. Thereâs a bite to them now, a cold you canât shake. With them comes nightmares. Yours and Steveâs. Heâll wake up yelling, and youâll wake up crying, and neither of you seem to know how to manage without the other anymore. Memories or imaginings, youâre not sure, but they haunt you both all the same. Youâll reach, and heâll curve, and one of you ends up tucked beneath the other, protected from that shadow that still hangs across your bodies, never quite shifting even in the dawn.Â
When heâs not there, stuck out on missions, live on the fm, youâll swallow them down with tap water and ibuprofen instead, lying to yourself that itâll all be over soon. That it will never be that bad again. That youâll never lose anyone else. Not anyone. Never Steve. Youâve survived the Upside Down before, youâll survive whatever comes next. Together, or not at all.Â
You look up as the bell of the diner door rings. The sun is rising, small and yellowing, staining the sky in pinks and oranges and brilliance that give you leave to pause. The sky is still there. The sun still rises. You can still smell dew on the morning air, and pies with apple and cinnamon and custard cooling in the shitty diner kitchen. Cars are passing by on the streets, slowly, just the very earliest of morning workers in Hawkins, but people â living people â all the same. The world is still moving, and you are still breathing, and for a moment, you can pretend like life is normal. Like this could just be the world. The world as it should be.Â
And best of all, Steve is out there somewhere, clambering out of bed, smelling like aftershave, draped in a warm sweater that youâll beg to wear tonight when he gets home, on his way to work. Thereâs blood pumping to his heart right now. Thereâs air in his lungs. Thereâs probably some stupid, goofy smile on his face as he laughs at Robinâs jokes. He probably looks beautiful.Â
A steady inhale passes through your lungs, expanding in your chest, settling into your blood and body like you are nothing but air. You let it feel good. Things are allowed to, after all. Breathing is allowed to feel good. Being alive is allowed to feel good. You donât feel optimistic half the time, but you let this small rush of it find you anyways. You need it. Tuesday mornings need it, you think.Â
You hear the static shift on the radio, one show transitioning to another. Something idle and careless now attuned to the one thing that always caught your attention. Stepping away from your spot by the window, you take up back behind the counter. People will start filing in soon, and youâd rather look busier than you actually are. Not that many seem to mind, these days.
âGood morning, Hawkins! This is WSQK The Squawk!âÂ
One by one, people come and people go.Â
âItâs looking like a regular day in Hawkins. Fifty-nine degrees, medium chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, high chance of helicopters. Watch out for those soldiers, kids. Give âem the olâ salute.â
A few cups of coffee. A slice of pie. A Reuben to go. Some idle conversation with Merle.Â
âHereâs hopinâ youâll enjoy your regular olâ Hawkinâs House Arrest with me! DJ, Robin Buckley⌠AKA the most astute and boisterously bizarre Rockinâ Robin.âÂ
You stifled a laugh over a regular's overly perturbed eye roll, filling his mug of steaming joe.Â
âAnd donât forget my incredibly forgettable Sound Guy, Steve.â Queue applause, which you were certain heâd docked up himself. Your features curve happily.
âBoooo! See, folks, donât you think itâs unfair that he gets to make his own sound effects? See, whereas me, Iâm completely impartial! I ainât never influenced nothing at all. No siree.â Quacking noises ensue. You brighten.Â
âAlright, alright. Whatever. Can we just get started with our morning? Whatâs all this ruckus? Who even gave the Sound Guy a job!âÂ
It starts to press into usual scheduling. An indie song here, a new hit there, an old classic, a hidden gem, little favourites thrown in from the people you know and love. You recognise something Jonathan had played you once, something Joyce had hummed to herself when she was nervous, something Hopper used to play in his truck, something you and Robin would scream on the way for late night slushies. A favourite of Maxâs, just in case she can hear it, something you knew Will would like â Robin had a knack for making the music more than just a station. It was love notes to the people she fought to protect. Her gifts to tell them she was thinking of them, wherever they were, whatever they were doing. Whatever fight they were in, they were in it together.Â
You donât pretend like The Squawk isnât what it is. Itâs a rebellion act as much as anything could be. But itâs a joy in such a bleak life, too. Itâs your friend doing what she loves â being silly and true and snarky and brave â and you getting to be proud of her. Proud of the friend she is, proud of the person sheâs become, proud of all the ways youâve found to stick it to this fucking military agenda. This family, this team, you just keep fighting, and thatâs something to feel extraordinary about.Â
And Steve⌠you could never not be proud of Steve.Â
Even when his days and yours donât always align anymore. When youâre climbing out of bed to leave for work when heâs sometimes just getting in. When youâre both on opposite sides of the crawlâs wondering if the other is making it through okay. Even just a glimpse of him, whether it be through his sadistic use of a rubber chicken on live radio, was enough just for the moment.Â
Youâd taken to humming the last chorus as it melted into the airwaves, mind focused on filling the sandwich cabinet in front of you. The art of stacking subs was not precise, but little games were always appreciated. Your reprieve was the return of Rockinâ Robin, back again to deliver her commentary to pass your time.Â
âAlright, now listeners, donât be alarmed, but I have some shocking news! My Sound Guy â yes, Sound Guy Steve, you know the one â is having⌠Lord, Iâm even afraid to say it. Heâs having⌠ideas! Suggestions! Motivations! The horror! As if it couldnât get any worse here in HawkinsââÂ
âRobin, this is so unprofessionalââÂ
âYou know youâre Sound Guy Steve, not Speaking Steve, right? Ladies and Gentleman, heâs gone rogue! He think's he has rights. Absolutely bonkers. What will I tell the kidsâŚâÂ
The sounds of crashing cymbals, breaking glass, and screaming civilians from some kind of 50s horror film floods the airwaves, but you could hear the quiet muffle of Robinâs laughter trickle through, as if not properly filtered out. You paused your work, leaning atop your palm to listen, a giddy smile hanging from your lips.Â
âAnyways, these ideas we speak of? Romantic in notion. Hadnât a clue he had it in him.â The Family Feud incorrect buzzer kicked in, forcing a giggle from your firmly pressed lips. You're trying not to look conspicuous, but you're enjoying yourself too much to care. Slacking off being the sandwich cabinet won't get your fired this time.
âLoverboy over here wants to dedicate a song, and since Iâm feeling generous, Iâll let it slide. So to the pretty honey about to finish their diner shift, Sound Board Steve says helloâŚâÂ
Oh that sweet, lovely bastard. You could kill them both, really, because Robin had naturally chalked up such a darling gesture to make it as mortifying as possible for the both of you. But despite flaming cheeks buried between two heated palms, your face was alight, heartbeat thrumming in double time to the soft drum of Baby, I Love Your Way as the speaker filled the diner with its melody.Â
You swore you could feel Steveâs palm, wide and reassuring on the curve of your lower back, his voice humming out of tune by the shell of your ear, and it made you miss him all the more. Despite all this doom and gloom, he loved you so. So much, it made your heart ache. Even when you both were tired, wrung out and desperate, so raw that you felt on the brink of collapse. You were still his, and he was your Steve.Â
And God, was he not easy to love.Â
You feigned no work through the approximate five minutes of music, because this was your treat, after all. Your special gift from Steve on a tired morning after a shitty night. You would enjoy every splendid second, and sip your glass of water, and feel the tenderness that oozed out of every word.Â
Asleep at home, the passing of time felt inconspicuous. One minute was twenty â you couldnât tell the difference. All you knew was that your beat up sneakers had carried you from the peeling front door to the very edge of your bed after your shift, and by some miracle, you weren't still wearing them when you woke up, what happened to be hours later.Â
You made a groggy sort of whining sound, flipping the pillow beneath your head with desperation, eagerness to seek the cool side beneath overtaking any sense of conscious logic. You hardly thought to check your surroundings, nor pay much attention to the comforting hand now pressed into your lower back.Â
âSomeoneâs grumpy.âÂ
Gasping, as if waking again from a dream, you realised your mistake. That warm murmur of Steveâs voice was delight in a sound. You rolled carelessly to face him, smiling sluggishly, âHi, baby.âÂ
He melted, angling his head affectionately. âThereâs my honey. Thought you might bite me for a second.âÂ
Your nose crinkled in thought. âThereâs still time.âÂ
He chuckled. âBetter not.âÂ
His own shoes toed off at the bedside, his body shuffling in beside you. Your attempt to make room was rebutted instantly, two large arms scooping beneath your body to pull you towards him, half seated in his lap, his nose burying itself in the strands of your hair for a greedy inhale. âFuck, I missed you.âÂ
You hummed mournfully, curling awkwardly in an attempt to hug him back, body twisted at the waist so two arms could worm their way around his broad ribcage. âSo, so bad.âÂ
You both knew what it meant. It had only been a matter of shifts, but the loneliness that came with it â that was soul shattering these days. Hours felt like lifetimes.Â
Steve lingered a kiss to your crown, not quite able to pull himself away. âDid you hear my song?âÂ
He sounded so hopeful when he asked. Small, like a child. Someone vulnerable and new with their heart on a stained glass platter; all so breakable and tender. A littler Steve, the kid within his chest whom heâd guarded his whole life long. The one you always swore to protect. He wanted you to like it.
You squeezed his body back reverently, nose reaching to prod at his jaw. âLoved your song. sâlike you knew I needed to hear from you.â
His grin pressed shyly into your hair, his grip tightening against the plush of you. âHavenât had nearly enough time with you lately. Just needed you tâknow I love you.â
Shuffling closer, you knew what he meant. There was no calm anymore, no peace to enjoy. No safety for the two of you to curl into. Just each other. And when one of you was far away, things could feel desolate. Fearful. Like there was no ground to hold to. He needed to hold to you, and you wouldnât go anywhere.Â
âI always know.â You assured, tone thick with promise. âBut I wanna hear it again and again anyways, just cause youâre so romantic about it.âÂ
Steve laughed, his body rumbling beneath yours, the sensation making you giggle. âRobâs tryna kill it for me.âÂ
You offered his jaw a consoling peck. âPoor baby. Iâll do the next grand gesture, okay?âÂ
His hand moved to cradle at the nape of your neck, supporting your head as he angled it to face him. His expression was playful, even through the exhaustion. âOh yeah? Like what.âÂ
You pretend to ponder, letting the rumble of sound echo against his skin. âHow do you feel about a pie-o-gram.âÂ
He smirked, pecking your lips with reverence. âCheeky.â
You sneak a second, then a third, then three more, because addicts sometimes have problems like that. âI love you.â
Pink on the tip of his nose, his voice was dripping with love. Capital L. âSay it on a pie, then weâll talk.â
âżăťăťâââăťăťjust a really big collection of djo (steve for the most part to be honest) fanfics i really really enjoyed and love and overall just made my heart melt :3â°(*´︜`*)âŻ
_ _ăă+ some thoughts and light commentary
fandoms included: stranger things
[âż] fluff [âŚ] angst [â ] smut
divider creds to @mang0smoothie and @strangergraphics !!
steve harrington:
[âŚ] [âż] cross my heart (and hope to die) by @talesofesther | word count: 8.9k
ăăsummary: Every time Steve gets hurt, you're there to help pick up the pieces; you just weren't expecting him to fall for you in the process.
ăăthoughts: I haven't read this one in a long long bit butttt i do remember how i loved it :3 just remember this making me wonder why can't i have steve harrington in my life
[âŚ] [âż] you and i back at it again by @lighteyed | word count: 2.2k
ăăsummary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.
ăăthoughts: my favourite genre of steve harrington fanfics as of lately has been very achy two people being there for each other when no one else has
[âż] i am? by @jxstsxgx | word count: 2.2k
ăăsummary: Steve drinks himself into a dramatic spiral over his unrequited love for his best friend, you. Youâre absolutely no help. Mostly because youâre too busy laughing at his dramatic little love confession meltdown.
ăăthoughts: this was fucking adorable and hilarious !! and truly the most light and funny steve fic almost ever ! alsoooo i just may or may not just really love funny drunk!confession fics ^0^
[âŚ] [âż] to be loved is to be seen by @lottevence | word count: N/A
ăăsummary: after accepting that he needed to focus on himself and stop with the constant dates, steve was forced to face some of the things he bruied inside with some drunken words by his favorite poet for the second time.
ăăthoughts: erm reading this just amplified my want and need to be seen so much i actually started crying like full on sobbing. there's such a beauty about slow burn friends to lovers who just see each otherâlike truly see each other. this fic is just *chef's kiss*
[âŚ] [âż] shopping trip by @c4tluver02 | word count: 2.4k
ăăsummary: You asked your best friend Steve to help you pick out and outfit for your date. Being the amazing friend he is, he helps you in more ways than one!
ăăthoughts: just a really fun short and sweet fic that i've read too many times for my own good me thinks
[âŚ] [âż] you deserve each other by @bimrwolf | word count: N/A | completed!series
ăăsummary: You and Steve have been together for five years. He's seemingly the perfect boyfriend, kisses on the cheek, knowing your orders at restaurant. A great lover. Too bad you've had enough can't stand him.
ăăthoughts: OOOO this was sick af !! i really enjoyed that back and forth passive agressiveness and them over all just messing with each other ! like it's like if 'get him back' by olivia rodrigo went both ways. alsooo really love love love the title because it's true that they really deserve each other for the sake and safety of the general public :p
[â ] [âŚ] [âż] don't call me baby by @katyswrites | word count: N/A | completed!series
ăăsummary: This wasnât supposed to happen. Thatâs what you would both tell yourselves, later on. It had started with a bet. You were a cocktail waitress, studying abroad in Rome and working yourself to death to keep yourself afloat. Steve Harrington was a business executive for one of the biggest tech companies in the world, ten years your senior, and earnest enough that it intrigued you. But, there was only one problem - he doesnât do relationships. Not now, perhaps not ever. So, a deal is struck - something mutually beneficial. No attachments, and you get to be his perpetual mistress, while he makes sure you want for nothing. But, what happens when the agreement becomes more than what either of you bargained for?
ăăthoughts: is it bad that i binged the entirety of this instead of sleeping when i read it? :3 it's also not the kind of fanfic premise i click on usually... but lemme tell you i was really hooked on this. and really big bonus point it's set in italy and you have robin buckley as a roomie sooo what more could you possibly ask for?
[âż] romance is dead, isn't it? by @megxplryxb | word count: N/A
ăăsummary: N/A (but in a nutshell it's friends to lovers on valentines day + deceptive shenanigans)
ăăthoughts: u don't know the amount of times i've read this !! it's just soooo ARUUFHAWDHH i want a steve harrington in my life i'm not even bluffing PLEAAASEE
[âż] sick fic !! by @lovebugism | word count: N/A
ăărequest summary: i donât know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesnât show up for school, steve goes to her house, and sheâs utterly mortified because she feels like sheâs nowhere near presentable
ăăthoughts: this one was a really tiny pocket story that just makes me feel soft !!! probably stems for being depraved or something
[â ] [âŚ] [âż] thank me later by @supernovafics | word count: 83.2k | completed!series
ăăsummary: in which a friendship is surprisingly born in an elevator, and a crush that feels hopeless is developed very soon after that. for what feels like forever, you debate whether or not you should be honest with eddie and see if he maybe feels the same way as you. but, you upsettingly miss your chance to say anything when he gets into a relationship with someone thatâs not you. ultimately, you decide to push everything you feel to the side so that you donât potentially ruin everything between you and him; because at the end of the day, heâs still your best friend. now, two years later, things have changedâ thereâs a break up, reignited feelings, and pining that feels worse and even more helpless this time around. a blind date leads to you fake dating some guy you barely even know with the hopes of finally getting eddie to see you as more than just a friend. at first, youâre hesitant and you honestly think that steveâs suggestion sounds a little insane. but, then you decide that perhaps it could actually, somehow, maybe work? you and steve havenât even known each other for a full twenty-four hours before you two are shaking hands and agreeing to fake date for a month, and hoping that you both get what you want out of this abruptly thrown together arrangement.
ăăthoughts: i don't even know where to start with this one... LIKE IT HAS EVERYTHING I LOVE !! my og fav trope has always been fake dating for some reason... also i just realised i confuse this fic with another one by the same author which is "i'll be there for you" which is by no exaggeration whatsoever is the best steve fic :3
ăăăăđ [â ] [âŚ] [âż] this could last forever by @/supernovafics | word count: 15.9kăăăăăăăăđ this could last forever pt. 2 | word count: 9.4k
ăăăăăăăăsummary: in which you hate him and he hates youâ and that mutual disliking is perhaps the only thing you and him agree on. you make it your mission to avoid and ignore steve at all costs, and nothing more or less than withering stares and annoyed eye rolls are shared among you both whenever you have to see each other, which luckily isnât that often. but when your son and his daughter end up in the same first-grade class and quickly become friends, it forces things to change between you two. it means that you and him also have to be friends, or, at the very least, tolerate each otherâs presence. which is something that is much easier said than done
ăăăăăăăăthoughts: i will read every kind dad!steve fic you give to me i will read and this is one of my most most favourite dad!steve fics ever so please read it you'll get major fomo if you don't :3
ăăăăđ [â ] [âŚ] [âż] star of the show by @/supernovafics | word count: 41k | completed!series
ăăăăăăăăsummary: in which before you even meet him, youâve already heard enough about him. steve harringtonâ a phenomenal award-winning actor who is known almost exclusively as an asshole. heâs also set to be the lead in the movie that youâre currently working on as a production coordinator. over the years, youâve somehow found routine in the never-ending hecticness of your job; the abrupt issues youâd have to handle, or the problems that you were tasked to prevent from arising in the first place. all you cared about was doing your absolute best at your job and you always did. but barely a week before filming is scheduled to begin, things change for the worse when, due to extenuating circumstances, you have to also be steveâs assistant for the entire three months of filming. itâs an unexpected addition to your already full plate that completely changes the routine youâd become so accustomed to. and from your first interaction with him, itâs abundantly clear that everything thatâs been said about him is true, so your mind is only stuck on one thought, how the hell would you survive three months of being his assistant?Â
ăăăăăăăăthoughts: i read all of this in one go and that morning was spent well. I JUST LOVE THIS SOOO MUCH !! like i really enjoyed the stakes and stuff like how they were gonna balance their careers and each other, and also going from just assistant and assisted (wtf ik sorries i didn't know what to call it) to having a conncection as actual friends and then to eventually something else !! i just loved the gradual build up and not going from point a to lovers directly. alsooo i haven't read this one in a WHILEee SOOO what i'm saying might just be wrong memories HIH
ăăăăđ [â ] [âŚ] [âż] star of the show by @/supernovafics | word count: 41k
ăăăăăăăăsummary: a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy youâve known since you were tenâ although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far itâs been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where youâre running late to class or steveâs rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, itâs a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sandâ and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him metâ start getting blurrier and blurrier
ăăăăăăăăthoughts: MWAHAHA after finishing this fic rec post i'm def rereading this for the millionth time. because i don't there's anything i can say to suffice to amount of love i have for this fic !! honestly with all the things that's happening in the world we just need that one mundane fanfic to run to ! because i cannot really explain the amount of warmth and comfort this fic gives me. and the plot itself is just every single trope i love and pine about over and over again. i kid you not this is the closest thing you can ever get to perfect if you're into just mundane fics. also again resenting the fact that this isn't my life :3
[âż] the only tally mark by @the-case-book-of-fanfiction | word count: 7.2k
ăăsummary: The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.
ăăthoughts: this one is so so awww but also at the same time the sick feeling of this fanfic being my reality is very very apparent with this one
[âŚ] [âż] tides at moonrise by @limeletters | word count: 6k
ăăsummary: After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.
ăăthoughts: honestly wish vampire!steve was canon because i erm would've loved to see those bats affect him in someway other than mental scarring and emotional trauma :3 it'd just be a really fun plot
ăăăăđ [â ] [âŚ] [âż] the shape of family by @/limeletters | word count: N/A | wip!series
ăăăăăăăăsummary: As a single dad, Steveâs world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practicesâand he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most.
ăăăăăăăăthoughts: this is such a holy grail. i've read this over and over while waiting for the next chapters like a crazy ex and i just can't. this is the most adorable, warm, sweet and, tooth rotting dad!steve fanfic ever. i kid you not this lived rent free within my head for days after reading it and that's so crazy since the only time that happens is when devasting character deaths happen. it's just that good :( BUTTT the slowburn is truly very REAL with this one i kid you not.
[âŚ] [âż] so much for summer love by @forevermoreharrington | word count: 10k
ăăsummary: Steve starts falling for a girl, whoâs been trying to get over him, when he definitely shouldnât be since heâs already in love with someone else but now heâs starting to question whether thatâs true or not.
ăăthoughts: this has the best kind of torturous things. desperate pining. specially that one that you know has a happy ending anyway but still feel like when you're in the trenches during the yearning bits :p
ăăăăđ [âŚ] [âż] This path is reckless by @/forevermoreharrington | word count: N/A
ăăăăăăăăsummary: This path is reckless, Steve and his favourite girl get close to crossing the lines of their friendship
ăăăăăăăăthoughts: i have not read this in the longest of times but GOD. this just captures my favourite thing ever as i erm... always talk about it :3 like JUST LOVE. that specific point where the lines of friendship and something else blurs and it's all so blissfully sweet or sometimes torturous pining. *chef's kiss*
[âż] here comes your man by @dearest-nell | word count: 2.1k
ăăsummary: you go to pick up your very drunk boyfriend from the bar after a well deserved night out.
ăăthoughts: Silly drunk!fics are my favourites ever !! this was adorable i've read that too many times
[âż] four steps between (best) friends and lovers by @stevebabey | word count: 12k
ăăsummary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple. How hard could it be?
ăăthoughts: one of the first steve fics i've read on this website and it's so aww :3 it's just such a classic friends to lovers fake dating fic, and the addition of steve having a brother just kind fits so so well !! especially the whole family dynamic they have i think stays true and is faithful to steve in canon HIHI i dunno i just like it's cohesive
ăăăăđ [âŚ] [âż] nine facts, one lie by @/stevebabey | word count: 16.5k
ăăăăăăsummary: It didnât matter that your best friend Robin claims heâs changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole â and youâre not in any hurry to believe heâs changed his ways.
ăăăăăăthoughts: ACKKKKK i love myself a really good and well paced slow burn :3 BUT THIS ONE. THIS ONE WAS JUSTâIT JUST GOT ME.
[âż] fall right into me by @headkiss | word count: 12k
ăăsummary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
ăăthoughts: ROOMIES TO LOVERS I LOVE YOU. ik i say this a lot but this fanfic really struck my heart strings it's just everything i love in a thirteen thousand word fanfic and i would read this to my future kids for bed time
[âż] you said you were gonna grow up (then you were gonna come find me) by @andvys | word count: 10k
ăăsummary: You and Steve used to be inseparable, best friends since childhood, you shared something special, something rare. You promised each other forever but... promises are never to keep... right?
ăăthoughts: hurt/comfort always feels like being punched a lot of times and then given a hello kitty bandaid and i love it.
[âŚ] [âż] i'll put us back together again at heart by @sanguineterrain | word count: 8.8k
ăăsummary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.
ăăthoughts: second chance friendships give me the reason to live and wake up everyday. i cried reading this but my tears were compensated with the ending :3 #I'mToSoftForThis
ăăăăđ [âŚ] [âż] a feeling that's fine by @/sanguineterrain | word count: 10.6k
ăăăăăăsummary: You accidentally climb the wrong fence on the hottest day of May. It turns out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you.
ăăăăăăthoughts: ACKKKKK i haven't read this one quite a long while but GOLLYYYY i just love it so much !! i remember thinking like, what if she didn't go to the wrong house what then? then i spiraled about certain unexpected things that happened that branched out to be one of the greatest experiences you've ever had. and ACKKK i just love their dynamic even from the start and how steve immediately showed actual care and concern despite her being this stranger that just showed up at his house unexpectedly EEEEKK!!! the dialogue just feels so natural and the build up !! *chef's kiss* and i just feel very protective of the reader HIHI she just reminds me so much of erm me it's kind of really scary... also debbie u bitch.
ăăăăđ [âŚ] [âż] redemancy by @/sanguineterrain | word count: 5.2k
ăăăăăăsummary: the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.
ăăăăăăthoughts: oh the 5+1 format my beloved !! again this is really such a good fic !!! this made me giggle and kick my feet so hard i nearly fell of my bed actually :3 LIKE BRO A MARRIAGE PACT?? The way they said it with actual sureness and certainty?? like you don't know how much that affected me and that was only the first bit of the fic ! again it's so very heavy on that thing where they unknowingly stand in the line between frienship and something more. IT JUST GETS ME GOOD !! ALSOO like the uncertainty that came in later on. I'M IN BITS. i love how that shows so much vulnerability and how much that pact actually meant, and how it shows it's not just one of those on a whim things that were only meaningful during that time. AND THE GUM. HER REMEMBERED THE GUM.
ăăăăđ [âŚ] [âż] we are not alone by @/sanguineterrain | word count: 15.8k
ăăăăăăsummary: Your whole life, you felt like you crash-landed on Earth from another planet. It's just another summer where you know that should be somewhere else. Then you meet Steve Harrington.
ăăăăăăthoughts: i nearly forogt to add this fic in here but I was checking my drafts in case i forgot to add something and I'm glad i found this !!! this honestly gave me so much comfort becaue the feeling of just not belonging is very present here and I'm glad that this character has a steve and marie everyone needs one of those
[âŚ] [âż] come home by @stevie-petey | word count: N/A | complete!series
ăăsummary: a stranger things rewrite. "come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington.
ăăthoughts: THIS ONE IS JUST WOAH. just might give the duffers a run for their money. anddd ik ST5 hasn't come out yet but i'm really excited for the ST5 rewrite so so bad
[âż] chalkboard hearts by @stevesgother | word count: N/A | complete!series
ăăsummary: Single parenthood is no easy feat, but you and your daughter Abbey seem to be making it by just fine. That is, until the morning that you drop your daughter off for her very first day of elementary school and meet her teacher for the year: Mr. Harrington.
ăăthoughts: kindergarten teacher steve harrington fully wholly has my heart. this fic and 'the shape of family' by @/limeletters just fully captivated me so much i couldn't stop thinking about these fics !! especially because of the circumstances i had growing up this fic feels extra special to me :3 and it really just makes my heart feel so warm and nice. but also the slowburn was *chef's kiss* i just love this fic with all my heart anddd thank you so much writing it :3 <3
Masterlist recs !!
ăăăťâăťâăť sanguineterrains's masterlist by @/sanguineterrain
ăăăťâăťâăť supernovafic's masterlist by @/supernovafics
ăăăťâăťâăť limeletter's masterlist by @/limeletters
ăăăťâăťâăť katyswritesâ masterlist by @/katyswrites
ăăăťâăťâăť c4tluver02âs masterlist by @/c4tluver02
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Marvel One Two Three Four Five
Wizarding World One Two Three Four Five Six
Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Six Seven
Specific Characters Tangerine Vigilante
Masterlist
Fixer Upper by @munsster
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: âThe kids arenât saying you can change him, per se. Theyâre only saying that loveâs a force thatâs powerful and strange.â
Strawberry Fields Forever by @chaptersleftunwritten (18+ Only)
Pairing: Perv!Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: âYou go on a picnic date with some friends, not expecting to rile Eddie up.â
A Lounge Chair and Half a Bikini by @rainydayathogwarts (18+ Only)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, ft. Steve Harrington
Summary: âeddie and gf!reader get frisky in steve's backyard and he watches from the room above with the promise of bringing down towels so they can swim.â
Two-Player by @eiightysixbaby (18+ Only)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: âturns out itâs a great idea to screw around with your coworkerâ
Going Steddie by @jobean12-blog (18+ Only)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: âYou've got Steve and now you want Eddie too.â
Stumbling by @stevesgother
Pairing: Coworker!Steve Harrington x Reader
Request: âemmmm!!!!!!!! iâm thinking âwell you are cute, ah! i mean- youâre not cute, but you are? iâm just going to shut up now.â with steve & coworker!reader please and thank you love you mwuah mwuahâ
Heâs an Idiot by @mild-lust (18+ Only)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: âAfter being stood up by Eddie Munson, you run into Steve Harrington on the walk home from the trailer park. He lends you listening ear and a rideâand instead of taking you home, he takes you to his.â
Blind Date by @c4tluver02
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: âRobin and Vickie set their best friends up together for a blind date, they can only hope it goes well!â
Cool Your Engine by @vingtetunmars (18+ Only)
Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: âA summer car breakdown leads to unexpected sparks when you're met with Eddie Munson, the mechanic.â
Here Comes Your Man by @dearest-nell
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: âyou go to pick up your very drunk boyfriend from the bar after a well deserved night outâ
summary: a date that doesnât go as planned, steve starts to panic, but youâre there to steady him
warnings: anxiety, mention of suicide?? (like one line)
a/n: soft and tender steve!!! he is such a sweetheart in this istg
series masterlist
You had just finished choosing your outfit, adjusting the fabric to sit on your shoulders, when your phone rang. Steveâs voice was apologetic the moment you answered. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, messing up those carefully styled locks of his as he tried to explain himself.
âHey, Iâm so, so sorry,â he spoke quickly, urgently. âI swear Iâm not trying to stand you up. Itâs justâIâve got this kid here whose ride hasnât shown yet, and⌠well, I canât leave him.â
You could picture him perfectly: face scrunched in concern, probably perched on the edge of his cluttered desk. He sounded so regretful on the phone, and you hated that he was even stressing over something so trivial.
âSteve,â you said gently, cutting off his rambling apologies. âItâs okay. Really. Iâll just head over to the school. We can go together once their parents show up.â
Your reassurance was immediate, relief palpable in his responding sigh.
âYouâre sure?â
âPositive,â you replied, twisting a stray thread on your sleeve. âSee you soon.â
The call wrapped up on a calmer note, and you took a moment to smooth your hair in the mirror, feeling optimistic that it was deciding to behave itself. The two of you had planned a nice eveningâa proper sit-down meal somewhere slightly fancyâand although things werenât going exactly to plan, you couldnât deny how much you were looking forward to seeing him in his classroom again.Â
Grabbing your bag and keys, you slipped out the door, a small spark of excitement humming beneath your ribs. The drive to Hawkins Elementary was peaceful, dusk painting the sky in shades of lilac and amber. Soft music played through your car speakers, but your mind drifted more than once to a certain teacherâŚ
Something about him, surrounded by all that childlike wonder, made him feel impossibly soft. That, paired with his contrite tone, made you want to reassure him in person.Â
When you arrive at the school, thereâs a still energy settling over the place. Most of the staff and students have long since gone home. You park in a spot near the entrance, stepping out into the gentle air of early evening.
Inside, the lobby is quiet, illuminated by the mellow glow of overhead lights. The smell still strangely nostalgic, it tugs at memories of your own school days. Behind the front desk stands the elderly receptionist youâd met briefly before. Heâs in the middle of packing up his things, a well-worn coat draped over one arm. He looks up, a welcoming smile lighting his features.
âBack so soon?â he teases gently. âAnother delivery, perhaps?â
You return his smile, recalling your last visit.
âNot this time,â you say, shaking your head. âIâm meeting Mr. Harrington?â
âAh, yes.â A knowing glint sparks in his eyes. âStill in his classroom. Been there quite a while.â
âThanks,â you reply, taking a moment to note the kind crinkles around his eyes. Then you turn toward the hallway.
The corridors are hushed, classroom lights off, and the echoes of a busy school day fading into memory. Youâre headed toward the same door youâve visited prior: 2B, the sign now familiar.
Steveâs pencil stills when he hears the soft click of the classroom door. The moment he sees you, he falters, breath catching in his throat.
Itâs obvious how much effort you had put into tonightâhair carefully styled, a soft glow to your skin that makes something tighten in his chest. Guilt flickers for keeping you waiting, but itâs drowned out by something stronger.Â
The fact that you dressed up for him.Â
He was torn, wanting to leap up and greet you properly, but heâs got a child at his side. So he settles for a warm, if slightly measured, Hey. His tone gentle enough not to startle the boy to his right.Â
It was a stark contrast to the way he wanted to react. You deserved so much more than this.
âHey,â you return, eyes drifting to the desk to see what theyâre working on. He forces himself to swallow the pang of regret that he canât whisk you off to dinner right this second. His mind spins with half-formed apologiesâmentally promising heâll make this up to you, somehow.
âCan I sit?â you ask, one hand resting on the back of the child-sized chair across from him.
âSure,â Steve says quickly, gesturing with the pencil in his hand. He bites back a smile as you awkwardly manoeuvre into the small chairâit takes some getting used to. He would know.
Once you settle, he glances at the kid beside him. The boyâs chin is practically touching his chest, his expression clouded with an unmistakable sadness.Â
âHey, Samuel,â Steve begins softly, scooting a bit closer to the child. âYou remember who this is?â
Samuel lifts his gaze from his drawing, eyeing you without the spark kids usually have.Â
âShe gave us the books,â he mumbles. Thereâs a small hitch in his voice that tugs on Steveâs heartstrings. The poor kidâs been waiting far too long for a ride that hasnât arrived.
âThatâs right,â you say softly, offering a gentle smile.Â
Samuel just shrugs, returning his attention to the paper in front of him. Steveâs brow furrows; he hates seeing the normally bright-eyed little boy so down.
You desperately want to lighten the mood, so you lean forward, resting your forearms on the small table. Dinner can wait, the sad kid in front of you takes priority right now.
âSo, what are you guys doing here?â you ask, voice patient.
Samuel pauses, glancing up at Steve as if seeking permission. He nods, a tiny, encouraging smile shaping his lips. Talking to you is nothing to worry about.
âWeâre drawing,â Samuel offers at last.
âOh yeah?â Your voice lightens, interest shining in your eyes. âCan I see?â
Cautiously, Samuel sets down his pen and turns the paper so you can look.Â
âIâm drawing my dog,â he says, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.
âWhoa,â You tilt your head, offering an exaggerated tone, eager to make him smile. âItâs really good. Whatâs his name?â
Steve watches Samuelâs face soften just a bit, reminded of better things than this long wait.Â
âScooby,â the boy says, glancing between you and Steve.
âThatâs a great name,â you tell him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. âDid you pick it yourself?â
Samuel nods and a smile blooms on your face, and Steveâs chest feels inexplicably full at how youâre managing to draw the sad boy out of his gloom. He thinks youâre trying, but honestly, he canât be sure if this is just who you are. Watching you interact with his student fills him with pride.
Clearly, you have an effect on people.
âItâs awesome.â You nod as you push it back towards the boy. âGonna be an artist someday. I can tell.â
Samuelâs lips curl into a small smile, and Steve catches the way your kindness ignites the faintest spark in the boyâs eyes. He glances at you, guilt flickering across his face as he mouths a silent sorry for making you wait. But you just shake your head in reassurance. Donât even worry about it.
âAnd what about you, Mr. Harrington?â you tease as you lean forward, a playful lilt in your voice. âWhatâre you drawing?â
Steve chuckles, ducking his head with a hint of bashfulness, not quite expecting to be sharing. He lifts his paper, revealing a carefully drawn sketch of the schoolâs entrance. Itâs surprisingly detailedâthe double doors, a few kids scattered out front, even a bright yellow bus parked at the curb.
He grows self-conscious as you glance over his scribbles, but itâs impossible to miss the care in each pencil strokeâthe familiarity with every line and angle. Thereâs an intimacy in the way heâs captured the building, drawn entirely from memory, as if itâs a place he knows by heart.
What you donât see are the countless times heâs stood in that very spot, staring at the view, willing himself to step inside. Day after day, swallowing the anxiety just enough to make it through the front gates.
Yeah, he knew it by heart.
âItâs not as good as Samuelâs, butâŚ.â He adjusts the paper in front of him, his pencil once again gliding across the page as he trails off.
âWell,â you say, shifting closer to the kid, but locking eyes with Steve. âIâd say youâre both very talented.â
Your enthusiasm is infectious as it wraps around him. His cheeks heat up againâsomething that seems to be happening a lot whenever you're around.
You lean forward, fingers brushing over the paper until you find a clean sheet and a decent pencil. Looking to Samuel, you tilt your head gently.Â
âIs it alright if I join in?â you ask, voice just above a whisper, not wanting to break the comfortable calm thatâs settled around the three of you.
Samuel hesitates, then gives a small, welcoming nod, so you begin sketching a few light linesâa simple floral pattern that requires little thought. Maybe a vine of leaves, or a daisy shape that reminds you of summer. Itâs calming, focusing on the soft arcs and petals.
After a moment, Samuelâs shoulders slump a fraction, and he turns his attention back to his teacher.Â
âHas my mom called?â he asks, voice subdued.
Steveâs expression softens with sympathy.Â
âNot yet, buddy,â he says gently, setting down his pencil. âBut she should be here soon, alright?â
The boy nods, looking down. âAlright.â
âHey,â Steve leans forward, propping his elbow on the table. âBut weâre having fun right?â
Samuel lifts his gaze, sadness still evident.Â
âYeah...â
Steve fought the urge to frown, not wanting the kidâs sadness to drag him down tooâbut more than that, he was desperate to lift his mood.
When he glanced up and caught the way your expression had wilted, the sadness in your eyes mirroring his students, it was clear this was getting to you too. And if there was one thing Steve couldnât stand, it was seeing the people he cared about weighed down.
He racked his brain, trying to thinkâthinkâup something, anything, that might make the boy smile. And if there was one thing heâd learned about kids, it was that the best way to break through was with a distraction. Something new, something shiny to pull their mind in another direction.Â
That, at least, he had plenty of practice in.
âGuess what?â He asked casually.Â
Samuel peers at him.Â
âWhat?â
A playful spark lights up Steveâs warm brown eyes.Â
"Someone told me once that the best moments happen when you don't expect them."
Samuel thought for a moment about his teacher's words, trying to make sense of the profound statement.Â
âLike what?â The boy tilts his head, confused but intrigued.Â
Steve taps his pencil against the table, thinking. Slowly, a grin tugs at his lips as he pulls a memory to the surface. Pushing his chair back slightly, he leans in toward the kid, ready to share it.
Itâs clear heâs done this plenty of times before.
âLike⌠this one time, I got stuck waiting in a super long line at the arcade when I was your age. Thought I was gonna be bored out of my mind.â He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way that makes Samuel perk up a bit, already captivated by his teacherâs words. âBut then, this older kid showed me how to do a trick where you flip a coin over your fingersâkinda like this.â
He picks up a pencil, rolling it effortlessly over his knuckles. Itâs not perfectâevery so often, he has to catch it before it slipsâbut to Samuel, it might as well be a magic trick.
âBy the time I got to play my game, I didnât even care about the wait anymore,â Steve continues. âIâd learned something really cool.â
Samuel watches with wide-eyed fascination. âI wanna do that!â
Steve winks, gently placing the pencil on the desk so Samuel can grab it.Â
"Sure you will," he says, laying on the dramatics. "Just takes a little practice."
There is a small surge of warmth that floods you as you watch the two of them together. You cast your gaze back to your floral sketch, but you canât stop the slight smile from curving your lips. Steve catches your eye for a second, and in the silent exchange, you can feel how heâs trying so hard to make this okayâfor Samuel, and in a way, for you too.
Just as he is about to launch into a more detailed demonstration of his coin-flipping trick, the classroom door flies open, revealing a woman slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from rushing. Her wide eyes dart from Samuel to Steve to you, immediately brimming with apologies.
âIâm so sorry,â she manages between quick breaths, pressing a hand to her chest as though sheâs trying to slow her racing heart. âIâI got held up andââ
âMom!â Samuel bolts up from the table, all traces of his earlier sadness vanishing in a burst of excitement. She crouches down, arms opening to gather him into a hug.Â
The kid leans back slightly, his face lighting up. âI drew Scooby!â he exclaims, pride evident in his voice.
âOh, you did?â Her tone melts with relief. âThatâs amazing, baby. Why donât you show me?â
Beaming, Samuel spins around to grab his artwork and then holds it out proudly for her inspection. The moment she sees the goofy dogâs face, her own lights up with genuine delight.Â
âWow, thatâs so so good, honey! When we get home, weâll put it right on the fridge, yeah?â
âYeah!â Samuel nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet.Â
Steve rises from his chair, long legs unfolding as he stands and tucks his pencil away. The woman looks up at him with gratitude shining in her eyes.Â
âThank you so much,â she breathes, a slight tremor of emotion in her voice. âI really appreciate you staying with him.â
Steve waves off the thanks, a dismissive but gentle gesture that speaks to his genuine humility.Â
âItâs not a problem,â he says, glancing fondly at Samuel. âWe had a great time, didnât we, buddy?â
âYes!â Samuel nods so hard his hair flops over his forehead. âAnd I learned a new trick!â
âYou did?â His mom arches a brow, looking between her son and Steve. âWell, youâll have to show me when we get home. Ready to grab your things?â
Samuel dashes off to gather his backpack from the corner, and she turns back to Steve, her face still awash in relief.Â
âThank you. It wonât happen again, I promiseââ
Steveâs smile is calm, understanding as he holds his palm up.Â
âIf it does, youâll just get another drawing, right?â He shrugs with playful lightness, hoping to ease any lingering guilt she has.
âThatâsâŚâ she says, voice catching as Samuel skids back into the room. A laugh escapes her, soft but genuinely thankful.
She straightens, ruffling her sonâs hair. âAlright, say goodbye to Mr. Harrington.â
Samuel turns, waving a little too enthusiastically. âBye, Mr. Harrington!âÂ
âTake care.â He lifts a hand in farewell.Â
The door swings shut, and the moment Steve catches sight of the clock on the wall, his lips press into a tight line. His eyes widen.
âShitââ He practically scrambles across the room, âwe gotta goâlike, now.â Snatching his coat from the back of a chair. âThe table was booked for⌠ten minutes ago,â voice tight as he reaches for his phone on the desk.
âSteve.â
Heâs mid-dial when you place your hand gently over his. He barely glances up, still fumbling with the buttons.Â
âIâm sure they canââ
âSteve,â you repeat, a touch more insistently. âItâs fine.â
His gaze snaps to yours, and thereâs guilt evident in the crease of his brow, the way his shoulders pull forward defensively.Â
âItâs not fine. I meanâlook at you,â he insists, flicking his eyes over your outfit. âYouâyou got all dressed up, andââ
âHey,â you squeeze his hand, and he finally stills, waiting until he meets your eyes. âI dressed up for you.â
Something in his chest thumps painfully at those words. He opens his mouth, probably to offer another round of apologies, but you speak first. You step a fraction closer, heart stuttering in your own chest as you do.Â
âWe can do it another time,â you tell him as he sighs.
âThis was seriously not the plan,â Steve grumbles, free hand raking through his hair. His breath is still uneven, cheeks tinted pink.
âMaybe not,â you concede, âbut Iâm here now.â
He nods, swallowing hard. âYeah,â he says quietly. âYou are.â
Should be eating steak at Enzoâs right now.Â
âAnd,â you add, voice brightening a little, âI havenât finished my drawing.â
His eyebrows shoot up.Â
âAre you serious?â
A giggle escapes you, the sound soft and reassuring.Â
âItâs been a while since Iâve felt like a kid again,â you explain, gesturing at the brightly decorated classroom around you. âWhat better place to keep going?â
Steve shakes his head like he canât quite believe what heâs hearing, but thereâs a lopsided smile at the corner of his mouth.Â
âAlright,â he murmurs. âIf you wanna spend your evening drawing, Iâm not gonna stop you.â
âGood,â you tease, turning back toward the table scattered with crayons and pencils. âBut you have to join in, too.â
He exhales a short laugh, relenting as the tension uncoils from his frame.Â
âFine,â he says, rolling up his sleeves. âFine.â
He drapes his jacket over the back of the chair before settling across from you at the tiny table, where crayons and half-finished sketches are scattered about. A small, playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he scoots his chair closer.
He canât quite wrap his head around the fact that this is how you want to spend your Wednesday evening. Itâs nothing special, at all.
You seem to make the little things feel like something more, and he doesnât know what to do with thatâexcept lean into it, let himself get caught up in your glow.
âSo,â you say, tapping a pencil against the table, âwhatâre you gonna draw next?â
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.Â
âNot sure yet,â he admits, looking up at you with curious eyes. âWhat do you think?â
A mischievous spark lights in your expression.Â
âDraw me.â
âYeah, right.â He scoffs, a hint of pink crawling across his cheeks.Â
âIâm serious,â you press, leaning forward so your arms rest on the edge of the desk. âAlways wanted my portrait done.â
Wow, demanding.
Now he had no choice but to put his subpar art skills to the test. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn't mind. The idea of drawing you was actually kind of niceâit meant he had a reason to stare at you, he wouldnât have to come up with an excuse either. Really, it was a win-win.
âIf it looks terrible, you canât be offended,â he warns, gesturing with the pencil in his hand.
âDeal.â
You push aside the floral doodle youâd been working on earlier, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper.Â
âWhatâre you doing?â Steve quirks an eyebrow.Â
âDrawing you,â you say, as if itâs the most obvious thing in the world. âOnly fair, right?â
He huffs out a chuckle, though he canât quite hide how flattered he is by the thought. Youâre damn sweet. Honestly, youâd probably be a better fit in this classroom than he is, the way you can turn this disaster of an evening into something positive.
âI guess so.â
Leaning over, he grabs a nearby hardcover bookâsomething about geography, judging by the coverâand props it upright on the table like a little barrier.Â
âWhat?â you laugh, tipping your head to see his hands around it.
âI want to be surprised when I see it.â His grin widens, his brown eyes dancing.Â
âTrust me, youâre gonna be very surprised,â you tease, tightening your grip on the pencil.
He laughs, the sound low and affectionate. Then he sets his own blank sheet in front of him and glances over the makeshift partition at you.Â
âOkay,â he mumbles, lips quirking into a half-smile. âNo peeking, alright?â
âNever,â you say, though your voice carries a playful challenge.
Pencils scratching softly against paper form a gentle soundtrack as the two of you work, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, yet sharing the occasional glance that makes your heart flutter.Â
âSo,â you say, keeping your gaze on the half-finished sketch in front of you, âdoes this happen a lot?â
Steve finishes shading a small curve on his paper before responding.Â
âMissing dinner with a pretty girl?â He glances up, meeting your eyes. âNo, I usually try not to make a habit of that.â
âI meant parents being late,â you clarify, with a small chuckle.Â
So, Mr. Harrington can flirt. Good to know.Â
He sets the pencil down, tapping it absently against the desk.Â
âSometimes,â he ponders. âThey have long hours, multiple jobs. I usually stick around anyway, lesson prep, grading quizzes, stuff like that.â
Anything to avoid being home alone.Â
âCanât be easy for the kids, though,â you say, a little crease appearing between your brows.
A soft sigh escapes him. âSure, itâs not ideal,â he admits. âBut in Samuelâs case, his momâs doinâ her best, you know?âÂ
He doesnât elaborate further, but his expression speaks volumesâhe sees more than anyone realises, and he tries his hardest to fill the gaps.
âTheyâre lucky to have a teacher like you,â you say gently.
A faint flush creeps over his cheeks, and he ducks his head.Â
âLike I said,â he murmurs, voice low enough that it makes your chest tighten. âKids love silly.â
Both of you return to your sketches for a moment. Youâre perfecting the curve of his jaw, the slight wave of his hair, when your curiosity peeks again.
âSo, what do your parents think about you being a teacher? Theyâve gotta be proud, right?â
The question sets a flicker of nerves across his face. He fiddles with the pencil a bit before answering.Â
âUh⌠sort of,â he begins, brow furrowing. âTheyâre happy Iâm, you know, employed. But they werenât exactly my biggest fans after high school.â
âWhy not?â You tilt your head, wanting to understand.Â
He draws a breath, eyes darting to his paper as if searching for courage.Â
âI was kinda⌠lost when I left school. Had no clue what I was doing. My dad wanted me to work for him, but that just⌠wasnât an option.â Something raw appears in his gaze.Â
There was no way he could work for his fatherânot when he was already at his lowest.Â
The man who pressured him the most, expecting him to survive in a high-stress office? He could already picture it: barely holding himself together while his dad, with his uncanny ability to pick apart his deepest insecurities, chipped away at what little confidence he had left.
Put all that together, and he knew he wouldnât have made it to the end of the year.
The thought alone scared him.
âScrew what your dad says.â
âWow,â his mouth curves into a tiny, startled smile. âNever heard you be mean before.â
âIâm not being mean,â you give a playful shrug. âJust being honest.â
âYeah, sure,â he drops his eyes to the table and nods, the corners of his lips quirking upward. âRemind me never to get on your bad side.â
Like you even have one.
Thereâs a short lull in conversation as you both sink back into the comforting rhythm of drawing. This time, itâs his turn to speak up.Â
âSo,â he ventures, sketching a light outline of your hair, âyou think youâre gonna keep the bookshop for a while? Yâknow, with the finances and stuff?â
"I hope so," you reply, your voice bright with the same enthusiasm you feel in your chestâdespite the stress. "Iâm still finding my way, and like, I knew it wasnât going to be easy.â You breathe in a sigh that makes his pencil still. âItâs just⌠doing it alone. That part still scares me sometimes."
Steve nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. He hates seeing you struggle, especially when thereâs nothing he can do to fix it. It feels like Samuel all over again, and heâs already wracking his brain, searching for some way, any way, to be of service.
"Is there anything I can do?" he murmurs, always needing to be useful. "To help, I mean."
You shake your head.Â
"This is plenty," you say, your voice a little softer now. "I like this,â you gesture between you both. "Spending time away⌠with you."
With him.Â
And god, itâs like fireworks in his chest. The fact that he is the reason you're feeling even a little betterâit echoes exactly how he feels about you.
He doesnât have much to offer, but heâd give you this and more. Heâd whisk you away whenever you needed it. That, at least, he can do.
"Well," he says quietly, not trusting his voice fully, "Iâm always a phone call away. I can be there."
You nod, offering him a quiet thank you before turning your attention back to your drawing.
Steve Harrington sure was something.
It baffled you how he was still singleâespecially when he gave so much of himself so freely. Offering what he could without expecting anything in return.
Moving here felt like the right choice.
Meeting him felt like the right thing.
He sets his pencil aside, blowing out a theatrical breath as though heâs completed the masterpiece of a lifetime. He did have a great reference, after all.Â
âAlright,â he declares, tapping his fingers against the paper. âI think Iâm done.â
âHmmm, yeah,â you glance down at the final touches youâve added to your own drawing, then give a small shrug. âMe too.â
He leans forward, sliding the book aside but quickly clutching his drawing to his chest so you canât see it. You mirror his motion, both of you practically giggling at this playful standoff.
âYou go first,â he says, eyes bright with anticipation.
âWhy?â you challenge, raising a brow.
A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. âIsnât that what ladies do?â
You roll your eyes for dramatic effect, but the smile that follows is genuine.Â
âFine.â Leaning forward, you carefully place your sketch in front of him.
Itâs not perfectâyou know that. But as his gaze sweeps over your work, a low laugh escapes his throat, warm and surprised.
Heâs delighted.
One could call it abstractâmodern, even. It's a far cry from any respectable piece of art, but you have captured him not just in likeness, but with something real.
To him? It's priceless. You even included the faint dimple that appears when he grins. He had forgotten what that even looked like.
âYou really got me.â He murmurs, studying the details.
âAbout time I made my old art teacher proud,â you joke, trying to mask how pleased you are that he likes it.
âYou sure have.â Steveâs eyes lift, warm and appreciative. Not a hint of sarcasm in his statement.
Fuck, youâre precious.
His soft expression steals the slight sting from your cheeks, though you still feel the warmth of his compliments. Clearing your throat, you eye the paper clutched against his chest.Â
âSo⌠are you gonna show me yours, or what?â
A flicker of apprehension crosses his features before he offers you a small grin.Â
âSure.â Slowly, he passes the sheet over.
The moment your eyes settle on his sketch, your breath catches in your throat.Â
Itâs incredible.
Thereâs a tenderness in every line, an intimacy woven into the drawing. Heâs captured the shape of your eyes, the curve of your smileâeven that subtle confidence you sometimes forget you have.
Your fingers hover over the page before lightly tracing the details, almost as if touching it too firmly might smudge the feeling behind it.
âThis is⌠really good, Steve,â you say, half under your breath.
His cheeks redden, and he scratches behind his ear.Â
âYou think?â
You nod. âCan I keep it?â
âCourse you can,â he says, hurriedly straightening in his chair. âDrew it for you in the first place.â
A spark of bubbly excitement flutters in his chest as he watches you carefully set the drawing asideânot folding it, not tucking it away like an afterthought. Youâre going to carry it home just like that, like it actually means something to you.
That alone makes him ridiculously happy for humouring your request of the evening.Â
The clock on the wall blinks at you both, reminding you that the night has slipped far later than intended. With a small sigh, he flicks his gaze between you and the scattered art supplies.Â
âSince we missed dinner,â he ventures, voice warm, âI know a diner thatâs open late, if youâre hungry.â
A grin spreads across your face, soft and genuine. âThat sounds way better than some fancy restaurant.â
Relief mingles in his tender expressionâhis eyes crinkling just enough at the corners. He sets the pencils aside.Â
âAlright, but firstâŚâ He picks up your drawingâyour portrait of himâand walks over to the nearest wall of taped-up masterpieces. With a careful hand, he pins it among the rainbow of kid-drawn dinosaurs, flowers, and stick figures.
You step up beside him, your shoulder brushing his lightly. Your eyes sweep over the vibrant array of drawings. Some of them were clearly made with Steve in mindâcrude sketches of his unmistakable hair, big hearts labeled Mr. Harrington, and even the occasional speech bubble with some goofy letters scrawled inside.
âYou really make an impact here,â you say, voice hushed with genuine admiration.
Steve glances sideways at you, then back at the wall.Â
âIâm⌠not so sure about that.â Thereâs a bashful edge to his tone, like he canât quite see the effect he has on others.
You turn, glancing at a couple of the drawingsâan especially adorable one with MR. H scrawled in bold marker. Youâre close enough that he can feel a hint of your warmth, your presence tethering him right here, right now.Â
âIf you canât see it,â you tell him gently, âyou must be blind.â Your voice softens, and you tilt your head. âI meanâlook.â
He follows your gesture, eyes drifting over bright crayons and enthusiastic scribbles. Thereâs a tangible love in those imagesâlove for the teacher who stuck around after hours, who shared life with them, who cheered for them every step of the way.
Even when he struggling himself.
âYouâre special, Steve.â
His heart thumps hard. The weight of your words collides with the sudden awareness that youâre right thereâlooking at him in a way that makes the room tilt. He barely manages a breath before your gaze meets his, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Everything about youâthe kindness in your eyes, the gentleness of your smile, the fact that you spent the entire evening drawing dumb pictures with him without a single complaintâhits him all at once.Â
Heâs overwhelmed by how right this feels.Â
Without really thinking, he bends closer, gaze dropping to your lips as he crosses that small distance.
When his mouth meets yours, itâs soft. Tentative. Like heâs afraid the moment might vanish if he pushes too hard. But when he feels you press backâjust as gentle, just as eagerâsomething sparks inside him.Â
Itâs like a release of breath he didnât know he was holding, the sweetest, most perfect rush, better than anything heâs felt in years.
He cups your jaw tenderly, the warmth of your skin sending shivers along his arm. Heâs half-aware of how fast his heart is pounding, how desperately he wants to deepen the kissâyet a flicker of nerves has him pulling back just enough to look at you. Your eyes are shining, and the look in them nearly undoes him.
âSorry,â he breathes, voice a little shaky from adrenaline and pure exhilaration. âI justââ
You cut off his apology with a quick, playful peck that makes his cheeks burn.Â
He wants you to do that again.
âSo,â you say, lips curling into a grin that all but steals his sanity, âdinner?â
A small, breathy laugh escapes him, his fingers still lightly touching your cheek as if he canât quite let go.Â
âYeah,â he manages, voice thick. âYeahâdinner.â
With his pulse still thundering, he reluctantly lets his hand slip down. You gather up coats and keys and stray papers, placing them in his hands to put away correctly. You head for the door, and when you pause to wait for him, you extend your handâpalm up, an invitation.
Itâs for him.
Itâs a rush of gratitude, a soft feeling he doesnât quite know what to do with. Without thinking, he slips his fingers through yours, giving a gentle squeeze.
Itâs such a simple gesture, barely more than a touch, but somehow, it makes his chest feel fullâlike he might burst from it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming