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#and even then it’s always low on effort
say-al0e · 3 days
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Cling
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Rating: M | This is smut! Minors, DNI! No one under 18!
Summary: For as long as you could remember, you and Steve have been close. What others see as clingy, Steve sees as comforting, right? Or, you fell in love with your best friend and suddenly, everything is too much. Warnings: Unprotected PinV, oral (f!receiving), blink and you'll miss it angst. Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader Words: 5.5k
Though the sun had long disappeared, dipped below the horizon in a blaze of oranges and reds hours ago, the scent of artificial coconut and chlorine lingered as you lounged beside the Harrington pool.
The kids disappeared with Eddie the moment the sky tinted pink, off to finish a campaign they spent much of the day discussing, and Robin followed soon after with a weak excuse designed to hide her true destination of Vicky’s house - despite the fact that you all knew.
That left you and Steve, always the last two standing.
Steve stretched out on a lounge chair to your left - sunglasses resting atop his head, t-shirt forgotten somewhere in the backyard, garishly patterned swim trunks resting low on his hips. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling evenly, though you knew he was far from sleep.
Regardless, you took the chance to study him in the rare moment of silence.
The apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose were tinted pink, not burned enough to cause concern but clearly effected by his time in the sun. His hair was wild and beginning to curl, free of gel and still a little damp from his last dip in the pool. The weeks of swimming, back in the pool where he spent so much time growing up, had toned his arms - his shoulders, his stomach, his thighs - and you could see the result of his resumed habits so clearly.
A swath of hair covered his chest, tapered into a faint line that disappeared into the band of his trunks, and you were struck by just how many times you’d been here - sitting to his right, smelling of chlorine and coconut. Over a decade of friendship, more than half your life, and you’d witnessed Steve go from a lanky boy to a confident twenty-something. 
Moments like this reminded you of why your best friend was one of the most sought-after bachelors in Hawkins and why, somewhere along the line, you joined the long list of those desperate for him to give you the time of day.
Only, you were lucky enough to be one of the few that had Steve’s full attention. There was little question that he knew everything - nearly everything, not this, never this - there was to know about you. Even less of a question that you would be sharing his bed later on, though not in the way you’d secretly started to want.
“Quit starin’ at me, creep.” Steve’s voice came then, before you could begin to spiral and question whether you could handle another night of sleeping beside him - wrapped in his embrace, his sheets, his scent - and you hummed.
“Just seeing if I need to get the aloe,” you teased, hoping it sounded as light as you meant it. “Should’ve listened to me, when I told you to put on sunscreen.”
Steve laughed. “You mean I should’ve sat still while you attacked me with it. I would’ve, if you’d given me some warning. Not nice to just start mauling a guy.”
“I know you dream about me mauling you.” The deflection was easy, reflexive, and accompanied by a laugh that rang a touch hollow in your own ears but Steve huffed, good-natured, anyway.
“Hm. Think that’s the other way around.” He cracked open an eye, then, and turned his head to glance at you while you reached for his half-empty beer in an effort to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Please,” you scoffed, though it was weaker than you intended. “I can’t get you to stop touching me.”
Despite his upbringing - or, really, because of it - Steve sought physical affection in those closest to him. It was true that he hadn’t stopped touching you over the course of your friendship, hugs and holding hands and cuddling on the couch. There was never any hesitation, never any awkward shuffling or adjusting. It was as natural as breathing, comfortable, and lately, you savored every brush of his skin against yours.
Still, Steve waved a dismissive hand and reached for the pack of cigarettes he discarded on the table after the kids left. “Sure.” He lit one, fixed you with a teasing grin as he took a drag. “Easy for you to say when you’re the clingiest person I know.”
The observation was not unkind. If anything, it was soft - fond. It was a joke he’d made before, once or twice, but the label ‘clingy’ struck a nerve that he likely had no idea even existed. One that hadn’t existed until recently.
There was a conversation that you weren’t supposed to hear. It was Eddie, asking the kids if he had a chance - whether you and Steve were, you know, a thing - and their varying responses. He only asked because of how close you were, he explained, how often Steve had an arm around you or you clasped his hand in yours.
Someone, you didn’t catch who because the words rang harsh in your ears, dismissed his concerns with the dreaded refusal, “Just friends.” Though another followed it with, “I’d be annoyed if I were Steve. She’s always all over him and they’re not even dating. So clingy.”
Eddie laughed, as did the others, and you waited just beyond the door for a few moments to pretend that you hadn’t heard.
After, you tried to distance yourself, if only a little, without arousing Steve’s suspicions. Despite being called clueless, unobservant or even stupid, despite his difficulty connecting the dots, there was little about you that escaped his notice. It was difficult to create space when none had existed since you were children and, clearly, you hadn’t done a very good job, anyway.
“Yeah, well, I’ll unstick myself from your side.” You intended the quip to be teasing, a joke that earned you a laugh or a soft swat as you passed him by, but it came out wrong. The words were acidic, tasted bitter in the back of your throat as they rolled off your tongue, and you could see him wince from the sting of them as you stood from your chair. “I’m gonna go shower,” you deflected, unable to look at him. “Chlorine’s burning my eyes.”
Steve sat upright as you gathered your towel and discarded clothes, your empty soda can and the tube of tropical sunscreen. He stubbed out his cigarette and reached out, hand searching for yours and coming up empty for the first time in a long time.
“Wait,” he urged, rising to his feet as you busied yourself with removing any trace of your presence from the immediate vicinity. “Did I… what did I say? Whatever it was, I didn’t -“ His brows furrowed as he lifted the hand you avoided and carded it through his hair, sighing when you winced at the sound of his sunglasses clattering to the ground.
“You didn’t - it’s nothing.” Steve tipped his head, an attempt to catch your eye as you blinked back the stinging sensation - chlorine, really, and overwhelmed, traitorous tears. “Just tired.”
From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of his face. He wore a concerned frown, warm eyes raking over your form as he recounted the last few moments, before he winced. “Oh. Shit. Hey, you know I’m joking,” he insisted, taking a half-step closer. And when you took a full step back, he frozen, uncertain - unused to the distance. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I love it when you’re close to me. It’s nice. I’m not - that was a shitty thing to say.”
“It’s okay.” You waved him off, a dismissive hand held aloft for a moment before dropping to hold your towel close to your chest, and hoped he believed the crack in your voice was from the yelling you’d done earlier in the day. “It’s true, ’s’what everyone thinks, anyway.”
“What?” He looked confused, frown deepening as he tried again. He took a cautious step to close some of the distance and lifted a hand to reach out for you before thinking better of it. His hand fell to his side and you clutched the material in your arms tight to your chest to keep from reaching out yourself. “No one thinks that.”
“They do,” you confessed, finally lifting your head to meet his gaze as you forced a laugh. “They think it’s weird and sad and annoying that I’m, like, all over you. They think I’m, like, obsessed or something.” The admission was uttered casually, as easily as you could manage when your heart felt as if it might beat out of your chest, and Steve took another tentative step forward.
“Who said that?”
Though it was phrased as a question, it came out a demand. His expression shifted, flickered from soft concern to annoyance - not at you, very rarely at you - as he waited.
“I overheard the kids joking about it,” you told him with a sigh. “And back when you were dating Nancy, Tommy and Carol said something. So did Billy. It didn’t bother me then ‘cause Tommy and Carol and Billy were morons, but now, well… Maybe they were right. I - I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so… attached.”
Steve stepped closer then, insistent despite your feeble attempt to keep the distance, and reached out for you. One warm, large hand fell to your waist, fingers finding bare skin still warm from the sun while the other cupped your cheek. He was patient, soft, as he encouraged you to meet his eyes once more.
“They were total morons. I’m honestly surprised they paid enough attention to someone else to notice,” he huffed, rolling his eyes at the memory of your former friends. “And the kids, they’re just kids. They don’t - don’t listen to them, alright. I don’t think you’re clingy or annoying or sad or anything else. I think you’re my best friend and I like being close to you.”
Though it brought you comfort to hear how adamantly he denied thinking you were clingy - how adamantly he denied finding your constant presence annoying - the reminder that he only saw you as a friend did little to ease the roiling in the pit of your stomach. 
A fresh wave of traitorous tears stung at the backs of your eyes and you did your best to blink them away as you nodded. “Yeah,” you nodded, acknowledging him with a watery half-smile. “Okay.”
“Hey, I’m serious,” he asserted, dipping his head to search your face for the answer to a question he had yet to ask. “I want you close to me, like, all the time. Robin laughs at me but I don’t really know what to do when you’re not there. I like it when you hold my hand or sit on my lap. It… it makes me feel like you want me with you as much as I want to be with you.”
Though the lump in your throat persisted, though the tears still threatened to fall, you immediately reassured him. “Of course I want you to be with me. I love spending time with you.” You sighed, allowing yourself to melt into Steve’s touch. “It’s always been us.”
“Always has been, always will be,” he confirmed, smile soft but still a touch concerned. He hesitated for a moment, seeming to weigh his words for the first time in a long time, before he settled on asking, “What’s up, babe? Why’d it bother you so much?”
“It’s stupid.”
Immediately, Steve shook his head. He refused to allow you to wave it off, to dismiss the tease that clearly hurt your feelings, as his thumb stroked your cheek. “It’s not, not if it’s bothering you.”
“I just…” You inhaled sharply, eyes closing as you attempted to gather your thoughts. Though Steve’s closeness would’ve brought you comfort under ordinary circumstances, it made it difficult for you to concentrate as your heart began to beat a touch too fast. “Just been thinking,” you finally began, choosing your words carefully. “It was fine when we were kids but, I mean, we’re adults now. What happens when one of your dates pays off and you find someone to fall in love with? Don’t think she’ll be too happy with, you know, this. It’s not like we can cuddle on the couch or have sleepovers for the rest of our lives.”
Steve remained quiet for a long moment - a silence that stretched on forever, thick and suffocating - and you swallowed the emotion clumping in the back of your throat before opening your eyes. You were met with his warm gaze, soft brown eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite read as he took a half-step closer.
“What if… I mean, we could.” Two words, and you felt frozen in uncertainty. Everything around you, everything outside of Steve, ceased to exist. You could feel your heart thudding heavily in your chest, your breath caught in your throat as you waited for him to elaborate. “The dates,” he began, now looking as nervous as you felt, “none of them have felt right. They don’t feel like this, like us. They don’t make me feel like you do.”
For months, you’d dreamt that Steve felt the same way. You imagined that somewhere, beneath the fond smiles and teasing jabs lingered the same nerves, the same butterflies, the same all-encompassing love. You imagined that his head was full of the same ‘what-if’s’ as you shared his bed, the same hope that you’d share the same bed for the rest of your life. You dreamt that he would one day confess his love and end your hopeless attempt at getting over him.
But now that it seemed within your grasp, so close you could practically feel his heart beating just as erratically as your own, it felt too good to be true.
“What does that mean?”
The question came as a whisper, afraid that if you spoke too loud you might break whatever spell had been cast over the backyard, but Steve heard it clearly. He met it with a half-smile as the hand on your hip began to trace nonsensical patterns across your skin - a nervous habit that made you feel as if your skin was on fire.
“Means that I want to keep holding your hand and having sleepovers,” he elaborated, voice soft in the still of the night. “Means that I… I don’t want to keep going on dates with anyone but you. Every time I think about the future, it changes - what I’m doing, where I live. But you’re always there and that’s all I want. I’ve been trying to pretend like I’m not in love with you but I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
Steve’s confession rang in your ears, crashed over you like a tidal wave, and left you unable to speak - unable to breathe. He waited, patient, understanding, as your racing thoughts scrambled in search of something coherent. But when you failed to gather anything resembling a complete sentence, you decided to allow your actions to speak for you.
In the way that you’d started to imagine as you drifted off to sleep, you dropped the items in your arms and lifted your hands to tangle in his hair to pull him in close. He smelled of summer - cigarettes, cheap beer, artificial coconut and chlorine - and something so unerringly Steve that you suddenly couldn’t imagine being this close to anyone else.
The hand on your cheek was encouraging, soft and warm as he tipped your chin, and you gave in to the urge you’d been fighting. With one step, you pressed yourself close - your chest meeting his, the warmth of his bare skin setting your nerve endings alight - and pressed your mouth to his.
Despite your expectations, there were no fireworks, no sparks or heavenly choirs, but there was an instant sense of comfort. Kissing Steve felt like coming home, warm and easy, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. 
There was no awkward shuffling, no tentative brushes of uncertain lips. Instead, you moved together seamlessly. His body slotted against yours perfectly, fit exactly as if you belonged there - together, intertwined. His lips were soft, as plush as you’d imagined, and his skin was so warm that you wondered if you would be branded with his touch before the night was over.
Though your fantasies varied - desperate kisses, eager to make up for lost time; filthy ones, a mess of lips and tongues and teeth, as you swapped spit and stumbled down a dark hallway toward his bedroom; soft kisses, designed to convey years of unspoken feelings - this kiss destroyed them all.
It was soft, slow and eager as you sought to become acquainted with the taste of one another, and laced with the underlying promise of a beautiful future.
Steve’s touch was eager, unrestrained and achingly familiar, as he held you close and swallowed the soft noises you made. Every breathless gasp and quiet sigh of pleasure, was met with a hum of his own as he slipped the hand on your cheek to the back of your neck.
Neither of you wanted the kiss to end, content to breathe in one another until your lungs collapsed, but the lack of oxygen and the reality of the situation had you feeling dizzy enough to break away. But as close as you’d always been, Steve kept you pressed tight to his body and rested his forehead against yours.
“Taking that to mean you’re in love with me, too,” he teased, breathless as he searched your face for any sign of regret, of hesitance. When he found none, he smiled - bright, happy, easy. “Totally not cool of me to admit, but I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
“You’ve never been cool, Stevie,” you returned, giggling as he pinched your side.
“Was gonna be nice,” he huffed, pretending to be put out though his grin never faltered as he shifted his head, brushed his nose against yours. “Tell you how pretty I think you are, how I want to spend the rest of my life with you; all that mushy stuff. But since you wanna be mean…”
Before you could blink, giggle out a teasing apology for your perceived slight, Steve’s arms fell to your waist. He held you close, lifted easily, and carried you the few steps to the edge of the pool. The moment you realized his intentions, the moment you opened your mouth to squeal out a plea for him to stop, Steve stepped over the edge and plunged you both into the water.
Even as you fell, sinking into the deep end, Steve kept you close. He hauled you both back up above the water, laughing as you huffed - thankfully used to this, almost expecting it as he attempted it every year.
“Steve!”
“What?” He grinned, dark hair dripping into his eyes as he guided you both into a more manageable depth and encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist. “All this could’ve been avoided if you’d just been nice to me,” he reasoned.
“I’m always nice to you, Stevie.” You weren’t - your friendship was an equal mixture of soft encouragement, soft words and even softer touches, and teasing jabs - but Steve hummed, just the same. “But I can be even nicer.”
“Know what would be really nice?” When you hummed, Steve returned a hand to cup your cheek - tipping your head to meet your eyes, only a hint of insecurity swirling amongst the warm, soft brown. “Telling me I’m not getting all this wrong. I… I know I don’t always get it,” he acknowledged, swallowing thickly, “but I… I get this, right?”
“Oh, Steve. The reason I got so freaked out about the clingy thing,” you began, lifting your hands to brush the damp hair from his forehead, “was because I was afraid you’d see it, how in love I am. I… I’ve been in love with you for a while. You’re it for me, Harrington.”
Steve grinned, then, relieved - elated, clearly brimming with joy at the revelation - and leaned forward to close the gap. The press of his mouth to yours was eager, firm, and relieved some of the ache in your chest, the fear that this was something you’d dreamt up, too good to be true. He crowded you against the wall, body caging you in as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you sighed as you tangled your fingers in his hair.
Though the pool water was cool, the press of Steve’s body against yours had you melting. He always ran warm, left you blistering in the wake of his hands exploring your skin, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest as his fingers mapped the slivers of skin he’d only held through fabric.
“Babe,” he breathed, mouth barely parted from yours as you shifted your hips, “don’t wanna do this in the pool. Not the first time. Let me take you inside.”
The urgency in his tone drew a soft moan from you, eager to feel his touch and touch him in return. “Please. Waited so long, don’t wanna wait anymore.”
Desperation, eager and hurried, that had lingered beneath the surface of the entire encounter - a desire to give in, finally, after waiting for so long - showed clearly as you both rushed out of the pool. Steve remained close to you, one hand on your hip even as you both roughly toweled off, and ushered you into the house.
The Harrington house was as familiar to you as your own. It was a space you could navigate with your eyes closed, under the worst circumstances, and you were grateful for the knowledge as you and Steve rushed up the stairs to his bedroom without pause.
As many times as you’d stepped foot in Steve’s room, as many nights as you’d spent wrapped in his sheets, there was an understandable difference in this moment. The tension was palpable and, despite how eager you both were, you both faltered for a moment as the door clicked shut behind you.
“This… we don’t have to do anything,” he began, stepping close, his palm warm against your waist. “We can just shower, maybe watch a movie or something before bed.”
Again, rather than fumbling for a coherent sentence - attempting to make sense of the thoughts that remained scrambled in your brain - you reached out for him. Steve sighed as your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged, eyes blazing with a heat that made your head spin, and you almost hated to lose the sight of his parted lips and lust blown eyes as your mouth pressed to his.
Steve’s hands began to wander, fingers mapping your skin in a desperate bid to commit it all to memory, as he walked you backwards. The plush of his bed hit the back of your knees, duvet soft, and he followed you down easily. With a knee pressed into the mattress beside your hip, a hand beside your head, Steve hovered above you, mouth never leaving yours.
While his fingers traced the skin of your stomach, your hips, your shoulders, your thighs, you brought your own to his chest. You raked your nails over his exposed skin, committing the warmth of him to memory, as he broke the kiss to lavish your neck with attention.
As he nosed at your jaw, lips pressing fleeting kisses to your skin, his hand fell to your breast, eagerly cupping the soft flesh over the damp material of your swimsuit.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he breathed, reverence lacing his tone as his hand flexed. “So warm, so soft. Smell nice.”
“It’s the sunscreen,” you gasped, words pitching higher as his lips latched onto the spot just beneath your ear. “You should try it.”
“Mm. You can put some on me tomorrow,” he offered, tongue darting out to soothe spot he’d nipped.
The promise was laced with an eager desire that had your hands wandering, nails raking over the trail of hair dipping into the band of his trunks, and you could feel the contraction of his stomach as he inhaled sharply. You knew that you tasted of chlorine and chemicals, of summer, but Steve didn’t seem to mind as he continued pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin.
Eagerly, he began to dip lower, his lips exploring your heated skin and leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Every touch was electric, sent a shockwave through your system and left your chest aching with a warmth that you hoped would never cool. You could feel the arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach, gathering slick between your thighs, as Steve nipped at the skin of your chest.
Skilled hands made quick work of the fabric covering your chest, easily ridding you of the damp suit without lifting his head from your skin, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as Steve began to make his way down. He nipped at the delicate skin of your chest, stubble scraping your skin in the most delicious way as he shifted to free his hands.
As Steve’s hands shifted, cupped your breasts and hummed, your own hand dipped beneath the band of his trunks. Your fingers brushed the warm skin, reveling in the stuttering breath Steve released, even as his own hands began to trail downward.
“Always pretty,” he complimented, voice rough as he began to follow the path blazed by his hands, pressing kisses down your chest and stomach.  “But this,” he hummed, grinning when you whined as he moved out of reach, “too fuckin’ pretty. Not fair.”
“You’re one to talk.” It was breathless, a gasp that escaped as his lips latched onto a patch of skin near your hip, and Steve grinned. “You’re so beautiful, Stevie. ’S’distracting.”
Steve continued to sink lower, mouth blazing a devastating path across your skin, as his hands fell to the plush of your thighs. He spread them easily, settled between them, and glanced up at you from near the foot of his bed with a devilish smirk that reminded you of the days of King Steve - handsome, flirty, charming.
“How’ve we never done this before?” His hands drifted closer to your aching cunt, so close to where you desperately wanted him yet so far away as his mouth pressed to your inner thigh. “Wanna spend the rest of my life here.”
“Haven’t even got my bathing suit off,” you teased, though it was weak - wrecked, already so entirely destroyed for him. But Steve took it as a challenge.
Almost immediately, Steve’s hands slipped beneath the band of your bottoms and tugged, easily working the damp fabric down your thighs. The moment they were gone, tossed across the room to be found later, he settled back between them and grinned.
Before you could tease, make a joke about him being eager, Steve’s hands shifted exactly where you wanted them. Warm fingers swiped at your slick folds, gathered the evidence of your arousal easily, before they lifted to his waiting mouth. Your lungs constricted and breathing felt impossible as you watched him lap at the slick, an exaggerated moan leaving his lips as he pulled them free with a wink.
“Knew you’d taste amazing,” he complimented, dipping his head to nip at your inner thigh.
Steve nosed at the juncture of your thigh as his fingers returned to your folds and you could feel his triumphant grin when you gasped as his thumb found your clit. But he didn’t allow you time to speak as he dipped his head and licked a stripe along your slit.
Large hands found your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin to keep you spread open as he lapped at you. There was no tentative tasting, no hesitant swipe of his tongue; Steve ate you like a man starved.
Those plush lips wrapped around your clit, eagerly tasting all you had to give, as his fingers returned to your puffy folds. He swiped them through your slick, gathered it on his fingers, before pressing them into you and working to open you up. 
“You’re,” a gasp interrupted you, stole your breathe as Steve glanced up at you from between your thighs - his shoulders keeping you spread open, hair caught between your fingers. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re good at that.”
Steve preened under the praise, lashes fluttering at that and the combination of your fingers yanking at his hair, as his fingers - longer, thicker than yours; easily pressing into the spaces you could never quite reach - sank deeper into you. 
As desperate as you were to feel him, to have him push you over the edge, this wasn’t the way you wanted to go. You wanted to feel him, to feel his weight pressing you into the mattress as his lips met yours, and you told him as much as you tugged at his hair.
“Wanna feel you, Stevie, please,” you begged, stomach tight and chest aching as you desperately sought to catch your breath. 
“Fuck.” Steve’s forehead pressed to your thigh, warm breath fanning over your sticky skin. “Wanted to hear you say that forever,” he admitted, eagerly clambering up to shove his trunks down his hips.
As Steve shoved his swim trunks down, you tipped your head - eager to see if the rumors were true. And just as you’d heard, Steve was larger than you ever could’ve imagined. He was bigger than anyone you’d been with, bigger than anything you’d seen, and you couldn’t help yourself as you reached out to touch him.
The tip was an angry red, dripping precum, and Steve swore as your thumb brushed at the pearly bead. “Fuck, you’re so big,” you whined, wondering how he would fit - eagerly anticipating the stretch of him.
“Can’t say shit like that,” he huffed, laughing - pink cheeks blazing, embarrassed and secretly pleased at the attention - as he settled above you. “Ego’s already too big,” he teased.
“Not the only thing,” you returned, grinning when he laughed, fingers dipping between your thighs. “Fuck me, Stevie, please.”
“Anything you want,” he promised, hand wrapping around the base of his cock and guiding it to your puffy folds. He dragged the head through the slick, both of you moaning at the contact, before he notched the head at your entrance and pressed forward.
The stretch of him was delicious, too much and not enough all at once, and you swore you could feel him in the back of your throat as he sank into you. He went slow, careful, eager not to hurt you, but with every inch he sank forward, you were desperate to feel him fully.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Steve was pressed fully into you. It was overwhelming, being so impossibly close to him - completely intertwined, bodies as one - and all you could do was pull him into a searing kiss.
The kiss was a mess, a clash of tongue and teeth, uncoordinated but so satisfying as his hand gripped your hip. You could feel him surrounding you, all-encompassing, and you never wanted the moment to end.
Even as his hips began to snap, his rhythm steady, deep, you struggled to catch your breath - to care about anything other than the warmth of his skin against yours, the scent of him, the weight of him over you. The only thing you could say was his name, repeated like a prayer as his thumb found your clit and his lips remained just inches from your own.
Steve was all that existed, all that had ever existed, and suddenly the future was bright. There was hope, an eager desire to spend the rest of your life here - in this moment, with Steve pressed close - and you couldn’t help but whimper out a desperate, “I love you,” as you felt yourself barreling toward the edge.
The words were returned in a reverent chant, equally desperate, as you felt his hips begin to stutter. You were both nearly there, just a few presses of his hips - another swipe of his thumb, another press of his mouth to your heated skin - and you were careening over the edge with Steve following shortly after.
Warmth flooded your veins, his spend filling you so completely, and his lips sought yours despite your shared inability to regain your breath. It didn’t matter, not when all that existed was this moment, and you didn’t care that Steve’s weight had fallen to press you deeper into the mattress.
For a few long moments, you both lay there - gasping, fighting to catch your breath and return to the moment at hand - before Steve pulled away just enough to settle at your side. There was no distance left between you, slick skin pressed together, and you would’ve been content to lie there forever.
Steve, it seemed, felt the same as he settled into the pillow and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.
Though the afternoon began with a fear that Steve would see you as clingy, that he would never love you in the way you loved him, you were ending the night in the only place you wanted to be; clinging to your boyfriend, sated and happy and looking forward to the future for the first time in a long time.
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Author's Note: This was inspired by a sunscreen, believe it or not. Don't know how we got here but it was a fun journey.
Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​
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dandylovesturtles · 18 hours
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more Firelined propaganda, because I love them. as always, Firefight is owned by @remedyturtles
for the @tmntaucompetition
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Somehow, their teammates are stable. As far as Donnie can tell, this is pretty lucky, given the shape they were in. The other Leo still hasn't come out of his shell, though, eerily silent where he's cradled in the other Donnie's arms. He hasn't wanted to let go, even since they moved the both of them to a cot, and Donnie can't blame him.
There'd been some more running around, some more efforts to get them treated and comfortable, over the course of the last few hours. And now Donnie is pretty sure it's late (or he's experiencing some kind of interdimensional jetlag), and everyone but him is asleep. They'd found another cot and forced Leo, shaking and clearly low on energy reserves, into it; he'd fussed and insisted he wasn't tired, but the moment his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep. It was a little funny - the kind of thing they could chuckle about now, so many months into Leo's recovery. Raph had slumped against the wall and Mikey had climbed into his lap to nap there.
Donnie had promised them he'd join them soon enough. But so far he hasn't moved from his chair by their teammates' cot, typing away on his wrist tech and occasionally asking Shelldon to run some calculations for him.
At least, Donnie thought he was the only one awake, but the longer he sits there, the more he starts to feel the telltale prickle of someone watching him. His eyes rise from his screens and meet the gaze of the other Donnie, awake and observing him from the cot.
He lowers his wrist and gives a little wave of his fingers to the other Donnie. "Do you need more painkillers?" he asks quietly.
(He really needs a distinct designation for their counterparts. He remembers Leo floating the names "Leonother" and "Donatwollo" and shudders. For now, he decides to mentally refer to them as Donnie-β and Leo-β.)
Donnie-β shakes his head. His eyes float beyond Donnie, to where Leo is asleep in his cot. He points and makes a sign that Donnie assumes is his name sign for Leo-β (different from the name sign for his Leo, which is interesting), then waits to see if Donnie understands. At his nod, Donnie-β proceeds to sign, "Sleep, how?" as best as he can under the circumstances.
Donnie lets out a huff that's almost a laugh. "I'm guessing your Leo also suffers from insomnia?" Donnie-β nods. "As it turns out, chronic fatigue is a surprisingly effective cure." Donnie turns back and glances at Leo, sleeping away. "Usually, anyway..."
There are sometimes days Leo suffers from both, too tired to move but unable to sleep. He's always especially emotional on days like that, and Donnie knows he hates it, so he's glad Leo's brain is letting him sleep tonight.
When he looks back, Donnie-β has a complicated expression on his face that Donnie doesn't know how to begin to unpack. After several awkward seconds of silence, Donnie-β signs again, just, "How?" this time.
"How was he hurt?" Donnie clarifies, and Donnie-β nods again. "It was... the Dark Armor. Draxum put him inside." At the wide-eyed look of horror on Donnie-β's face, Donnie comes to the conclusion, "That didn't happen in your timeline, did it?"
Donnie-β shakes his head. It's not a surprise, at this point.
"It seems to be a unique event to our timeline, at least insofar as those assembled here are concerned," says Donnie, flipping through screens to bring up the research he's done on the alternate timelines here. "So far I know of one other timeline where Leo was put inside the armor, but their circumstances are substantially different from ours." He looks back at their teammates, taking in their substantial injuries, then asks, quietly, "This wasn't the Shredder, was it?"
Tired, Donnie-β shakes his head. Then, with a trembling hand, he fingerspells, "Krang."
"We've heard of them," Donnie tells him. "In other universes... Well, it seems like no one got off particularly easily."
It takes some fumbling from his position, but Donnie-β manages to sign, "Maybe not you," indicating the entire group when he does.
Donnie just shakes his head. "We aren't any more lucky than you guys," he says, which makes Donnie-β's mouth twitch in a motion that is at once humorous and grim.
Another few minutes of silence follows, during which Donnie goes back to looking at his screens, mostly to give Donnie-β the illusion of space. He can tell Donnie-β is thinking something over and trying to decide if he wants to bring it up (pretty weird to see that thought process play out on a mirror of his own face, actually), and he also knows it will be easier for him to come to a decision if he's not being stared at.
Finally, Donnie-β motions for his attention, and, once he has it, signs out, "Was it bad?" before indicating that he's talking about Leo. "Mentally, emotionally," he adds.
Donnie grimaces. Ah, no wonder he debated over saying anything... This isn't a topic Donnie is eager to discuss, either. But he has a feeling Donnie-β must have a reason for asking, so he's willing to talk. A little, anyway.
"Yes," he says. And then, because saying it all out loud is starting to feel dangerous, he turns off his wrist tech and switches to modified ASL (luckily, other than the name signs, Donnie-β's version has been close enough for him to follow so far). "It was bad."
Donnie-β looks at Leo, hesitancy written all over his expression. "Can you tell me?" he finally signs, with shaky hands, like he's not sure he wants to know about it but has to ask.
Donnie hesitates, too. Talking about his brother's mental health issues to other people without Leo's permission is a line he would not normally cross. Leo deserves to control who has that kind of information about him, and in what circumstances they're told. In this situation, he doesn't think Leo would mind, but still...
He decides on a compromise. "I can tell you how it was for me."
Perhaps Donnie-β understands the thought process that led here, because he nods and doesn't press for more.
Donnie takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Thinking about that time, at the beginning of Leo's recovery, is stressful and comes with no small amount of shame. But he can do it, if it will help someone else with their own troubles.
"He was struggling," Donnie signs, because that much he knows is safe to tell, "and I didn't understand. I pushed too hard. I needed him to heal on my timeline. I wanted things to be normal. I wanted to go back to how it was before."
He chews on his lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I was scared. I felt like I was losing someone. I wanted my Leo," he uses his own name sign for Leo, then points to be sure Donnie-β knows who he means, "back. I wasn't ready to accept I wasn't getting him back."
Donnie-β's face seemed to drain of color, and he hugged Leo-β to his chest ever tighter. Donnie could only imagine what was going though his counterpart's head.
"Mikey," he fingerspells the name for Donnie-β's benefit, "said I was in mourning." He shrugs exaggeratedly - not because he doesn't believe Mikey, but because feelings have never been his area of expertise. "And that was okay. But I needed to love Leo where he is now."
He glances back at his brother, still sleeping soundly. He feels his heart swell when he does - that part, at least, had been easy.
"Leo is different now. And I love him." Donnie makes the sign for "love" extra exaggerated, to add as much emphasis as he can. "Who he is now. As much. More." He glances over his shoulder again and smiles at Leo.
Donnie-β listens. He puts his chin on Leo-β's shell, tapping out the same message to him again.
"...Scared," he rasps out loud, and his voice barely works; Donnie has to lean in to hear. But Donnie-β seems unwilling now to take his hands off Leo-β. "Of losing him for good."
Donnie's own stomach drops at the idea. He gives his head a firm shake, like that will banish it entirely, for both of them.
"You won't," he says. "You'll save him."
Donnie-β looks hauntingly unsure. "How do you know?" he whispers.
"Because you're Donatello Hamato," says Donnie fiercely, "and you can do anything."
Donnie-β doesn't smile, or laugh, or react in any way a Donnie might normally. Donnie supposes that Leo-β isn't the only one who's going to be different now.
But he nods, seriously, his hand keeping up the gently taps on Leo-β's shell.
"Wouldn't want... to give Donnies a bad name," he murmurs.
"That's right," says Donnie, a sigh in his voice. "And - not to sound like Raph here - but maybe you should start by getting some rest yourself."
Donnie-β lets out a noise that is close enough to an annoyed huff it makes Donnie smile.
"If anything happens-"
"We'll wake you. Don't worry."
A nod. Donnie-β's eyelids droop.
He's asleep soon, curled around Leo-β's shell even in slumber. Donnie makes sure the blankets are tucked firmly around both of them, then stretches.
"Shelldon, wake me if anything changes."
"Sure thing, dude."
Donnie looks at Raph and Mikey's mini-turtle pile, then turns back to Leo's cot. It's not really big enough for two, but without his battle shell Donnie is pretty sure he can make it work.
He tucks himself in behind Leo. Leo makes a soft noise in his sleep, turning over and curling into Donnie instinctively.
Donnie would never want anyone else for a Leo. He knows Donnie-β feels the same about Leo-β. And that's why Donnie can rest - believing, eventually, they would be okay.
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stevenose · 3 days
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Not to change the storyline or anything but thinking about if Cowboy!Steve was a vampire actually makes my brain a bit fuzzy 😵‍💫
Like he’s so smooth and sexy and mysterious and is always wearing black with his toothpick peeking out of his mouth and his hat tipped low, always seemed to be the lonesome type, not one to make friends, but maybe he meets you in a dingy saloon one night and you’re just a sweet naive lil lady it takes no effort to seduce you before pulling you into the dark hallway in the back and kissing you crazy, inhaling the scent from your neck and just getting the smallest of tastes from your sweet intoxicating blood 🩸
HEY??????? oh my god. oh my god. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 oh my god. the. AUGH… biting up your neck, the swell of your tits, all while telling you in a low voice to settle down 😵‍💫 riding his thigh with his face buried in the crook of your neck… telling you that you taste so good and you have no idea what he means. you don’t even feel the pain or notice until the next day when your neck and chest are bruised. and he disappears for a while but you can’t stop thinking about him. it’s like he’s put white hot pleasure right into your veins. you can’t ignore it. can’t stop touching your sore clit and thinking about him until you happen by him in the middle of the night taking a walk on the prairie … 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫
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carnivalcarrion · 9 months
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watched Grease the other night with my buddy and. well. obviously i Had To
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sarah-sandwich · 1 month
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Valentine's for my Valentine's (mutuals and followers and anyone else who sees them)
Happy Valentine's Day!! I am parked horribly in front of your house blasting the song that makes you feel the most You from my boombox!
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ofkithandmckinney · 5 months
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Tales Of Bravery & Stupidity by Bruce McCulloch LIVE at The Rivoli
youtube
Do yourself a favour and watch this!
Laughing until your cry--guaranteed!
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wizardlocation · 1 month
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leaving q note that with everything going on rn on this webbed site that my carrd has my other art accounts on it. this is really the only one I kept up with but the other ones are ways to find me and partially kept up.
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br1ghtestlight · 3 months
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in honor of the 13th anniversary here are all my bob's burgers Thoughts from before I was mentally ill about the show. last message was talking about jack mcbrayer voicing the stress ball in the s10 premeire which was relevant to the conversation.... I assume. all dated from 2020 to 2022
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sin-arts-0 · 4 months
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She found an artifact
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acheyri · 11 months
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silly comic from watching movies w/ my gf last week
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vyrion · 6 months
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hey anyone heard of this thing called pdsekai?
originals here and here
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deakwithit · 8 days
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at the end of the day its the weird obsession shows used to have with men dressing as women (and looking really good doing it too)
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brainfullofbees · 1 month
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divinekangaroo · 2 months
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was also reading an article on agents predicting a sharp rise in high concept fiction and i groaaaaaned
Snipped Definition from Somewhere Probably Wikipedia: What Is High Concept Fiction? A high concept story is one with a clear, easily-communicable premise. It typically involves a premise that is easy to pitch and driven by a straightforward plot. This is in contrast to low concept stories, which tend to be more character-driven with less of an obvious narrative hook.
I mean nothing fundamentally wrong with high concept really, as well as the fact that high concept can be used very cleverly too: it's actually a pretty damned original concept; it's high concept but it's a contraversial concept that adds something new; it's high concept but the author is a master of subtext and you get to enjoy TWO types of stories at once.
But I know very well that this is not what is meant here: agents predicting a sharp rise in the current trend for overly simplified, sanitised and pseudo-moralising fiction, is what it really means.
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joyfuladorable · 9 months
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Kinda wish I could mute posts on here, lol
Edit: okay, I actually can mute thank the GODSSSS
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arolesbianism · 2 months
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I am still not over the level cap thing what do you mean level fucking 10
#rat rambles#like do they not realize how fucking pathetically low that is?#like it is So easy to get a follower to level 10 especially late game#like in every playthrough of this game Ive done I always have at least one follower whos past level 40 usually several#Im glad they didnt retroactively lower existing followers levels but it still sucks#it just makes leveling them feel kind of pointless when theyre likely going to passively max out after a certain point anyways#like genuinely I dont even understand what the point of this change is#because its not like getting broke. high level followers is much of a concern early game#and mid game is usually only a potential issue balance wise if youve been putting in a stupid amount of effort since the start#and by the time you get to the late game I. genuinely dont think it matters.#like in early late game again youll only have genuinely broken high levels if youve been going hard at leveling followers#and by the end of the late game its like ok and. let ppl be powerful cmon man.#like theres So many things they could have done to adjust the balancing that wasnt this#like if theyre concerned abt faith generation then make a cap on that or make it not a one to one level thing#if theyre concerned about demons then they could again adjust the scaling slightly or simply make it harder to level followers#they could have even used the deciple thing to help with that by having it be a prerequisite to higher levels#like maybe you could have a couple rings of inner circles with each tier unlocking another ten levels#and they could even add a lower cap at like 50 or smth just dont make it fucking 10#that might genuinely be the worst part of this update and Im not even joking when I say this just killed my motivation to play more#its one of the few things that you were able to keep working on and expanding after unlocking everything else#I genuinely really hope they change this because if not then I think Ill have to drop the game thats how bad it is to me
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