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jewishrat420 · 3 months

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No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #absolutely no idea where this came from #but it's here #first kiss #mutual pining #flirting #steddie first kiss #teasing #steve harrington is down bad #eddie munson is down equally bad #idk how to tag things

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yutaleks · 2 months

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cw: noncon, reader is restrained, oviposition, monsterfucking, belly bulge, blood, breeding, size kink, two (large) dicks, yuuta bites reader with his fangs. Mentions of a past experience on Yuuta’s part. reader is mentioned to be ovulating. Naga!Yuuta x fem!reader. Shoutout to Sage anon for starting the naga!yuuta agenda… sorry. it's the voices. you know how it goes. Length: 2.1k Banner by @/cafekitsune

For a creature that's holding you against your will, Yuuta is surprisingly considerate.

Despite telling you that the only reason he hasn't eaten you yet is because he can smell how fertile you are, he hasn't touched you in the week since he's kept you in his cave. Earlier, you told yourself it was perhaps because he's changed his mind. Or maybe he had realized, over the last week, that he did not actually want you to "carry his brood" as he so crudely put it himself within minutes of meeting you. Maybe he changed his mind, and was simply using you as a heater at night (which wasn't so bad, admittedly. Being surrounded by his thick tail was definitely better than cold, hard cave floor).

You had high hopes of being freed gently, after a week of him feeding you and attempting to charm you with the bloodied belongings of deceased spelunkers who were not as lucky as you were. You had told yourself that this half snake-half man creature that you could only dream up in nightmares was actually just being kind to you and would release you once your body was healed up enough to move. It was a nice thing to tell yourself each time you were faced with him reappearing from the dark, covered in blood, actively choosing not to feast on your flesh. It had to be for a reason, right?

After you'd eaten a meal of questionable origin (as all meals given to you by him were) he'd taken to his daily habit of 'smelling' you with his tongue. It is a strange thing, indeed, to watch his human lips part and produce a thin, forked tongue. It was nothing short of invasive, having him taste the air surrounding your body. And each day he'd mumble something along the lines of 'not yet'; you didn't understand what he meant by such a thing, and he did not offer to elaborate.

But today the smelling/tasting/whatever he was doing with his tongue produced a different result. Today, with a satisfied hum, he smiled at you with fangs protruding, the dark slits in his eyes looking especially fiendish.

"You're ready."

"Ready for what?" you asked, innocently, as his thick mass of tail had coiled itself around you. It was just on the edge of constricting, as its weight settled on your limbs.

What a naive girl you were.

His answer came to you in the form of him holding you down in his nest, scaled tail too weighty for your limbs to even dream of pushing back. And even with your incessant wriggling, he manages to peel away the layers of your clothing. It leaves your pretty, small human body delightfully open for him. He can’t peel his eyes off of your glistening cunt if he tried.

And despite the week spent in his captivity it is at that moment that you see him for the first time—two large, phallic appendages emerging from a slit where a human man's reproductive organs would be.

Does he really intend to put both of those inside of you?

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt,” he says, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as the rest of your body is immobilized. You want to say something, anything, but honestly you’re still so stuck on the sight of his two penises. They are way too big for your body, that much you know for a fact.

“It’s—they—they’re too…” your body attempts to move away from his approaching tongue, shoulders pressing back against the flooring. Your body moves not even an inch, held so firmly in place.

“I’ve heard that our saliva assists in easing the pain,” he tells you, syllables just slightly slurred by the weight of his tongue. “I will do my best.”

“H-have you,” you swallow, as his tongue flicks across the small space between his (admittedly) handsome face and your pussy. “Have you done this before?”

His dark eyes widen a little as he says, “Once. Another human.”

You don’t have time to question it any further—when he finishes speaking he unhinges his sharp jaw, further than a human should be able to, and quickly pierces your vulva with four fangs. The piercing scream that leaves your lips echos off the cave walls, pain stinging where he bites. Tears well at the corners of your eyes but the pain doesn’t last very long; just as soon as you begin to feel his teeth pull away, blood bubbling up from the wounds, so does a feeling of numbness begin to seep through the source of your pain. It is as he said—the saliva he leaves in your open wounds fizzles out the pain into nothingness. In mere moments, if it weren’t for the blood in the crack between your thigh and your pussy, you’d forget about the bites entirely.

He flicks his tongue over each bite-wound, and surely the area between your legs starts to feel—well, you can’t feel, actually. At least you’ve stopped thrashing about, to Yuuta’s relief.

It is behind the cages of dark lashes that he looks up at you when he’s done licking the blood away. Though your senses are dulled, you can vaguely feel his forked tongue swipe over your hole. Despite how much you don’t want this, your body responds to the stimulus of his tongue with dripping arousal—he can taste it, the tangy nectar that you drip for him. And to think you had resisted so intensely.

“So warm,” he notes, cool breath passing over your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

You do the math in your head, thinking to yourself that between your last period and the time you’ve been in this cave, it has to have been about two weeks…

Is what he is sensing… ovulation?

Your thighs shake against his palms, struggling as you watch his tongue begin to push itself inside of you. It’s the strangest sensation, that despite the numbness, you can feel his thin, forked tongue move around inside of you, coating your walls in that thin, sticky substance that is his saliva. Just as he had numbed the space between your legs, this too he covers in venom. It reaches a point where you can no longer feel the movements of his tongue, and your body turns boneless against his tail, tired from resisting.

When he pulls away, long tongue no longer numbing your insides, you look down upon his body once again. You more closely inspect his two cocks, noticing quite a difference between the two. The second, lower one is quite thicker, its girth intimidating, maybe even downright frightening. The upper one is thinner, more human-like in size and shape. Though it is large by human standards, it is not as scary as the first one. But the thought of him using both on you, perhaps even at the same time, has your heart pumping out of your stomach. Numbness be damned.

“B-both of those?” You blurt out, eyes wide in fear as his body draws nearer to yours.

“Ah, no,” he tells you, to your relief. “First, eggs. Then, mating.”

Again, you struggle against the weight of his body. Words like “please” and “don’t” leave your lips but he has kept you here for this purpose alone—surely, he’s told you this before, hasn’t he? You’ve accepted his gifts, his foods, his care. He has done it all for you, the one who will help him sire his brood.

He uses the lower cock first, its girth stretching you impossibly wide. He is as gentle as he can be, pushing in slowly and watching for any signs of pain. He had taken his time numbing you, and it seems to have paid off—besides general discomfort, the anguishing stretch that he had expected (judging from his last experience, anyway) did not seem to bother you as much as he thought it would. Your eyes screw shut as he stuff you full with his cock, and as he waits for you to adjust to his full size, he feels the muscles in your thighs relax. The resistance of your upper body against his tail wanes.

“Good girl.”

The sweet tone of his voice makes you shudder. It’s almost unfair that a monster using you like this can be so handsome, can sound so reassuring. You feel him pull out halfway, just to push back in. His upper cock, the one not inside you, rubs against your clit, creating a devastatingly delicious friction. And you watch your belly as he thrusts again, a bump moving along in time with his thrusts.

Is that bump his cock?!

It is unbelievable that your body can even stretch that much to accommodate him. Your eyes follow in time with his thrusts, and though he starts slowly he builds up momentum steadily. When he glances down at where your union begins, he’s satisfied to see a sheen that can only be your wetness. He’s convinced your body wants his as desperately as he wants yours.

“Is this enjoyable?” He asks you, sweat forming at his temples.

You gasp when the head of his cock glides against your engorged clit once again. With the numbness, you cannot feel it, but he certainly can feel how you tighten around his cock in response. He groans.

“Yuutaaa,” you whine, the first time you’ve ever called him by name. He’s elated.

The base of his cock begins to swell.

You screw your eyes shut as he picks up speed, deep breaths and thick, pained grunts erupt from his throat. He sounds different, suddenly, and when you look down you realize why—his cock grows thicker, bumps that you presume are eggs pushing past your entrance.

“Wait—wait—” you beg, arms pushing desperately at the tail that weighs them down.

“I will give my eggs to you,” he tells you between ragged breaths. “This may hurt…”

The word hurt is a blatant misrepresentation of what happens next. His tongue had done a fantastic job of numbing your pussy for him, but it does nothing for your cervix. Yuuta grabs at your hips roughly, and pushes himself into you as deep as he will go. The base of his upper cock pressed hard against your clit, and you quite quickly orgasm all over his cock, squeezing quite tightly. And though you feel nothing but fullness around his cock inside you, your orgasm spurs on his own, his upper cock leaking onto your navel. His lower cock pushes against your cervix, and with pain so sharp it makes you cry out, multiple eggs push through into your womb. You lose count of how many, Yuuta biting at your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere and everywhere to distract you as he deposits into your womb. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, but when he pulls out, your body feels both full and weak, reeling from waves of pain both in your cervix and everywhere he’s bitten;

Yet, he is not finished.

He removes the lower cock and replaces it with the thinner upper one. You make no protest this time, letting him rut into your used cunt. He’s mumbling something against your throat, but with your body numbed and tired, you pay little attention to it.

Overstimulation takes hold as he continues to fuck you long after you’ve already come all over his cock. He bites onto your breast, fangs and all, leaving puncture wounds with every bite from your shoulder to your nipple.

How pretty you look under him, he thinks. He even hopes he’ll get another chance to do this with you, hopelessly infatuated with this little human he’d met only a week ago.

You helplessly spread your legs as wide as you can when he finishes inside you, coating your insides in his spend and inevitably fertilizing the eggs he’d placed inside you. And just like a snake would in the wild, his cock anchors itself inside you, twitching with the last bits of spend and keeping you locked onto his cock, not wasting even a drop. A weak, defeated moan leaves your lips as his cock stretches inside you once again, plugging you full.

“Yuuta…” you call for him weakly. His tail coils around you affectionately, his arms pulling your chest closer to his.

“You did so well… thank you,” he coos to your weary, sweaty body. “I’m glad I saved you.”

You vaguely wonder: if this is what being “saved” is, would being forsaken have been the better option?

So tired from the ordeal, you quickly succumb to sleep, not knowing the answer.

#SORRY IDK WHERE THIS CAME FROM SORRY !!#naga!yuuta #yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #cw.monsterfucking #cw.noncon #cw.oviposition #writing tag

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