#baron smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katyswrites · 2 months

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you're a bandit like me

Pairing: Baron Lamram/afab!reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), references to crime, unprotected p in v, oral sex (reader receiving), sneaky links, no use of y/n, SPOILERS for Marmalade

Wordcount: 3k

A little blurb about Baron - takes place after the end of the movie, later that night. A universe in which you're his sneaky link, and a partner-in-crime - and he needs you, now.

It starts with a knock on your door in the middle of the night. You’re in bed, flicking between channels, ultimately settling on the late-night news to hopefully help lull you to sleep.

You’re half-conscious, the reporter’s voice a dull din in the background.

“- federal agents have given a new description of the suspect, who they say they have previously mis-identified as a female -”

You’re falling asleep in the blue glow of the television, until you hear the frantic tapping on your door. You jump, suddenly alert - you covertly grab your gun off of the nightstand - you never sleep without it nearby -, and slowly walk towards the door, consciously avoiding the squeakiest floorboards. The knocking is continuing, and part of you worries that the cops have truly, finally caught up to you. You bring your eye up to the peephole, and breathe a sigh of relief.

He’s standing there, the same as ever, if not a bit more tired-looking. And -

“You cut your hair,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief.

Baron nods.

“Yeah, I did. Planning to use that on me?” he asks. You glance down at the gun in your hand, and laugh, putting it down.

“No - sorry, I just - can never be too careful.”

He nods, a mutual understanding shared between the two of you. You step back, not even needing him to ask to be invited in, bolting the door behind him.

You hadn’t heard from him in weeks, but that’s typical - you only reach out when you need each other. Though, he usually at least prefaces his visits with a phone call.

“What’s going on -”

You don’t get a chance to finish, because his lips are on yours, hands holding your face to pull you close to him. You let your eyes flutter shut, kissing him back with a bit of desperation - he tastes like menthol cigarettes, and the flavor of gum he likely just chewed to try and cover it up.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his body impossibly closer to yours - you’ve only managed to make it a few feet inside the doorway. It nearly kills you to pull away, just to look at him.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly.

He nods, lips slightly swollen from yours.

“Yeah - I - it’s all good. Just had a long day.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Long how?”

You know what Baron gets up to when you don’t see him - you and him are alike, in that way. You rarely go into the details of each other’s misdeeds - except, perhaps, the occasions when he shows up to your place with a sack full of cash, begging for you to get him a car, or a weapon, or a fake ID - whatever he needs. You’re always happy to oblige - it’s your specialty, after all. You’re even the one who taught him how to hotwire, even though he’ll never admit that. Sometimes he comes for a few days, just to lay low - you’ve done the same, just a few times. Only when he’s passing through, trying to throw someone off of his trail. But something is different this time.

He just shakes his head.

“You’ll find out in tomorrow’s papers, I’m sure.”

You nod in understanding.

“Were you followed?”

“No - don’t think so. Pretty sure I shook them back in Alabama.”

You just bring your hand up to card it through his hair, chuckling.

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” you say.

“Do you like it?”

You can’t help but smile.

“Oh, yeah - it’s really nice. Kind of… sexy, actually.”

He smirks, his face reddening a bit.

“Well, if I had known you’d say that, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Does it… is this anything to do with your long day?”

He just nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Okay,” you say - it’s enough information, for now. “So… I’m guessing you’re not here just to hide out, are you?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, fighting another smirk.

“No.”

Then you’re kissing him again, pulling him down by his shirt collar. He sighs against your lips, wrapping his arms around you as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Bedroom,” you murmur, bringing him with you as you step backwards down the hallway.

You stumble through the doorway together, never pulling your lips away from one another. He’s holding your face in his hands again, gently, as if he’s worried you might break. It’s a contrast from his mouth, rough and demanding against yours.

You reach for his leather jacket, helping him shoulder it off and throw it on the floor.

“Need you,” he grumbles. “I - I just -”

“It’s okay,” you say, placing a finger on his lips.

There’s always been a mutual understanding between you two, ever since he first came to you two years ago, looking for a car and a gun. You hadn’t questioned why - in your line of “work,” you never did. But, there was something else, too - your lifestyles made it impossible to do this with anyone else. Other people were dangerous - they asked too many questions. Baron, on the other hand… you know it’s not even his real name. He doesn’t know yours, either - it’s better that way. Pseudonyms keep things easier, and make this only one, incredibly small part of your life. Sometimes, all you needed from each other was someone to touch, to hold. Still, it doesn’t change how much you miss him every time he disappears on you.

But he’s here now, and he wants you - no, needs you, in his words.

So you start unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his neck as you do. He groans, hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull your lips back to his.

He pushes you back gently, leading you to the bed until the backs of your knees are hitting the mattress.

You fall back a bit gracelessly, and he follows you, reaching desperately for the hem of your oversize t-shirt. You oblige, pulling it over your head to reveal your breasts to him.

“No bra?” he asks, grinning.

“I was about to go to sleep, until you -”

And he’s kissing you again, hand pressed against the small of your back. It begins to wander, calloused hands brushing against your soft skin, covering the expanse of your back until he comes around to cup your breasts. You kiss him desperately, gasping as he toys with your nipples. You bury your face in his neck, your sensitive buds hardening under his touch.

“You like that, baby?” he coos. You just moan into his skin, reaching down to fumble with his belt buckle.

It’s not long until you’ve rid each other of all your other clothes, and he’s pushed you back onto the mattress, crawling over you.

He smiles down at you, face hovering inches from yours.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

“I just - thanks.”

“For what?” you ask.

“Always answering the door, picking up the phone, just - saving my ass, over and over again.”

“It’s what we do,” you say, pulling him down for another kiss. “We help each other.”

“You’re really helpin’ me right now,” he says, chuckling.

Then he’s reaching down, his fingers brushing against your cunt, and you gasp.

“Need to touch you, baby,” he murmurs, coating his fingers in your slick as he runs them along your slit. He’s kissing down your body, slowly, and you feel yourself shiver with anticipation. You sigh, letting your head fall back against the pillow.

“Spread ‘em for me - that’s it - been thinkin’ about this pussy all day -”

Your legs fall open, giving Baron’s fingers full access.

“So fuckin’ wet - just relax, baby -”

He begins circling your clit with his thumb, his other hand planted on your hip to keep you pinned against the mattress. He slips a finger inside, and you moan, involuntarily clenching around him as he adds a second one.

“You like that?” he murmurs. You just whine, bucking against his hand as he pumps his fingers into you.

“‘Course you do - I know just what you like - fuck, look at you,” he says, continuing to work you open with his fingers.

You moan, writhing as you feel pleasure coarse through you, his fingers so much larger than your own - only for it to stop, suddenly.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to whine in protest, because his mouth is on you, tongue swirling around your clit. You cry out, back arching at the feeling of his mouth, pillow-soft and lapping at you like you’re his last meal.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs against your cunt, licking a long line up your slit. You moan, his hands holding your hips to the bed as he eats you out. He focuses his tongue back on your clit, swirling circles around it as his hand comes back, slipping two fingers back into you with ease.

He grins against your skin at the sound of your whines when he adds a third finger, pumping in and out of you at an unrelenting pace.

You find your own hands wandering, running your fingers through his hair and gripping, pulling him closer. You’re not used to it being so short, but it still serves its purpose all the same. He groans as you pull on the chestnut strands.

“I’m close,” you breathe, feeling your face flush, your heart thudding in your chest. There’s pressure building in your core, ready to snap at any moment. He just hums, the vibration against your cunt pushing you even closer to the edge.

It takes one more circle of his tongue over your clit, and you’re done for - you’re bucking your hips into his face, tugging harshly on his hair as you see stars behind your eyelids. You scream as the pleasure washed over you, the orgasm intense and white-hot. He works you through your high, continuing to lap and lick at you, gradually slowing down as your whole body shakes. It’s almost too much, but you can’t even find the words to ask him to stop. By the time he removes his fingers from you, you’re a mess. You feel boneless, certain you'll sink all the way through the mattress if you aren’t careful.

Your breathing is deep and labored, not even able to form words as Baron presses soft kisses to your inner thigh. He brings himself back up over you, kissing you fiercely. You still faintly taste yourself on him, and smile into his mouth.

“You good?” he asks, smiling smugly.

You nod, still a bit breathless. “Fuck - yeah, so good.”

He kisses you again, his mouth glistening with you as you feel his hard cock press against your stomach.

“Not gonna lie - not sure if I’ll last long,” he whispers. “Just kind of wanted to make sure you felt good first, just in case -”

“It’s fine,” you assure. “Don’t worry - I’ve got you.”

You don’t worry about coming again, not really - he needs you, needs this. You never ask each other questions, but you know something must have happened that’s set him over the edge. So, you just kiss him, and hold him close as he lines up with your entrance.

He groans as he pushes into you, his cock stretching you out. You gasp, digging your fingernails into his back as he fully bottoms out, still not quite used to his size after all this time.

He wastes no time, and you don’t mind - you’re still wet and sensitive from your previous orgasm, and he begins pounding into you at a relentless pace.

You moan under him, bring your hips up to meet his thrusts. THe room is just filled with the sounds of moans and labored breaths, the slapping of skin, and the scent of sex. He’s everywhere, grunting and groaning as he thrusts.

The feeling of him is exquisite, his cock feeling like it was made for you as it drags deliciously along your walls.

“Takin’ me so well,” he manages, voice strained. “So fuckin’ good - fuckin’ love your pussy -”

You just mewl and whine, burying your face into his neck and sucking on the skin there. It might bruise, but you don’t care - he moans at the feeling, and picks up the pace a bit. He’s already close, you can tell. Pleasure courses through your own body, pulsing through you as he fucks you.

“Oh god -” you moan, heat building in your core. “Baron, baby - fuck, right there - fuck -”

“Needed this - the whole time I was in there - I wanted to get out, just for you - had to see you again -”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you let him ramble - he always gets talkative when he’s about to finish.

“Where -” he breathes, aware of how dangerously close he is to finishing inside you.

“I - ah! Fuck - tummy’s fine - or tits, or wherever -”

He’s pulling out in a flash, his hand coming up to furiously stroke his cock. He only has to jerk himself for a few seconds, then he’s shuddering, hips stilting into his hand as he cums. You feel his hot cum hit your stomach, warm and sticky on your skin. He groans as he finishes, his hot ropes pooling onto your belly and dripping down your sides a bit. He collapses next to you, breathless.

Your heart is racing, chest heaving as you stare at the ceiling. You both lay in silence for a few moments, before he rolls out of bed and heads out the door of your bedroom. He returns a moment later, a washcloth in his hand.

“This okay? Found it in your cabinet.”

You nod, taking it from him to wipe his cum off of you. He lays back beside you, turning on his side to look at you.

“You okay?” he asks. You meet his eyes, and nod.

“Yeah - I’m fine. That was good,” you say, wiping some of his hair off of his sweaty forehead.

“Think I need to shower for the rest of this,” you sigh, tossing the soiled washcloth aside.

“God - a shower sounds amazing,” he mutters. “I haven’t - haven’t had the luxury of taking a good one in a hot minute.”

You grin, sitting up. “Well… in the interest of saving water -”

“Right behind you,” he says quickly, practically sprinting behind you as you head down the hallway towards the bathroom.

*****

You both took your time in the shower, the hot water a sweet relief for both of you. It takes longer than it should have, since he insists on making you cum on his fingers to make up for not getting you there when he fucked you. And, who were you to deny him that?

It’s only later, when you’re both clean and dried and back in your bed, that you start to actually feel tired. The clock on your bedside reads 3:42 AM. You feel yourself drifting off, Baron by your side beneath the covers.

“You staying the night?” you ask sleepily - never a guarantee with him.

“Mm,” he says. “If that’s alright.”

“Yeah - fine. You staying for a while?”

“Not sure,” he replies honestly.

Neither of you ever make promises to one another - he could disappear tomorrow, and you may not hear from him for months. But he’s here now, warm and solid beside you. You curl into his side, and you feel him relax a bit.

As you drift off, you can almost swear you hear him say I missed you.

In the morning, he’s gone. By the time sunlight is filtering through the curtains, there’s just a cold spot in the bed where he used to be.

You try to push down the disappointment - you’ve done the same to him, after all, more times than either of you can count. Still - sometimes he stays. Sometimes.

The only evidence that he had been here at all is a jar of marmalade left on your kitchen counter - homemade by his mother, according to him. And, your favorite thing to have on toast. When you pick up the jar and look at it, you can’t help but smile.

When the newspaper gets delivered to your door later that day, everything suddenly makes sense.

It’s just a local paper, never much news of note in it. You mostly read it for the crime blotter, hoping that they don’t have too many details on the nearby stolen cars or goods, knowing if you need to move soon before you’re caught.

But, instead, crime is on the front page - one that you know all too well:

BABYDOLL BANDIT BREAKS FREE FROM PRISON, STILL AT LARGE

You laugh, reading in the article how the armed robbery suspect somehow cleverly evaded a federal task force, and how - of course - the suspect is, in fact, male, and not the woman they thought had been chasing for two years. But you knew that already - you’re perhaps the only person who had known that.

Everything about his behavior the night before suddenly makes sense - his desperation, his exhaustion - and, of course, his disappearing act this morning.

You sip your coffee as you read the paper, rolling your eyes.

He’ll be back, you know that. But for now, you just silently root for him to make it - he’s probably in a new getaway car now, on his way to hide out in a new town, if not a new state.

You take a sip of coffee, and a bite of your marmalade toast. Then, you turn on the television - if you’re lucky, you’ll get another glance of Baron’s face on the news, until he calls you again.

author's note: Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. I have Marmalade brainrot, so I figured I'd write this little blurb while I work on other fics. Love y'all! (Dedicated to @chateaudjo and @djoworlds)

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sadhours · 4 months

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i had to write this cus i don’t even know this man yet but I’m madly in love with him. and if he eats ice cream like this imagine how he eats… other things

baron x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie?

🍦

it’s a humid, scorcher of a day. not much to do on a sunday. baron doesn’t have work and it’s too sticky and warm to go outside. you’re laid out on the floor of the living room, tv buzzing with some boring background noise as you tangle your legs with your boyfriend. you’re wearing a sundress, hiked up to offer a bit of relief from the muggy warmth hanging throughout the house. baron’s wearing a ratty t-shirt and some shorts, his fingers grazing against your hip bone while his eyes scan the popcorn ceiling. your eyes are on him, because of course they are. he sure is a sight for sore eyes. sweat droplets forming at the hairline, making his roots damp and stick to his skin.

“what’re ya thinkin’ about?” you ask innocently, fumbling with the hem of your dress.

baron smiles, that sweet smile he gets whenever he hears your voice, “i can see things in the bumps of the ceiling, animals and stuff.”

you turn, nuzzling up to his jaw as you place a hand on his tummy, “point ‘em out to me, i wanna see.”

he lifts his hand, points above him and nudges his temple against the top of your head, “there’s a puppy dog, on his hind legs. begging for a treat.”

you don’t quite see it, eyes scanning but fruitless. that’s what you like about baron so much, he sees the light in everything. you hum, rubbing his tummy as you placate him, “almost as cute as you.”

“and right there, see that one?” he moves his finger a few centimeters to the left. “ice cream cone.”

“your favorite,” you gush, moving your hand to his side to squeeze him. he lets out a giggle and you can’t help but raise your lips to his cheek, kissing his skin tenderly and holding him tighter.

“sure would be nice right about now,” he mumbles dreamily and you place ur fingers under his chin, turning his face and catching his lips in a kiss. it’s slow and sweet, you drag your tongue against his lower lip and he gives you access, parting his enough so you can lick into his mouth.

you could truly spend hours kissing baron, languid and steady. but he ignites a fire in you like no other.

“you taste sweeter than any ice cream,” you confess before connecting your lips again. baron hums, smiling into the kiss as he holds onto your thigh once you hook it over his waist.

the pair of ya keep kissing until your out of breath, pulling away to catch it while he gives you this sweet, golden retriever smile. he’s the sweetest thing ever.

suddenly, baron’s pushing you on your back. he gives you a shy look as he situates himself between your legs, pushing them apart and hooking his fingers into your panties. drags them down as slow as he can and you lift your legs to help him completely rid them. he kisses your knee as you prop your legs up and pull your dress above your waist. baron’s lengthy digits wrap around your ankles as he kisses up your thighs, the sensation running straight to the excitement winding in your stomach. his long hair tickles against your skin and you watch as he blinks up at you, lips tilting up into a smile.

“baby…” you whine, breathless with anticipation.

baron nods slowly, pushing your legs further apart as he lowers himself where you need him most. he kisses your sex softly, peering up at you with those adorable, puppy dog eyes. then he licks up your slit, tongue delving through your folds up to your clit. drawing out another whine from you as you immediately knit your fingers into his mop of hair. baron gets his mouth completely on you, sucking and licking like he’s starved. like you’re his favorite treat. messy with it as he moans against your aching cunt.

“god,” you exhale slowly, “gosh, I mean.”

baron giggles against you and it feels surprisingly amazing, so you tug on his hair involuntarily. which eggs him on, he moans against you again before sucking on your folds as his hands wrap around your thighs. baron’s always so… sloppy eating you out. uses his whole damn face when he does it, brushes his nose against your clit while he lowers his tongue to your hole and prods it gently. gets your slick all over his lips and chin as he eats you out with fervor. that coil in your tummy winding quickly as you write against his face and pull on his tangled hair.

“baby… baby, don’t stop!”

baron groans, tugging you closer by the grip on your thighs as he licks at your hole, nodding his nose against your clit repeatedly. you’re pushed off the edge of bliss, biting your lip to stifle your moan as your eyes roll back in your head. he licks and sucks you through it. to the point where you’re overstimulated and have to pull his head away.

“fuck me,” you beg, looking down at his sweet, gorgeous face, lips shiny with your slick.

baron pulls back enough to push his shorts down, cock bouncing out from its confines. you grab onto his face and pull it down to yours, kissing him hard. he’s smiling against your lips but you moan against his when you feel the head of his cock catch on your pulsing hole. you’re quick to wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to enter you. he gets it, sliding in deep and punching out another moan from you that he swallows down. you can taste yourself on him but it only makes you that much more desperate. you wiggle your hips up at him, sheathing him inside completely and you both still, gasping at the sensation. baron fills you so wonderfully, you’re absolutely addicted. couldn’t be so into any other man. none would treat you so wonderfully.

“baron,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him deeper.

he rolls his hips slowly, whining into the kiss as he holds himself up with his palms on the carpet by your head. you pull him closer, to the point where he’s collapsing on top of you but you love the weight of him. you plant your feet on the floor beside him and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. he breaks the kiss but his lips are against your ear in a second as he moans lowly. it does something, adds to the whole experience and you’re cumming out of nowhere. crying out so loud he has to cover your mouth with his palm so his other doesn’t hear. he picks up his pace, fucking you hard and fast through the second glorious orgasm.

but you wrap your legs around his waist again, squeezing him impossibly close as tears leak from your eyes. streak down your cheek to meet his palm and he pulls his hand away to look at you, concern clouding his brown eyes.

“babydoll, you okay?”

“need you to cum in me,” you beg through the tears, clinging onto him tightly.

and it’s like your words ignite something in him, baron whimpers as he hammers his hips down into yours, drilling into you quicker and harder than before. he keeps making these sweet, pretty whines and whimpers before his hips still completely and you feel his seed shooting inside and filling you up. you moan softly, pulling him into another kiss.

suddenly, the warmth overwhelms you but you can’t fathom pushing baron away. squeezing his sweaty body even closer to you.

#baron x reader #I wish I knew his last name #baron smut #Joe keery #baron x you

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keeryscharm · 3 months

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(smut blurb - MDNI)

imagine practically pouncing on baron as soon as he gets home from work. he’s still in his postman uniform as you nearly tear it off him.

“dang, darlin’, what’s got into you?” baron laughs, eyes wide.

“i have just been thinking about you all day. need you so badly, baby” it was true. your thoughts had been nothing but baron since he left for work that morning. how good he was to you, his kindness, his sunny disposition.

his big, thick cock was also on your mind. the way he stretched you so good it hurt. how you’d been so certain it wouldn’t fit but discovered the most delicious pain you’d ever felt. how he easily hit that sweet, cushy spot you had barely grazed with your fingers. the almost giddy delight you felt at the thought of taking baron’s cock for the rest of your life.

“oh, fuck”, baron grunts, holding your hips as you slowly ease down onto him. he alternates between watching you take his cock inch by inch and watching your face contort with pleasurable pain. “my lord, you’ve been this wet all day, pretty?” you can barely nod as you finally get what you’ve been craving. soon the room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing, and shaky moans.

“that’s it, take what you need”, baron encourages, squeezing your hips, slamming you down harder and harder. “fucking take it, baby, it’s all yours”

#baron #marmalade #baron smut #my fics #joe keery

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rowanswriting · 3 months

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So I’m writing a smut of Baron in drag be prepared 🤭🤭

#Joe Keery #baron marmalade #baron smut #steve harrington smut

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lovebaron · 3 months

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trying to decide if I’m going to post the smut on here or on my main 👀

#marmalade #baron smut #baron x reader

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eraenaa · 1 month

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Bittersweet

Inspired by the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier

Feyd- Rautha x Lady Reader

Summary: As the Na-Baron's proposed bride, you were simply too sweet for him and his bitter being. You were too innocent and pure to be tainted by the blood-stained hands of the Harkonnen heir.

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, Mature, 18+, P in V sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Overstimulation, ¿Slight Rejection?, ¿Softer Feyd-Rauth?, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,607

They say you were of great beauty and good breading, all things needed in a wife. Feyd-Rautha never sought out a love match; all he needed was a wife whose womb was suitable for taking his seed and producing his heirs. He saw meeting you as a dire chore, having to travel to your planet and seek out and court the girl whose task could be reduced to a simple broodmare. Feyd-Rautha grimaced at the bright sun on your home planet, a planet that resembled ancient Earth before it ultimately met its demise. Your father, the duke, stood with his duchess to greet and welcome him. He turned to your mother, a small fake smile on her lips as she was trying hard not to let her distaste show as she saw the man who they planned to marry her daughter too. Sickly pale and hairless, far from the standard of beauty your planet had.

“Na-Baron, welcome; we hope your journey was well,” your father greeted. The Na-Baron let him continue on with pleasantries as his eyes searched for you, whom he was tasked to court and marry. He wished to know if you were truly as beautiful as all had praised you. He wanted to deduce if you were somewhat worthy of all of this trouble he must go through. “Come, let us escort you inside, my lord. My daughter waits for you there,” He heard the duke say, and the Na-Baron felt annoyance at your self-importance, not even bothering to greet him as he had landed, having him be the one to come to you. He somewhat made up his mind that you were a spoiled child of one of the great houses. Covered in frills and frivolity. That whatever beauty they talked about and praised you for was just a cover to hide the fact that you were a tempestuous, spoiled brat who would certainly be a difficult wife for any lord.

Feyd-Rautha hid his confusion and annoyance as he was led to a place surrounded by greenery and colors that stung his eyes foe be was used to the bleakness and darkness of his home. “My sweet,” The Na-Baron heard your father call, and that is when he finally noticed you. Your back was turned from him, hair that he had none cascaded down your back and reached your waist that was cinched inside the bodice of your color-filled gown. Feed clenched his jaw and felt his breathing stutter as you finally turned your direction to him. Turning to the call of your father with your bright eyes searching for his frame and pink lips parted, you had a flower in your hand, your fingers rolling the delicate stem.

“Na-Baron, may I present you, my daughter,” Your father said and urged you to step closer. You licked your lips and curtsied lowly before the heir of house Harkonnen and your possible husband. “Welcome, Na-Baron,” You said lowly. Feyd was never one to be phased, especially not stunned, but that was the precise state you had placed him in. He thought the praises they gave of your beauty and nature was an exaggeration— they talked about you as if you were a propaganda, a savior, a goddess of beauty. And now, the heir of House Harkonnen understood their words and saw they spoke truth in every syllable uttered.

You grew more nervous with each moment the Na-Baron did not reply to your greeting. You felt rather unnerved with each passing moment he stared you down with his blue eyes, his plump yet pale lips parted as he assessed your frame. You swallowed thickly and turned to your father for some sort of comfort, but he, too, did not know how to take the Na-Baron’s silence. “My lady,” the Na-Baron finally rasped out, your skin glowing with gooseflesh at how his voice sounded— it was a sound you had not heard before, something different and interesting. All together, the Na-Baron was different and interesting. “I shall leave you two to talk and get to know each other better,” Your father said, and you willed your heart to calm as the intense stare of the Na-Baron was undoing your composure.

“How… how are your travels, my lord?” You asked after a pause of silence, the Na-Baron wanted to roll his eyes as you had the same trite question as your father. However, he still replied. When there was silence after his answer, he watched you fiddle with your fingers and unconsciously bite your lip as you thought of another topic of conversation. “Would you like a tour of the castle, Na-Baron?” You asked, and though Feyd had little to no interest in architecture and was actually quite tired from his travels, he still felt himself nod and walked beside you as you guided him through your home.

Feed listened to your sweet voice that sounded of harmonious melodies. Telling him of the history of your house and the decor the castle keeps. Noticing how your voice would grow slightly higher when you spoke of something that was of much interest to you. He also noticed how all who passed the two of you would bow in respect and you would offer them your sweet smile with a wave of your hand or a greeting on your lips. It should annoy him that when stood next to you, his imposing and intimidating demeanor seemed to be outshined by your charming and pleasing self.

You two paused by a mirror, a painting atop of it, which you explained the meaning of in great detail. Feyd-Rautha caught your reflection, the two of you of stark difference. There was quite literally an aura of lightness exuding from you, the sweetness in your voice, the innocence and naivety in your eyes so entirely different against the darkness he exudes, the black that stained and hardened him. Feyd-Rauth could not take his dark eyes from your lips, the way they moved as you spoke, how you would lick them when you paused from speaking, giving them an irresistible sheen and making them look more pink and evermore kissable.

The Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha never had the urgent desire to kiss anyone before. Yes, he had his darlings and concubines, but ever since he acquired them, he had never once kissed them first. When they started to grow slightly comfortable around him, they would kiss his lips, eager to make him kiss them back, but he never did. He did not find any sort of pleasure in kissing them. But with you… just by the look of your lips, all he wanted to do was grab your flushed cheeks and feel your mouth against his. “My lord?” You called as you had noticed that the Na-Baron was staring far off into the mirror, unresponsive to your previous calls. “Na-Baron?” You asked and gently took hold of his arm to asses if he was truly well.

Feud felt his whole body tingle as you placed your touch atop his armor-clad arm, a concerned look on your face that he had never been the receiver of. “Are you well, my lord?” You asked with a concerned tilt of your head. “Y-Yes,” He stuttered, what had you done to him? The ferocious and fearsome fighter that he was now far gone as you blessed him with your gentle touch. “I apologize; I may have droned on for too long… I shall escort you to your chambers so you may find rest,” You said with slight embarrassment. Lowering your gaze to the floor and removing your hand from his arm. Feyd did not know how to perceive you… you were demure yet somehow confident. You were genuine, yet not at all of you could be read and deciphered by him.

The Na-Baron once again followed you as you led him to the guest wing of the keep. His eyes were steadily at your frame, the way your hair swayed and bounced at every step you took. How you left behind a trail of your scent in the corridors, the Na-Baron greedily inhaled it and felt himself turn warm with a further push to his desires. As you had led him to his chambers to let him rest, you curtsied before him once more, the Na-Baron catching the most tempting view of your bosom. His mind and body were screaming at him to pull you into the chambers and have his way with you. To show you new dimensions of pleasures and ruin that he was certain you had never had before. But the Na-Barom did the genteel thing to do and gave a bow before watching you walk away and finally retire to his own chambers to rest.

When the next morning came, the Na-Baron found you in the gardens once more. You kneeling by a structure that houses water with a statue in the middle of it. He curiously leaned forward to inspect what you were doing. He watched as your fingers pushed floating flowers, and a small smile grazed your face. He stepped closer, announcing his presence in the reflection of the water. He expected you to grow startled; he was waiting for the fear to come to your eyes, but he was taken aback as you turned to him with a pretty smile upon your lips. The Na-Baron swallowed thickly as he felt his heart stutter at your smile. He never thought he had one— a heart, that is. But now it announced itself greatly as it throbbed loudly in his chest when you stood and stepped closer to him.

“I hope you had a good night’s rest, Na-Baron,” you said in your genuine tone. “I—I did,” Feyd clenched his jaw; he was stuttering again. What had you done to him? How could you have dismantled and discombobulated him with just a smile and your honey voice? “Would you care to join us to break our fast?” You asked and glanced toward the direction of the laid-out feast for the morning. The Na-baron gave a curt nod, and you led him towards the table where your parents were approaching.

Feyd gave them a nod as they greeted him whilst assisting you into your seat. He was truly doing the most here, being obliging to you and your kin just so the courtship would be a success and he’ll finally gain a wife and a womb. Feyd listened in to the chatter between you and your parents; you were truly quite talkative. If it were anyone else, he would have grown annoyed with the incessant blabbing that he would cut off their tongue. But somehow, with you, he did not mind it. He actually found it endearing, and he wouldn’t mind for his future days to be filled with your voice. Feyd watched as you filled his cup with a dark, steaming substance. “Would you like sugar and cream, Na-Baron?” You asked and Feyd eyed curiously the liquid in his cup. He did not even know what it was, and you were offering him other substances to put on it? He declined and raised the cup to his lips. Surprised at how he quickly grew fond of the bitter, dark liquid. He watched as you added three cubes of sugar and a dollop of cream to your own cup, altering the bitterness the Na-Baron relished in.

When the meal ended, you half expected that the Na-Baron would disappear with your father and discuss business; you were surprised that he was once again by your side. “Shall we continue on with the tour?” He asked, watching as you slightly frown. “Are you certain, my lord? I… I was afraid I had bored you yesterday with me droning on about the histories,” You say and feel your stomach fill with butterflies as the lord offers his arm for you to take. “No, I found it quite… educational,” He said and oddly felt his cold blood run warm at the smile that bloomed on your lips. You were quick to oblige his request, and his ears were filled with the soothing melody that was your voice.

Though your voice and presence were soothing, there was a pestering feeling inside the Na-Baron. With every moment you kept your arm on him, your smile pointed towards him, and your innocent eyes looking up at him, he felt entirely guilty—guilty and torn. Were you truly the one he was meant to marry? You? So pure and innocent, a pretty little flower that would wilt under the dark, harsh sun of Geidi Prime and its heir. He could not take it upon himself to be the one to ruin you— he could not be the bitterness that seeps into your sweetness.

As he sat across from you during dinner, a glass of bitter liquor in his hands, he had made up his mind. He could not be so cruel to be with you— you had turned his stony being soft for you and you alone. He wanted you, yes. Greatly so. With every moment spent in your presence, all he wanted to do was to take you and make every single inch of you his, but he placed great restraint upon himself as he could not tarnish your innocence. Perhaps in a few years, when the naivety of youth is gone in your eyes, and the sweetness in you has finally been diluted. Just not now.

Feyd knew he should keep his distance, but he humored himself and escorted you to your chambers. “Good night, my lord,” You said, peering up at him. As always, he was silent. In others, you would find their silence unsettling and off-putting but with the Na-Baron, you found peace in his silence. Serenity, no matter the warnings your mother repeated at how violent and harsh Harkonnens were. There was something about his difference that attracted you greatly, which horrified your mother when you admitted to her that you developed a liking towards the young lord and how you would not be opposed to that if a match was struck between the two of you.

You watched as his lips parted, and his dark blue eyes would trail between your orbs and your lips. You were hesitant as to where the scene would lead; you did not know if you should disappear into your chambers or stay rooted in your spot and wait for what would transpire between you and the Na-Baron. A long stretch of silence came, and you finally decided to move, a tad embarrassed as you had hoped that he would lean in closer and possibly kiss you… you have had the thought countless of time today. You let out a breath and turned away but ultimately were pulled toward Feyd-Rautha’s direction and finally felt his plush lips against yours. You tasted the bitterness of the brandy he had during dinner along with the cool taste of him… you feel cold hands cradle your cheek and the back of your head to keep you and your lips steady against his.

Feyd was proven correct at just how sweet you were. You were tooth-achingly sweet, inside and out. He pulled you closer and licked your bottom lip, expecting resistance, that your sensibilities would return pulled away. But you only let out a quiet moan and let him snake his tongue in. Feyd Rautha felt himself strain harder against his trousers, his hand that cupped your cheek trailed lower to your neck then down to your bosom. You gasped and pulled away, surprised by the immediate action. Feyd was dismayed himself as he gambled too much. He should not have dared to be so bold and quick to show all of his desires. “My lord, I…” you say in surprise, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Eyes were flashing with a warning but deeper desire behind it. You breathed heavily as the Na-Baron backed away and stomped off, retiring to your room confused and filled with need.

The following morning came, and Feyd’s mind was made. He could not succumb to his desires and ruin you further. He was selfish, and his mind was muddled with want when he dared to kiss you and feel you against him. He knew if he spent another moment in your presence, his control would falter, and he would finally take what he had desired the moment he saw you in the gardens. “We respect your decision, my lord, however unfortunate it is,” Your father spoke as the Na-Baron stood in his study. The sun had barely risen, and the Na-Baron was quick to speak with his host and bid goodbye. “The treaties shall still take place, but a marriage is no longer required, my lord.” The Na-Baron stated, giving the agreement as a consolation for your planet. He watched as your father nodded his head. “I shall call on my daughter for the two of you to bid good bye,” Feyd wanted to protest, cowardly as he had hoped to leave your planet without another glance at you because it would make everything all the more harder.

You frowned as your father broke the news to you and your mother. You turned to the woman who birthed you and saw the relief in her eyes, urging you to say your goodbyes so the Harkonnen heir could finally leave. You chewed on your lip as you could conclude by the abrupt departure and change of mind of the Na-Baron. You entered your father’s study, and he quickly left to give the two of you privacy.

You stood by the wooden door, head hung low, and could not take it upon yourself to look at the man you had hoped to be your husband. “Goodbye, my lord, I… I hope you enjoyed your stay,” you said lowly, and Feyd clenched his jaw as he heard the hint of melancholy in your voice—melancholy that he was the reason for. “I have. Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” He said and felt his body being pulled closer to you. A pull that he himself could not hinder. He stood before you and took your chin between his rough fingers, urging you to look up at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, guessing your startled state the other night is what had led him to the decision. If not that, it was because you were not as chaste as he may have wanted for a wife— that you were ever so enthusiastic to kiss him and let him hold you. Perhaps he thought you untamed or promiscuous which is the reason for his sudden departure. You licked your lips as he made no reply; you shielded your gaze and backed away, his hold on your chin gone. “My lord, if this is about last night, I—“ Feyd clenched his jaw as his mind made him remember the way your lips danced with each other, the way it felt to hold your soft frame against his. “It is not.” He gritted, and you immediately stopped speaking, sensing aggravation in his tone.

“Then, may I ask what is the reason?” You asked, wanting closure for the disappointment. You listened in to his strained breathing, your eyes catching the way his fists clenched along with his jaw. “I cannot marry you… I cannot be the one to ruin you,” He whispered the last part, his rasping voice struggling to utter the words. You tilted your head in confusion, “What? I do not understand, my lord,” You said and Feyd took in a harsh breath. “You are too pure— too sweet for me. You are not suited to be in the harshness of Geidi Prime let alone be a leader to it.” He said harshly, guilt coming to him as you stared at him with slight fear and offense. “You are too innocent and… and good for someone like me; this is for the best, my lady.”

You frowned at his words, “You cannot think me to be so delicate,” You defended yourself. The Na-Baron scoffed and shook his head, “You are delicate. You are like those flowers you are greatly fond of— just one wrong thing, and you’ll wilt. You will not wither away in my hands,” He stated, and you felt your lips twitch at how he compared you to flowers. “Is that it? You think I’m weak and too kind?” You asked and observed the way the Na-Baron nodded. “Then I am the perfect match for you, do you not think?” You said, stepping closer.

Feyd-Rautha was at a loss for words. “If I am weak… I would need someone strong to protect me… someone who is known to be the most skillful warrior in the universe… someone like you,” You whispered and dared to take hold of his cold hand. The Na-Baron felt his heart announce its existence once more, loudly thrashing inside his chest. Your scent invades his senses and makes his knees weak. His gaze turned from looking into your enchanting eyes and then to your luscious lips. “If I am too kind, then I would need someone fearsome so people would not take advantage of me and my good nature… I would need someone ruthless as they say you are,” You whispered, pressing your bodies closer, making him see that you, too, desired him. You feel his length straining against his trousers and perfectly settle upon your stomach, your cheeks going flush at the look of great wanting in the dark eyes of the Na-Baron.

“If I am too sweet… then I need someone bitter to balance me… I need someone like you, my lord. I want you.” You whispered, slowly going to the tip of your toes to indicate you wished for the kiss. The Na-Baron got the hint and smashed your lips. Your lips fervently danced against each other, the Na-Baron kissing you as if you were the air he needed in his lungs. “You want me?” He breathed as you both parted for air. “I do, Na-Baron.” You said. Truth in your tone. You feel wetness pool between your legs at the growl that left his throat, his lips meeting yours once more. You guided his hand to cup your bosom, just as he had wished to do so the night before. You moaned against his lips as he kneaded your chest through the soft bodice of your gown.

You feel him guide you to your father’s desk. Perching you upon the stable wooden table and placing himself between your parted legs. Your breathing heaved as his lips were placed on your neck, the Na-Baron biting your flesh and soothing it with his tongue. You turned your head to the ceiling as you felt him hike up your gown, his cold hands leaving fiery heat with each touch. “Say it again,” Feyd demanded as his hands squeezed the plump flesh of your thighs, the heat from your core radiating and calling for him. “I want you, Feyd… I need you, please,” You pleaded and placed your lips to kiss his neck, soft lips kissing his pale flesh, teasing the ball on his throat.

Your eyes widened as the Na-Baron pulled away, watching in shock as he went to his knees and placed his strong hold on both of your thighs, urging them to part further so his lips could be met with your cunt. You gasped as you felt him push aside your small clothes and lick your slit with his talented tongue. “So fucking sweet,” he groaned and buried his head in your needing cunt. You bit down hard at your lip as the moans you wanted to spew would surely be heard by those who stood and passed outside. “My lord,” You cried as you felt him sucking upon your pearl and his cold finger teasing your entrance. “Feyd… please!” You pleaded as you wanted to feel more. The Na-Baron hummed and obliged your request, placing a finger in your tight cunt. You hear him spew out fouled words and praises, amazed as he watches your wet cunt squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You take my fingers so well, my sweet… now let us see how you’ll manage when it is my cock.” You whimpered as he abruptly stole his pleasuring fingers away as you were on the verge of climax.

Your eyes were hooded with lust as you watched the Na-Baron greedily suck your essence from his fingers. You felt the urge to close your parted legs to seek out friction at the way he undid his trousers and set his manhood free. Your lips parted as you saw the whole of him, throbbing and pink… the head of his length releasing sheer grayish beads that indicated how much he wanted you. Feyd growled at how shamelessly you looked upon his length, want, and lust, the only thing evident in your eyes. He smashed your lips once more and positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock gliding between your glistening folds. He pushed his way in, and he heard your sharp intake of breath, and whimpers of pain quickly followed. “This what you wanted…” Feyd gritted. A thin sheen of sweat all over his body at how you clenched tightly around him. “Yes, this is what I want.” You said, trying to prove to him that you were not as delicate as he had made you out to be.

It took a moment before he was fully sheathed inside you. Both of you already panting. When Feyd slowly moved, he watched as your face contorted in pain, kissing away the tears that fell from your eyes as he took away your innocence. Feyd hissed as you clenched around him, finally feeling pleasure, your mouth spewing out sweet moans and calls of his name. “Look at you… my sweet, little wife, so pleasured by my cock,” The tears of pain turned to pleasure as you feel your peak quickly building up again. Feyd claimed your lips and bit down harshly to draw blood, curious to see if even your blood was as sweet as your being; it was. You moaned against his lips as your peak found you, your wetness doubling along with your sensitivity, but that didn't phase the Na-Baron. He only continued to pound at you at a pace that would surely leave you unable to walk and sore for days to come.

“Feyd, please…” You pleaded for something you did not know. All you knew was you were about to come once more, ready to cry out the name of the man who provided you with such blinding pleasure. The Na-Baron could usually last for hours, but with the way you clenched around him and how you sweetly moaned and called for his name, it was a miracle that Feyd had not spilled his seed the moment he pushed the head of his cock inside you. “Will you come again, my sweet? Will you come around my cock again?” Feyd hummed as his thumb circled the pearl in your cunt, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Yes…yes— oh yes!” You cried as you came, clamping around the Na-Baron’s length so tightly that he, too, joined you in your climax. His dark seed filling you and taking root. You two breathed heavily, Feyd hunching over you, who was perched upon your father’s desk. “Still too sweet and pure for you?” You asked in between breaths, watching as Feyd-Rautha wickedly smirked as his bitterness seeped into you and how his hands had tainted you. Perhaps he did need sweetness in his bitter life.

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youaintnothinbuta · 10 days

Note

This might be a little out there… but can I humbly request feyd rautha x reader where reader is a ward of the Harkonnens and has grown up with Feyd but his feelings have changed since they have gotten older and she catches him watching her while she’s naked in the bath 👀 and smut ensues 👀 kinda step sibling vibes if that makes sense

You most certainly can!! I love this idea, thank you for letting me run it up in my imagination 😋 sorry if it’s a bit short !!!

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: see request

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, unprotected sex, sex in a bathtub (is that even a warning idk), probably typos you know meee

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You’d be lying if you said your days were filled with excitement, but being a ward for the Harkonnen’s, they were still rather exhausting. All day, from the moment you wake, you must be paying absolute attention to everything and everyone.

Finally, it was your time to unwind and get yourself ready for bed. The weight of your obligations lifted as you retreated to the sanctuary of your quarters. With a heavy exhale, you shed the layers of clothing that draped your frame.

Standing before the bath, you hesitated momentarily, savoring the anticipation of the forthcoming release. With deliberate movements, you lowered yourself into the welcoming embrace of the warm water. Instantly, you felt your muscles relax. You laid your head back gently against the tub, shutting your eyes, a small sigh escaping your lips again, however this one a sigh of content.

You reached for the washcloth that was draped over the edge of the tub. You dipped it into the warm water, allowing the fabric to soak up the soothing liquid before bringing it to your skin. Starting with gentle strokes, you traced the contours of your body. The sound of water dripping from the cloth, meeting the water you were sitting in echoed against the walls of the bathroom.

Once you were satisfied with your cleanliness, you allowed yourself to relax once again.

“I know you’re there, Feyd Rautha.” You said, your voice breaking the silence of the room. There was a pause, before his low chuckle shattered the stillness. He emerged from the shadows with the elegance of a predator stalking its prey. He approached you, wearing nothing but the thin black cloth that covered his groin.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked, his voice, even huskier than usual, cut through the steam-filled air, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Leave, I’m bathing.” You insisted, your tone firm despite the flutter of nerves that danced in your belly. But Feyd was not deterred. He approached, his eyes alight with a hunger that could not be sated.

He hummed in response. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he remarked, reminding you that when you were children it wasn’t uncommon for you all to bathe together.

“Yes it is, I’m not a little girl anymore,” you countered.

“Believe me,” he growled, “I know.”

You looked up at him. At his body. Your eyes traced each outline of every defined muscle he had to offer. Your gaze lingered on him, drinking in every detail, until finally, it fell lower, drawn inexorably to the undeniable evidence of his erection straining against the thin fabric that barely concealed it. He let you gape at his body, enjoying it profusely.

Your entire body felt a chill, goosebumps covering your skin. He stepped into the bath, settling himself at the opposite end. He leaned towards you, and you could feel his breath against your damp skin as he spoke.

“I will be gentle with you. You will be so wet when I slide inside you.”

His words, the way they slipped past his lips, were meant to entice you. And they worked.

“Feyd,” you spoke his name quietly, breathily.

He took your arms in either of his hands, pulling your body over his. You settled yourself gently over him. He inhaled sharply at the feeling of the soft flesh of your pussy lips lightly touching the sensitive skin of his cock. His large hands found their way to your tits, squeezing them. Your nipples hardened under the caress of his thumbs. He kissed you, hungrily. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, seeking yours out. Your kiss became desperate, hurried, passionate. He bit down on your lip, causing you to moan into his mouth. You lifted yourself off him, letting his cock stand straight, then you slid down, impaling yourself on his thick shaft. He moved slowly, teasing you, until you were seated all the way to the hilt.

You felt so tight around him. He moved with incredible slowness, waiting for the feeling of your muscles to stop clenching around him, the sign that you were adjusted to him. He reached between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it with firm strokes, making you moan. Finally feeling you relax around him, he began to thrust in and out of you, harder and faster, making you moan louder, squeeze your eyes shut. You dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders, drawing blood as you gripped him. He lifted your leg, letting your foot rest in his left hand as he was able to reach an ever deeper angle, his right hand still using his thumb on your clit. Cries fell from your lips as the water sloshed around you, smacking his chest and splashing your face.

“Look at me,” he commanded. When you opened your eyes, they landed on his, piercing you, holding you. That was all it took. With one final cry of his name, you came with such force, it caught him by surprise, making him lose placement on your clit, just long enough for his fingers to find it again, drawing every last drop of pleasure out of you as your orgasm wracked your body. He came inside of you, a primal grunt coming from his lips with every spurt of his hot cum shooting deep inside of you. He kissed your lips once more, shutting his eyes as he panted. You collapsed onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your back, providing you with some warmth. The water in the tub was cold now, but neither of you moved to get out, too content, exhausted and sated like this.

“We are not children anymore,” he snarled, “I have wanted you for some time now.”

“Na-Baron may have whatever he desires.” You whispered in his ear. He rested his hand on the back of your head, gently pressing your face to lie against the skin on his shoulder.

“Correct.” He whispered in reply.

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space-mango-company · 1 month

Text

Stranger | Chapter 1

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Summary: The Atreides daughter is sent off to Giedi Prime to marry the Harkonnen heir in an attempt to quell the feuding Great Houses. The bride, however, must prove her grit and earn the respect of her new family if she is to survive her new life. Perhaps she will find that she had more Harkonnen in her than she thought.

TW: none (for now)

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (just not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, cannon what cannon

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Please bear with me, it has been ages since I've written anything and this is my first ever work of fanfiction. I've never written in the second person before so if you catch any mistakes, especially in verb tenses, please let me know. English is not my first language. Also, this might start out a bit slow but I promise things will pick up soon.

The smell of grass and the crashing waves of Caladan brought you comfort as you stood before the starship that had been rented from the Spacing Guild.

Your brother had insisted on accompanying you to Giedi Prime, but a round trip would have been unnecessarily expensive, even with the vast wealth of your Great House. Besides, it would be foolish to deliver the heir of House Atreides to the home world of their sworn enemies. It was bad enough they had to send you there.

"Give them hell," Paul teased as he hugged you goodbye.

You laughed, but you knew his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He had faith in your strength and ferocity, but he had much less faith in the hospitality of the Harkonnens.

"I'll miss you," you pull away and try to give him a reassuring smile but you, yourself, are not so certain of your fate.

You made your way to your mother, next in line to bid you farewell.

"Remember your training." Lady Jessica held your face and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. She had already given you all the advice she could.

You take her hands in yours and kiss them. "I will," you tell her solemnly.

You finally make it to your father, whose eyes are already welling with tears.

"My darling princess," his voice cracks as he lays a hand on your cheek. The Duke may seem a stoic man to most, but those who truly knew him knew he had a big heart.

Perhaps it is because you are one of those people that you finally feel that weight in your chest that you've been dreading since the signing of your marriage pact. It will be a truly long time before you would see your family again. If you could ever see them at all.

The Duke waves at an attendant who approaches with a silver tray. Leto takes the dagger resting on it and places it in your hands. "To remind you that you will always be an Atreides, that you will always be my daughter."

You let your tears fall as you hold the gift close to your chest.

"Don't cry now," your father pulls you into a hug, hoping to hide his own tears, "or I might never let you go."

You let a laugh slip through the sobs. You knew it was already decided and it is your duty to fulfill. The Sisterhood and the Emperor himself endorsed the match. Nothing could change it now.

The harsh light of Giedi Prime's black sun assaulted your eyes as you made your way down the starship's gangplank. The stark, high-contrast black and white made everything a pain to look at. You were thankful for the veils of your travelling gowns for providing you at least some shade.

You were greeted by House Harkonnen's steward, Jaromir Naggul, and swiftly led into the imposing, Brutalist fortress of their stronghold. You were almost happy to escape the infrared outside.

"Your belongings are being sent to your new quarters as we speak," Jaromir, a lanky but stately man, informs you. "You may change out of your traveling clothes and rest there. The Baron will receive you in the throne room in the afternoon."

You note his accent and the mild contempt in his voice, as if you were an inconvenience.

"This is Iassa," he gestures to one of the servants that had been following you through the halls. "She is your assigned slave. Should you need anything, you may tell her."

The word almost knocks the breath out of you.

You eyes turn to Iassa in her pale gray robes and you give her a polite nod. She hastily curtsies in return.

You knew the Harkonnens and even the Emperor kept slaves, but you suppose it never occurred to you that you would be charged with one yourself.

"Of course," Jaromir continues, "any of the servants in the fortress will be at your command, but Iassa will be in waiting for you in particular."

"Of course," you reply coldly.

"You will be staying in the guest wing for now," Jaromir says as he shows you the door to your quarters. "Of course, until your wedding. When you will then be moved to the na-Baron's apartments."

"...of course," you repeat, grateful again for your veils that they hide your dread.

You are silent as Iassa helps you into a black gown for your audience with the baron. It is the fashionable color in the Harkonnen home world. Although there were many other 'fashionable' traits on Giedi Prime, this was the only one you felt comfortable adopting right now. The complete lack of hair in every individual you had seen was certainly unsettling, but you sensed it would be rude to speak about it.

"What is the na-Baron like?" you ask.

Iassa pauses her fastening of your dress, she swallows. "He is a fearsome warrior, my lady," she keeps her gaze averted, "handsome and popular with the people."

Her voice was shaky but she seemed genuine. You only wonder if those words hold the same implications here as they do back home.

You look over to Iassa as she fetches your shoes. It's not difficult to see that she fears you. You cannot help but feel that that is all there is. You are still an off-worlder. An Atreides no less. She harbors no respect for you.

You take care to style your hair in the fashions of Caladan, fastening a falcon-like pin at the back of your head. The symbol of your house. Perhaps it is a risky choice, to be seen as defiant by the baron should he notice, but you could already feel the black sun beginning to drain the life out of you. The thrill of quiet defiance would have to sustain you for now.

Jaromir returns in time to fetch you and you are led to the throne room.

The baron's grotesque floating body looms over you and his subjects. You had never met any of the Harkonnens before but you were sure that was him.

"Welcome to your new home, Lady Atreides," the Baron utters your last name with thinly veiled loathing. "Let me present my nephew, Feyd-Rautha."

A tall muscular young man steps forward. Stately and regal as a Harkonnen could be, he looks over you with condescending eyes.

He certainly looked like a warrior, and you could see how the people of Giedi Prime could find him handsome, but you find yourself wanting to spit in his face.

"Forgive me for not greeting you when you landed, my lady," the na-Baron bows to you. His gravelly voice sends a chill down your spine, "I was preoccupied at the time. I trust you have settled well?"

You curtsy in turn, "I'm sure my lord had important duties to attend to. I am grateful for your hospitality. My rooms are very comfortable."

"Do not find them too comfortable young lady," the Baron calls from afloat his chair, "your wedding celebrations are to begin and you will be sharing rooms with my nephew before long."

Feyd-Rautha smirks at this and you are almost willing to cast decorum aside to slap it off his face.

"Tomorrow, your groom will take part in the arena to demonstrate his prowess as a worthy husband and leader, as per the traditions of our house," the Baron announces. "I'm sure you will make a point to attend."

"I would not miss it, dear Baron."

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha smut #dune #dune part two #house harkonnen #house atreides #leto atreides #lady jessica #paul atreides #baron vladimir harkonnen #duke leto atreides #austin butler #jessica atreides #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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mypoisonedvine · 5 months

Text

𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered. Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely. You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good. His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky. And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added. “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient. If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it. But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills. “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained. “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially. You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this. “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor. You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin. His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion. “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered. You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it. “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you. You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response. Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it. The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck. “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt. “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder. He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie. You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it. Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes. “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way. Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust. You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you. He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement. He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier. Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly. “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever. You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple. You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you. It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled. “You missed it, didn’t you? Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body. “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment. “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him. “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat. Desperate for anything he would give. You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible. “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you. “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head. He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan. “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed. He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan. “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster. “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you. It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed. It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that. With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred. “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga. I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you. The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised. “I only need to feel you come one more time. You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy. But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin. When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace. You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep.

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going. Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water. He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass. “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water. You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were. It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him. He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly. “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt. “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled. “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough. I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate. I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga. No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision. As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”

#baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #dark!zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #daniel bruhl smut #dark!zemo smut #helmut zemo dark fic #baron zemo dark fic #WELP. oops.

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thosefuzzywordfeelings · 11 hours

Note

For the smutty weekend!!! Need to know how Baron, Gator and Steve would react to them orgasming quickly :) would they be embarrassed, defensive or just roll with it?

I honestly think they’d all have a similar reaction, not embarrassed but just in disbelief and awe of you, but for the sake of some juicy smut, here’s different imaginations 😮‍💨🤭✨

CW; oral (m receiving), slight degradation, mention of ownership 😮‍💨

Gator;

“Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, darlin’ -“ Gator grunted into your ear as he kissed the lobe messily. When you responded with a sweet whine, his eyes rolled back into his head; pushing himself up onto his knees and settling his hands under the backs of yours. Pushing your knees back as far as they could go, a lower groan would leave his lips as he looked down at you. You were laying there so beautifully, eyes glassy as you took every hard hit he gave you. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, whines, and the dirty slick sounds of his fucking into you.

“You’re givin’ it so good - make it yours -“ You’d whine, knowing his need for ownership and authority is a sweet spot that only you know how to press into.

And that was all it took; his hips stilling as the throbbing took over and he came quicker than he usually did. He almost curled over as he moaned through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs.

“Fuckin’ damnit. Cunt’s too good, honey.” Gator would chuckle breathily after a moment, sitting back down on his knees. You’d whine again as you laid and just felt him twitching inside you softly realising just how good he always managed to degrade and praise you. He’d look down at his cock still inside you, as his own cum spilled out around his base; causing him to twitch up inside you sensitively. But when you’d whimper and look up at him with desperation rolling around the irises of your eyes, he’d smirk.

“Need more darlin’?”

Steve;

“What’re you doing? Fuck - no - baby I need to -“

Though Steve was stuttering and seemingly objective to the dangerous idea you’d had, he took one hand off the steering wheel to help you unbutton his jeans.

“Just watch the road and don’t get us killed, yeah?” You’d say sweetly, kneeling over the console in his car and pulling his cock free from the denim entrapment. After he’d taken a quick glance at you to see if you were kidding - and wasn’t - he nodded. Immediately you’d get to work, lips wrapping around his head and sucking softly, only bobbing lightly as you felt the car swerve ever so slightly with the lack of Steve’s concentration.

“Need to pull over - god I need you -“ He’d mutter under his breath as he hissed, braking at a red light and the sudden halt pushing his cock further into your throat. He let out a guttural groan as his hands scooped up your hair, pulling it into a messy ponytail in one hand and pulling his jeans down a little further with the other.

“Find somewhere.” You mumbled, pulling off only for a moment to catch air before swallowing him down again desperately, a light moan reverberating around his cock as he tugs your hair tighter in his fist, finally driving again as the light turned green.

“Fuck - we’re in the middle of fucking - Jesus Christ baby - in the middle of nowhere - can’t -“ Steve rambled, a tone of frustration to his voice as he unintentionally accelerated the car; hips threatening to buck up into your mouth as you sucked harder and giggled around him.

“Baby - don’t - fuck - I’m gonna come - no it’s-“ Steve was on the verge of crying as he bit his lip so hard it was about to tear between his teeth, his hand gripping your hair so tightly it evoked a whine out of you as you felt the first ribbon of spend hit the roof of your mouth. Steve wanted to squeeze his eyes shut so bad, praising whatever deity there was out there as another red light glowed ahead. Just as the car stopped, he finally bucked his hips up against your tongue, emptying the rest of himself entirely into your eager mouth.

“Your fucking giggle, baby…” He sighed as he caught his breath, eyes glued hazily to your face as you sat up and back in the passenger seat with a smug smile.

“Couldn’t wait to pull over, no?” You’d taunt, buckling up your seatbelt again. He’d shake his head, his cheeks and neck flushed pink as he looked over at you with almost disbelief.

“You’re just - you are something else.“ He kept stuttering, and you smile at his flustered state, leaning over again to kiss his cheek.

“Better be ready for when we get out of this car, Harrington.”

Baron;

“I can’t see you - I - oh - where’s the -“

“Just press the green button, sweetheart.”

You’d gifted your love a new phone, getting sick of hearing him tripping over his landline cord when you tried to talk to him on the phone. Here he was attempting to FaceTime you for the first time. As soon as his camera was finally on, all you could see was the bridge of his nose.

“Move back you fool, look at me.”

You’d say with a giggle, which slowly stopped as he pulled the phone back so you could see his entire upper half this time and he realised what was happening. Thighs straddled across each side of a cushion, you were perched in just a bra and panties, phone rested against the wall.

“Am I seeing angels baby or do you got nothin’ on?” Baron whispered, his voice strained as his eyes kept squinting and blinking something silly; trying to come to terms with the pretty sight on this little screen.

“Little bit o’ both. You like it?” You’d say back, smiling sweetly at his reaction. Bracing your hands on the cushion, you’d grip it tightly between your thighs as Baron’s eyes widened, understanding fully now what was happening.

“Is that - my -“

“Your shirt? Mhm.”

He’d left his gray shirt at yours accidentally, spilling so much ice cream down it that you’d offered to wash it for him. And you had. But it still smelled like him after, and you wanted to show him how much you missed him. Now it wrapped around this cushion. Comfortably snug right between your legs.

“Oh lord…gi’ me strength…” He mumbled lowly, close to growling as he watched you begin to grind your hips slowly. His eyes looked down at where your barely clothed core ground down against the thin fabric of his shirt, mouth agape.

“You wanna know something?” You’d purr softly, crawling towards your phone and grabbing it. He’d be speechless, but the way you could tell he liked this was, his other hand had reached underneath the view of the camera, to which you could only guess he was palming himself to you as he nodded.

“Made a mess once already.”

“Oh god…” He’d moan, his eyes hooded slightly as you got back onto the cushion and tilted the camera down, showing the dark gray patch on his shirt between your legs.

“Needed you so bad, Baron, couldn’t stop thinking about grinding on your pretty face, those pretty lips honey - my god-“ You’d say saccharine sweetly, and his eyes would roll back at your tone.

“Baby - you - you’re makin’ me -“ He cried out softly, whimpering a little as he lost grip of the phone and it fell to what you guessed was his side. You could just about make out his chest heaving as his hips bucked up against his hand. He was coming, and so quickly, so desperately.

“Baron?” You’d say, the sound of your voice through the phone making him jump a little. He picked it up, but the visuals were shaky - his hands trembling at whatever the hell just happened.

“God must’a put some kinda curse on me with you…you’re a little devil, got me all - messy and -“ You held back a giggle as he rambled on in a post orgasmic haze, knowing you needed to call him more often now.

#s/s weekend #reusing the same photo and what #steve harrington smut #gator tillman smut #baron smut #baron lamram #steve harrington #gator tillman #stranger things #fargo #asks #i’m feral #marmalade #baron x you #steve harrington x you #gator tillman x you

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sheisjoeschateau · 2 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters. Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

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