wroteclassicalyslibrary - Tumblr blog

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 19 days

Text

18+

He’s been looking at you like this all day, all week — insatiable, hungry, like you’re his willing feast on any given day. So when he got you home and out of the Tuesday night Spring thunderstorm - Steve Harrington couldn’t wait to get you out of your clothing and spread out on his bed for him and him alone to play with. With his mouth doing this and his hands doing that, you were a sweaty pile of limbs atop his sheets in minutes flat.

A head of newly grown out tresses is where your fingers are currently purchased - tugging, pulling, occasionally scratching his scalp when your toes uncurl. His nose is at your navel now, hot breath on your pussy. He lets his tongue loll out and catch your clit in the faintest of licks. You find yourself meeting his pupil blown abyss the moment that he decides to press his calloused thumb into the hood of your clit, two other digits assisting in spreading you open in a crude squelch. It’s an automatic toss of your forearm over your head in embarrassment.

“No,” he says, a direct response, his arm elongating as his hand wraps over your forearm and retracts the limb from shielding your face. He waits until you’re looking directly at him once more before he continues. “you’re gonna watch me lick you, honey.”

You can’t form a response, a denial. Not when his hands suddenly find their way down your body, pushing beneath your thighs to slap your ass. Everything you do with Steve Harrington is intense. The give and take, what the other needs. How he holds onto you when you’re making love, like you’ll fall away, like he has to wear his entire heart on his furry torso for you to see — which wasn’t easy at first. The times he’s submissive or needs you, to him fucking you within an inch of another supernatural world, and times like now…

Making you really feel what you do to him, being laid out as his personal toy — one that he loves and cherishes, of course. But it is playtime, after all, and he’s had that simmering look pooled beneath the burning moss embers of his irises for a solid month now.

With pink, plump, kiss swollen lips — he’s descending back between your spread thighs and burying his tongue in your cunt. He moans, reaching for your hips and squeezing, moaning, slurping, driving your thigh into shaking against his stubble bitten jawline. You aren’t prepared for your own arousal to stretch from your pussy to his mouth and nose on the breakaway. You begin to apologize immediately, starting to raise. Steve barely has time to moan appreciatively, meeting you chest to chest, his chain tickling your skin.

You’re still shivering, body on fire with the need for a quench.

“Baby, don’t do that. Please don’t be upset. You wanna know how much I love this?”

“Hmm,” is your soft response.

He runs a finger down your nose, leaning in to pant the words across your mouth. “Look down at my cock, honey. Do I look like I’m not enjoying myself?”

His pretty cock is so hard and hanging between his trim hips, balls full and heavy that you know it’s hurting him not to be inside of you right now. He smirks and slithers his way back, taking a little more from you, catching you below your lower back with a splayed palm, just as you go to recline. It’s seconds later and he’s reuniting with you, another instruction tipping off his lips. “Open your mouth. Taste yourself off of me, babygirl.”

“Babygirl?” You whisper, tears wilting in your lash line from the pleasure he’s giving you. “That’s a new one.”

Steve remarks you fondly, his fingertips brushing over your neck. “Well that’s what you are, aren’t you? My babygirl?”

You nod, his tongue sliding right into your open mouth, your taste mingling with his kiss, your new favorite aphrodisiac.

529 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 20 days

Text

18+

Steve never goes straight into touching you underneath your panties. Not you, no. He likes to make you wait for it, spend every moment thinking about it, wondering when he’ll finally slip those thick fingers of his past the elastic band — whether it be pulling them to the side or dipping into the waistband. He teases you every. single. time. His mouth will find your neck, his nose crooked against your cheek, nuzzling your own, tracing down and inhaling your skin until it’s pressing against your collarbone as he mouths at the swell of your breast, thumbpad adding pressure on your nipple, through your bra…

… Teasing.

He’s whispering in your ear, hand cupping you between your legs, on most occasions. Someone’s house, each other’s beds and various furniture pieces, public places, his car or yours — anywhere he can get those massive hands on you, just to press his two fingers into the giant wet patch on your panties that’s uncomfortably clinging to your cunt, with a desperate need to be satiated.

“When you least expect it, I’m gonna touch you, honey.”

“Steve…” Exasperated, breathless into an achingly harsh exhaustion.

“M’ gonna take my time and see what you like, make you work yourself breathless onto my finger. You’ll just get one, until I can trust you to take more.”

“Touch me,” you plead, only for him to do that crooked little smirk. His mossy irises blown to a glossy midnight sky, lips pink and swollen from kissing you for hours, tongue tingling from how much he’d tangled it with your own, or sampled your skin, newly grown out hair a mess, silver chain visible beneath his low cut t-shirt.

“I’ve been touching you. What’re you complainin’ for, greedy girl?”

You just shift your legs and whine, trapping his palm as it rests on your thigh. You give up. He’s going to tease you for eternity…

… Until, he doesn’t.

He comes over on a Sunday night, opting to stay with you and help cook dinner. Your date ends the same (not that you complained), and you are out of your mind with his mouth on yours and your neck, his hand squeezing your inner thigh beneath your sleep shirt, your bra straps hanging off your shoulders, his two fingers pathing the elastic outline decorating your panties. That’s when he does it.

Voice blown and raspy, he says, “Look at me, honey.”

The moment that your eyes meet, his fingers push into the side of your panties and directly up the slick that has gathered only for him. He won’t let you look away, your eyes widening, his forehead pressing against yours, nosing you with defined bridge. “Yeah? Fuck, I know you want me to, honey. You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. Almost pisses me off I made you wait this long.”

699 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 23 days

Text

Summary: The summer of 1996 is one of change. You don’t do well with change, and you loathe a forced move to Los Angeles for college. That is, until you meet Steve Harrington - the perfect guy, the charmer, or so you think. But things always find a way unravel, don’t they?

Based off the 1996 movie Fear, I bring you my first ever Dark!Steve AU. Chapters will be posted on Fear Fridays!

Warnings: Language, smut, anal sex, vaginal sex, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, stalking, rough sex, dark!Steve, drug usage, public sex, violence (not against reader), arguing, manipulation, oral sex, vaginal fingering, handjobs, and MORE (hah)!

Track listing:

Wild Horses (coming SOON)

Sugar Water

Heart Shaped Box

Creep

Zombie

Closer

Friday I’m In Love

Santa Monica

Right Now

Champagne Supernova

146 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 29 days

Text

18+

A/N: Small piece of filth, hope you enjoy ❤️

“Driving me crazy. Don’t know why you do that.” Another bit of babbling you-speak, poured out in waves, interwoven through your whines and moans, Steve notes. Or rather, tries to, given the predicament of being on his back as you use him to your satisfaction.

You’d stared him down like he was prey for the last several months, always shaking your head, clicking your pen until it broke. Then there were the signs that made Steve realize, with a lopsided smirk (that only made it worse), that you weren’t in fact mad at him, not in a serious way anyways. Your hitch in breath every inch closer that he came to you, the way you melted into him if he just brushed by you, or how your legs would tighten, feet would bounce, to the way that you’d chew on your fingertip when he was bent over putting stock out and he knew exactly what you were looking at. When he talked about dates or flirted with girls that came in, you’d roll your eyes and be obnoxious in the background to sabotage unknowingly, but he found it endearing. And when he bought himself his new diamond chain to go with his mustard colored shirt for the fancy dinner in Indianapolis the older kids had all gone to, your public exasperation is partially what led to the moment.

It wasn’t until the following Monday that it exploded in full. Steve was at work on your shift, you were dealing with a sore wrist after his ensemble at Saturday’s excursion. And the stupid bastard had the nerve to wear that blinged out piece of jewelry beneath his button up, all black polo. You slammed a stack of video tapes down and had blew out a rough breath, working your way around the counter to ask Steve ‘what the fuck his problem was?’ And in truth, he’d worn the chain again just to gauge your reaction, before making his move. Sure, you’d been close friends all up in emotional arms for years, but the sexual tension was more alive than ever and could no longer be ignored.

With one hand on his waist, the other propped on the counter, he grinned lazily at you, fresh highlights looking perfect with his grown out tresses under the cheap lighting, jeans tight on his toned legs and perfect ass.

“Oh my god, Steve! You’re just… You’re —“

“I’m what?” He’d said, folding his arms to accentuate his biceps.

Your jaw had dropped rather comically and Steve is pretty sure you whimpered in defeat. You were caught.

“You know what you are, shithead. And I can’t take this shit anymore, it’s too much!” You’d gotten closer, talking with your hands. How Steve loves your hands. And you gave pause, brows pinched. “Wait, is that new cologne?”

Steve had pulled his shirt out to bare thicker chest hair, shrugging. “No, same ol’ stuff.”

“Can you stop, please?” You had sounded completely out of it, your pupils blown, leaving your beautiful eye color a thin ring, nearly transparent to the aroused abyss he’d created.

“Tell me what I’m doing, honey. Can’t stop if I don’t know…” Steve reached out with a finger, his confidence having greatly improved the last year within your friendship, and he traced down your cheek.

“Oh, shit.” Was all you could come up with.

With his thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth, massive hand cradling your jaw, he’d unraveled the knot with, “It’s okay if you say you want me, baby. Because I want you, too.”

~*~

Your hand looks small in comparison to his large girth, shining with what you’d slicked him up in, your babbling from before, slowly fading. His mossy orbs have shattered, their shards prickling you in an electrical stimulation, on you everywhere. His massive hands pinch your plush waist, every tendon visible on his jugular, his throat contracting around a harsh swallow as your fist around his base meets your body - seating him fully inside you. It hurts so bad that you welcome him to see the tears, see the glistening mess of your cunt spread open around his cock, cream bubbling in his base and smeared across his happy trail. You’ve never felt this before, this power, this safety, this want, this love.

Steve tosses his head back as your hips give an experimental rise and fall, sweat soaked backs of your knees feeling the pressure. He’s inside of you so deeply that you can barely move, his length dragging, pushing against every inch of your walls. You’re overcome in the moment and grab his big paws, curling his thick digits around your breasts and holding them together as you begin to roll your hips, never taking your eyes off him. He let out a moan that vibrates through you, his bed beginning to squeak beneath your rocking. His neck is visible again at this, scars beneath the chain, sweat glittering around and beneath the links, every freckle, every mole there, making him Steve.

Your movements have briefly slowed and he realizes, eyes open as you’re staring with this smirk. He gives your nipples a flick and releases, linking hands, to bring yours to his and kiss each knuckle he can get his mouth on. That’s when he’s flipping you with ease, knees sliding underneath your thighs, hands pinning yours to the bed as his nose finds your lashes, mouth planting his words across your lips; cinnamon breath spray, coffee, and cigarettes ghosting with each hot breath, “Don’t get too cocky, honey.”

On the break away, his chain sways forward, links getting caught on your lips. You take the jewelry into your mouth, sucking on the taste of the material, Steve’s chest tufts drag along your breasts as he fucks you on him with an ease so slow, that you can’t find cohesive speech for the rest of the night.

// Eat me paragraph //

431 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

18+

There was something about today. Whether it was the traded looks you had exchanged all morning with Steve Harrington, or one of his trademark, side quirked smirks that accompanied his Ray Bans resting on the defined bridge of his perfect nose. Or maybe it was how the soil was damp with a light, faded rain, left over from sunrise, people now flocking outside to get started on mowing their lawns as temperatures brimmed the air with an enriching, yet delicate scent of light florals and winter’s last particles. But then, maybe it was that ice cold Coca Cola with two straws and those double cheeseburgers Steve treated you to on your favorite overlook spot in your neighborhood — quiet, rarely driven on street of middle class homes and your apartment building. He’d laid his coat out for you to sit on, watching cars go by on streets down the small embankment, a simple tree rooted into the hill to give shade, but still enough for you to watch the sun highlight how his biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt when his arms propped behind his head, ankles crossing over the other, jeans tightening (if that’s even possible) against his toned thighs, his silver chain tucked into his collar, shades still resting comfortably on his eyes.

Your breath had hitched, his beautiful skin already starting to tan. He knew it too, raising, pushing those signature glasses back through vastly overgrown tresses, his nose’s crook finding your cheekbone as he rested. You both inhaled at the same time, Steve smelling of burger grease, sweat, and apple cedarwood, your orbs also privy to observing how his pupils dilated to the sunlight, which gave you the perfect spotlight to the glittering beads of sweat littering the freckles and moles on his jaw. A beautiful amber, layered with the deepest, most intense green you’d ever seen - stare back at you.

~*~

He’d taken you home not long after your lips had met. Your apartment on the same street, one story up and stolen kisses on the stairwell. You immediately went to open your bedroom window and light that candle Steve had purchased for you recently. Spiced Pumpkin Patchouli; rich pumpkin, warm, crisp layers of that patchouli, and touches of cinnamon sugar. The very same one Steve kept in his own place. God were you two pathetic, always smelling like one another or each other’s humble abodes.

No one could tell the difference anymore.

Through thick lashes, his gaze didn’t waver, not even after you offered him a drink and he downed it slowly, your eyes roaming over his throat bobbing with every swallow. It took a few minutes and you were coming apart, scattering to the breeze that flooded your apartment.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Though it sounded muffled as he nursed his beer from your holographic wine glass, condensation-soaked fingertips tapping against the crystal, and oh how it looks as if it’s going to shatter in his massive palm, given a stark comparison.

“Don’t look at me that way…”

“Oh? I’m lookin’ at you, honey. What on earth are you gonna do to me now?” He was cocky, that small pudge of his stomach pressed slightly a top his belt buckle, his shirt rucked up.

You had unknowingly gravitated closer towards him, his new curls tickling your forehead, draped through your fingers as they found purchase in his locks, tugging.

“Yeah, s’ what I need. Good girl, honey. You want me, right?”

You’d whimpered into his mouth, practically pleading, eagerly confirming. He’d left his command clear, lips grazing yours as he panted the words across your mouth, “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

~*~

Your clothing came off quickly, rushed to get in the bed beneath your open window, but slow once Steve got you laid down beneath him. Chain tickling your chest, breasts smashed into the tufts of curls scattered to the winds across his sternum. You clung tightly, one hand leveling his backside into pushing him impossibly deeper, the other trading blows between grabbing at his back, his hand, or cradling his face and neck. The fresh Spring air, apple cedarwood, your candle, the coolness of your open window causing goosebumps to erupt over your sex-slick, bare flesh, combined with a panting Steve Harrington and your mattress squeaking as he works to get you both there, it tangles in with Steve as he finds your gaze once more, one tiny pearl of sweat between pinched brows, his focus, tongue licking at the roof of his mouth, his thumb pad caressing your jaw, to giving backhanded knuckle drags across the bone, his tone damp, hooked on rasp with his praises for you, and the way he’s looking at you as if you’re some priceless, explicit art exhibit. And then he’s saying these things;

“You know how wet you are? You know how hard it is to stay inside without slipping out again?”

“Could do this all day until it hurts you to walk.”

“Just let me refer to the list of things I wanna do to you.”

“Tell me it’s alright if I cum. I need you to say I can do it inside of you.”

“The way I always have to feed it to you slowly, so you don’t tap out on me. Fuck.”

“This is home to me, honey.”

~*~

Yeah, that’s probably when. There was definitely something about today.

254 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

Eddie saying if you’re going to dissociate, might as well be because of him. You find your legs on his shoulders, calves tickled by his freshly washed curls moments later. Needless to say, you did go out of your body, but Eddie kept it underneath his guidelines…

343 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

18+

Using the fuck machine on Steve’s ass, whilst being spread out beneath him.

“Yeah? How’s that feel inside of your tight little asshole, Stevie? It ramming you nice and good?”

He can only hiss in response — a literal sound of feral excitement whistling through his milky white teeth. His lips are kiss bitten, swollen, and slick with sweat. His far cock hangs heavy between trimly defined hips, dripping pre-cum all over your stomach, your breasts, even catching on your cunt and inner thighs, his full balls brimmed with so much cum that you’re going out of your mind for him. The cock ring is keeping him precisely where you want his finish line to be. He’s covered in exerting perspiration, words becoming dormant in his raspy throat.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make such a mess all over me when I take that ring off, aren’t you, big boy?” More questions that you know he’s too gone to answer.

But to his credit — Steve tries.

“I… Hmm? It’s right there —“

“Right where, baby? Your special spot? The one you’d never tell our friends you let me tongue fuck. How you bounce your perfect, sinful ass all over my face?

“Sure — oh, honey.” His jaw unhinges and you take the time to nip at bite at his skin, his silver chain dangling into a sway as he fucks his ass back onto the motion of the toy, the jewelry slapping your lips when you raise.

You wrap your hand around his neck’s nape, the sweaty curls dipping between your digits. You tighten and bring him down for a delicious kiss, purposely hitting the remote to the next speed when his mouth meets your own.

393 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

18+

Steve making you cockwarm a dildo, and kissing you in achingly-languid strokes as you sit atop it.

“What’s wrong, honey? Can’t sit still? Somethin’ wrong?”

The look you give him just makes his cock kick up until it’s pressing into the teeth of his Levi’s zipper. He licks between clenched teeth, reaching for the plush of your waistline to squeeze, moving you only slightly — enough to where you hear a rude squelch, and then you’re settled back against the faux balls of your toy.

“Could do this all night, you know? Seeing you like this… Just… all for me, hmm?”

He doesn’t let you get a word out, stealing the breath from your lungs with a violent kiss, all tongues and stringing spit. He parts and takes that web down your jaw, leaving his claim all over your jugular, flicking his tongue across your pulse point and back up.

“Good girl. Bet you’re squeezing that toy so tight, aren’t you?”

You try to move and he uses one massive palm to hold your hips in place. “Ah, ah. Did I say that you could do that, baby?”

He pulls your bottom lip in between his own, giving it a suck and releasing with a plop before he goes back to kissing you, fingers all over your face, your neck’s nape, down to pinch your nipples and hold your breasts in his hands. You’re not sure if you’ll survive this one…

750 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

18+

When your best-friend Steve Harrington asks you to hold his fleshlight for him.

It wasn’t really something that either of you planned on happening. But then it just did. Steve had been pent up from work all day from typical annoying patrons, smart mouthed jocks from the high school, that were freshmen when he was a senior (tenfold karma, Harrington), and Keith’s particular way of criticizing his every move out of some form of nerdy revenge. You could count on one hand the times that Steve had to bail out of your two person movie nights on Fridays (Saturdays were for dates and Sundays were for hanging with the rest of the parties and running kids around), and tonight happened to be one of those occurrences. Usually, it would be for self-care or whatever reason he needed to spend alone, but when he’d barely shed his leather jacket upon entering his house, dusting snow off of his boots — he was about to crawl out of his skin by the time his massive palm was wrapped around the receiver, thumb strangled by its cord.

He was… off? And seconds after he’d cancelled without much reason, the line went dead. You wanted to give him space, especially because he usually called back to tell you goodnight. But after being unable to sit still and finish a generous portion of the large pepperoni pizza you’d ordered the two of you, you were grabbing your keys for the journey over to his place.

~*~

It didn’t take but five minutes before you reached Steve’s house, pulling in behind his familiar car. You dangle the copy - made spare from your pointer finger, trekking your way up to the door and letting yourself in, wiping at your wind-whipped, wet eyes. You know he’s not on the first floor, its entirety dark and a little cool. So you toss your coat and keys onto the small table beside the entryway, kicking off your boots to join his on the cheesy welcome mat, and you make your way to the second floor landing to his bedroom. Seeing a buttery glow spill out from the crack in his doorway, you’d proceeded, only to be met with a sight that only appeared in your late night fantasies… and pretty much your every waking thought.

Steve is facing his mattress, sheets tousled and clothing pooled beside him, stood on the left side of his bed, naked and glistening in the perspiration of teasing, observing his massive length as he edges himself, moving the toy slowly over his cock. You know what it is, you’ve seen it in magazines and stores, in some porn. A fleshlight, they call it. Your brain goes through a million thoughts at a couple seconds to spare.

Why doesn’t he have someone here to do this with? He can get a date?

Is he okay? Obviously he’s very okay.

Holy fuck… he’s big.

Holy fuck… he’s beautiful.

A little more than usual, waiting on the summer sun to tan his freckle and mole spattered skin. His hair has grown longer, curling at the nape, his shoulder blades and biceps defined from a regular regime. And that ass, the way it flexes and is perfectly plump, connecting to those hairy thighs and big feet, his own toes curling when he twists, a wet squelch coming from the faux cunt. There’s beautiful chestnut curls scattered across him sternum and connecting to a trail that surrounds his base and those full, heavy, balls. That cock… thick, barely able to be pushed back into the toy, his fingers having to peel back its soft pink layers to help ease the slick way, decorated in a vein that matches the one running along his forearm

And you must make some sort of noise, because your lips part to let in a gasp of air, causing his body to twist in a sudden defensive stance, clenching the toy so tight with a ‘caught’ pose. You go to move and the door spills open completely, slamming back into his dresser and shaking old sports trophies. You’re panting, seeking out the words to apologize, Steve is wincing from how hard he still is, attempting to cover his modesty. But the air shifts in the room and you gain a boldness, a restlessness that won’t be satiated, nor a conscience satisfied if you don’t ask.

“Can I help you?” A customer service line from working at Scoops with him. But it comes naturally.

Steve, biting his lip, disheveled — he nods. And it’s happening. A tickling ease, a line crossed.

“C’mhere.” He’s waving with his opposite hand. His ribcage expands as he gulps in lungfuls of air.

You’re at his side shortly, shyly. “W-what do you need me to do?”

His spare hand pushes back through his hair, amber gaze gone to a midnight sky, teeth milky white, defined jawline covered in stubble, and a perfect nose. His voice is raspy when he lets you know what he needs.

“Go get on my bed, lay back for me. Please?”

A fucking gentleman.

All of your clothes feel too tight, smothering you as you lay back on his bed, his pillow immediately invading you. Your hands are unsure of where to go, but he approaches slowly, kneeling his way into kneeling by your feet. “I’m gonna… Can I use this between your legs, honey? You don’t have to do anything, just let me do all the work.” He motions to the toy and you want nothing more, suddenly offered the world.

It’s your turn to say it now. “C’mhere.”

He’s using that enriched tendon covered forearm to prop himself up beside of your head, slotting right between your knees, his remaining hand wrapped so tightly around the toy that his skin is pulled taunt over his knuckles. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, releases it, licks it, and then he’s asking, “Can I?”

“Go. Do what you need to do. I’m right here, Steve.”

If you thought the toy was loud before, the sound of him working his lengthy girl through its walls right in front of you now — it’s surround sound. You’re watching, unable to help it, bones threaten to be dusted to ash from how hard your heart is ramming beneath your breastbone.

“Wanted to come over, but it’s been a shit week, an even shitter day. And I just needed to —“

“— Release some tension, right? I get it, I do it too. I have a cock that goes… I —“ you stop your horny rambling, face feeling too much warmed.

Steve’s face scrunches, teeth gritting, and he twists the toy until slowing it almost completely. “Tell me what you do. You fuck yourself with it, right? When everything is too much and not enough? Fuck, honey.”

He doesn’t verbalize, but you don’t either, simply accept the toy and hold it against your denim covered cunt, leaving Steve’s hands free to hold on either side of you, his nose nudging yours as he leans down — here, present. You copy his earlier motions, using the toy to glide along his length as he thrusts into it with a new focussed vigor. “That’s it. You feel so good, honey. Workin’ me so right.”

“I’m soaking — fucking — wet for you, Steve. Just so you know.”

His hips stutter and his nose finds its way into your eyelashes, cheek pressing into your own. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum into this thing, and I want —“

“— You want what, Steve?” You hold your breath.

He answers without fear or pause. “You.”

// Eat me paragraph //

2K notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

Below, you will find my complete Stoncy x reader (sometimes just Stoncy) masterlist! It includes prompts, drabbles, series, one-shots, concepts, headcanons, and MORE!

*©️ 2023 wroteclassicaly - Do NOT redistribute, post to another platform, translate, or plagiarize my work (this includes AI) — under any circumstances! *

Stranger Things Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Joe Keery Characters Masterlist

This an 18+ ONLY space! The block button is my best-friend, and I’m not afraid to use it!

Key:

❤️‍🔥 = smut

💔 = angst, depression, & anger

💝 = fluff & comfort

Series titles are in bold red

Appropriate warnings and tags will ALWAYS be added!

coming SOON

18 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 2 months

Text

Being the one in the gang to take care of Eddie after the bat attack.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hey.”

“I’m here to do your hair again.”

You brush out his wet curls, enjoying the softness, helping ease his hair into a bun so that you can tend to his injuries a lot more, and that it’s easier for him to also begin to change his own bandages when he can. You’re the shy one in the crowd, but Eddie grows to admire the strength in your quietness, the way you say nothing but make him feel less alone than he has in all of his life. Sometimes you’ll hum when he’s between your legs and you’re easing his hair into your scrunchie without even thinking about its implications. And Eddie? He doesn’t give two shits that he’s had accessories on his head made of various pastels, floral prints, animal prints, and neons. He’ll do whatever you want, just to have your hands in his hair.

Besides, what the fuck is that detangling spray you own anyways? Or that special lotion that makes his skin feel healed and brand new, less itchy and raw. It’s become pretty apparent that you bring a spa kit each time you visit. He’s even let you cut his nails and work on his cuticles. He more than called you on it too.

“My little beautician.” And when you look up shyly from flipping through one of his many magazines, he’s smirking down at you, before patting his lap. “Plop those tippy toe tappers up here and let me get to work on you for a change.”

422 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Text

A/N: Work week blues. Should be sleeping, but my brain gave me the inspiration for this instead. 18+

“Honey…” He tries again, his fingers finding purchase scratching through your scalp.

You’re flipping around all over the bed, sheets becoming tangled around limbs, body in some eagered frenzy. He nearly whines with you, bushy brows pinched together as you lower yourself further down the mattress, manicured nails playing with the curls of thick leg hair that dust his inner thigh, his boxers having ridden up. He already looked at his watch to see it was almost 12:30 am, and while he doesn’t have a shift at the store in the morning — you do have work in just a few hours.

“Baby, we should be asleep. You know your schedule on Mondays.”

You raise a brow, before pushing one thigh apart from the other, anchoring yourself in between. You’re playfully amused, but your pupils have blown wide, your sclera wet with tears, gaze glazed over. It’s your tell-tale sign of being gone. You let your tongue slide out over your lips, then your teeth, humming as if you’re thinking something over. And then you say it… “I’d rather be sucking you off instead.”

He should be prepared for this, you’re such an insatiable minx. However, there’s also an undeniable desperation in your body language, pitching itself within your tone. You need him. He can feel his own vision beginning to swim with shapes, his feet planted firmly to help his thighs stay up and spread apart so that you can work.

“What do you want me to do, honey? What can I do to make this better for you?”

“Take it out.” You don’t miss a beat, raising onto your haunches to rid yourself of your sleep shirt, immediately beginning to play with your own nipples.

Steve begins to flush, body latching onto its own personal heatwave. He does as directed, his cock embarrassingly rock hard already, and difficult to peel off the fabric of his tight briefs. He’s sticky with his own pre-cum, an appreciative whimpering noise you make, letting him know you see that he’s gotten himself too wet taking off his underwear, that it’s slicked all through the bush at his base.

“Fuck, give it to me. I want it now.” You’re ever-so the lady, waiting on permission, saliva causing your mouth to water with an overflowing.

Steve’s voice has given way to something lower, deeper, and bitten with a honey hot claim. Folding one freckle and mole spattered arm behind his head, showing off his biceps, he’s nearly hoarse when he consents. “Go on, honey, take it. It’s yours.”

His cock jumps and slaps back against his stomach from the first hot breath that you give. Your smaller palm sliding into your panties and beginning a sopping wet rhythm as you nose down his warm, velvet shaft, all the way to that cream covered thatch of curls. You’re watching him the same way that he watches you from a similar position, and then you’re like a wild woman — inhaling. Steve tries to catch himself, but it’s too late. The action has him throbbing once more, his girth slapping against your cheek and jaw.

“Always smell so fucking good, Stevie. I could stay down here all week, get fired, and be happy if I could do this full time.”

“W-whatever you want, baby. I’ll do it for you.”

You leave kisses along his shaft now, still touching yourself, something that does not go unnoticed by Steve. It should be humiliating how close he is, just by this, but he doesn’t feel any of that with you. Only safety and love. He tries to convey that within the next few moments, and you pick it up automatically, sharing a soft smile. One that fades into that cheeky little grin he’s grown so fond of, even before your relationship began.

“You wanna do somethin’ else to me, don’t you, honey?”

You appear shy for a fraction of a second, but you hold up your finger to trace that defining vein along his cock, similar to the one that runs along his forearm, your fingertip circling the head, before you enclose your fist. Steve’s breathing accelerates and he groans from within his diaphragm.

“Yeah? You gonna find my spot again until I soak my own chest? Fill up your mouth, maybe?”

“Stevie…” You’re completely fucked out, running on adrenaline, schedule be damned.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You wanna play with my ass, huh?”

And you both know that your non verbal communication is enough of an answer. As for you? You definitely fall asleep at work the next day.

282 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Text

A/N: There’s no point to this. I’m just feeling angsty and it came to mind…

Your fingers are cold, skin beginning to prickle with the burn of frost. You watch the digits grip the metal gate until your knuckles crack under pressure. You can’t see any of their stables, not with your blurred sclera. Your throat is confined to suffocation, body suffering trembles that aren’t a result of this brutal Midwestern winter. There’s a guilt burrowed deep within your chest cavity, twisting, knocking at your bones with an iron fist that demolishes your bones — dusts them to ash.

Would explain why you’re about to collapse.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…” You’re using your spare hand to angrily wipe at your wind-kissed cheek, nose slick with snot.

But it’s not alright. You’re not alright.

Any normal human being could appreciate the happiness, the change in him that comes from finding what most of the world searches for. But you, the person who actually cared for him, watched out for, held all his secrets despite dangers to your own life — you’re the single soul that can’t find any joy in what he’d laid on you merely moments ago… You never anticipated seeing the day where your best-friend would give up his disconnected ways and find someone to share things with that isn’t you, that’s more than a quick fuck and forget. Sure he had girls, he had them a lot — various ones, never you. And that was okay, as long as it wasn’t serious.

Until he told you in his bedroom when you were dressing the healing dissolvables below his lower lids.

“Thinkin’ I might’ve found somethin’ good for my future with this one. Who would’ve thought, right? Especially after all this?” He didn’t mean for his fingers to graze your wrist when he motioned to his healing, slightly marred skin. It wasn’t unusual, but it stung this time, literally winding you.

In record time, you applied the cooling antiseptic and went to retrieve your purse. He’d frowned at this, looking at you with a tilted head full of messy, freshly grown out tresses. “I thought we were watching that stupid ass lifetime movie you wanted? Ya know… now that I can actually see it.” He’d winked your way, something your knees would’ve started shaking upon receiving. You were completely dead weighted in your legs and feather light in your guts.

In hindsight, it was a pathetic answer, but it left your lips before you could prevent it. “No thanks.”

You didn’t let him respond, just pulled on your coat, said you had to go, and made it halfway down the drive of Nadine’s new property, before you booked it to the stables and fell against the gate. And the fucking guilt is devouring you piece by piece.

How do you make peace with a future with someone that will never be what your soul has been primed for it to be? He’ll be in your life, sure, but you’ll have to be a dutiful friend and stuff everything down, knowing that you can’t involve yourself with another person, because they won’t be him. Your brain is a goddamned hamster wheel and you can’t get off, dizzy and nauseous. Your coat weighs too much, your clothing itches. Everything that you found right in this world is now wrong. A piling of packed snow crunches beneath leather combats.

Gator go away, go away, Gator.

You don’t look in his direction, his cedarwood cologne brimming your nostrils, the sound of his lips as they wrap around that dumb ass vape, causing a stirring hiss from the hit, and then he’s pocketing it, approaching you like every doe he used to (regretfully) hunt during season. On relaxed elbows, he plants his arms beside yours, his leather jacket flexing over defined muscles. You still pretend to be lost to the view, but by now, he knows you’re bullshitting him. A deep sigh escapes his mouth and he’s nudging you.

“You looked at me when my eyeballs looked like melted butter, so you’re not gonna give me common courtesy now? What’s wrong with you?” He tries to make light, but you know he’s worried about your rejection — his one solid person, his safe space. Or you were before her.

“I said I had to go.” You’re shocked that it comes out without the wavering that threatens to cave in on your throat muscles.

Gator is displeased by this answer. “Talk to me, please. You always talk to me. We tell each other everything, don’t we? I trust you, you trust me. Sort of our dynamic, ya know?”

“Not about this.” A quick glance to the left and you’re pretending to wipe your nose, but Gator knows better. You’ve been crying.

He tries to approach you carefully, in a way that regards your feelings before his own. You beat him to the invisible punch line, the smell of your shampoo and body wash invading his upped senses as you raise to press a chaste kiss with chapped lips to his pink dusted cheek. You don’t say anything more, simply leaving him behind like so many before…

He’ll be okay though. She’ll be around for their date tonight.

And you? You’ll be in the dark of your room, nursing a glass bottle that’s half full of amber liquid, staring at the bus ticket in your palm…

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…

// Eat me paragraph //

53 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Text

Steve’s way of calming down from an anxiety attack when you’re asleep and he needs you (because that selfless man won’t wake up you, even if you’ve demanded he do so if he needs anything), is to push up your sleep shirt and rest his cheek over the swell of your breasts. There’s times when he’s content to settle, but others he likes to have wandering fingertips that give barely there grazes just beneath your boobs, his fingernail scratching your areola until your nipples perk beneath the warm stimulation. Then he can’t really resist what his mouth decides to do, now can he?

He’ll use that strength in his lower torso, his sleep plants rucking up as he finds his way to being completely over your slumbering form, tongue slicking along his mouth, saliva pressing in the corners. Every breath you take puts your chest on display, and leaves Steve to feel as if all of his previous head trauma has caused amnesia, because holy fuck — seeing your pretty tits becomes a brand new experience each time it happens.

“So, so fucking pretty, honey. Can I have them?” He’ll whisper in the dark, his panic subsiding as he gives into impending focus of a new mission.

You might mewl a bit, shift or wiggle. But you’re always pliant, receptive to him. His chain will sway forward when he lifts to bend into a lean, and your nose crinkles him into a soft set, trademark grin, because he knows that it tickles you, a comment he’s heard (without complaints) when you’re also awake.

One of Steve’s favorite anchors that resides in the home of your body, is when he’s kissing your breasts, jostling them in his hand, squeezing. Those full lips finding a nipple to attach to, tongue licking lazily until you’re shining with his spit. He blows lightly on his work after, and if he’s lucky (regardless, he knows he is) — he’ll get that particular noise from you that makes his cock kick up.

He’s having his own private heart to heart, and you trust him enough to give yourself over, no matter what.

There’s nights that you’ll awaken (some of his most favorite, ones that will redden him from the chest up at just the mere memory), so gone from your dozing and dazed desperation, that your voice will lower several octaves, checking on him first and foremost, then give way to a high pitched whispering plea for him.

“Shh, shh.” Calmed enough to practically coo at you, his massive palm will cup your cheek as he relaxes into his full weight settling atop you, his nipples dragging against your own, chest hair tickling goosebumps to life along your already overly-sensitive flesh.

“I know I’ve got you worked up, honey. M’ gonna take care of you too, alright?”

You struggle to rid yourself of blurry vision, that raw need that crackles your chest with a burning ache, a singeing to your tongue to taste it, to take what’s yours. Because he’s there for you and you’re there for him.

Your panties are in many different positions; halfway off and around your knees, the delicious attempt to try and fit him inside that way, to the side with transparent impatience, or flung to the wayside (a shared top pick) so your legs can fall completely apart to rest or be maneuvered into position.

“Steve…” You’re crying, as if he’s a dream that’s never meant to be yours. And it’s pathetic how empty you feel until he’s got himself in his palm, guiding himself to lay heavy against your inner thigh, because he needs to kiss you before he goes insane and inside — always.

When it’s over, you let him stay inside until he’s fast asleep and his face is in your tits — home.

556 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Text

Winter is the bane of your existence, your fingertips prickling with that icy electric as they struggle to lock your door with trembling hands. You’d lost your mismatched gloves in the laundry pile you’ve yet to do, and with your dad coming for supper this weekend, you realized you had to venture out into the arctic rain to get a few things at the store. It’s only a block from your trailer, but the moment you leave the confines of a tin roof that shields you beneath safety on your porch — you wish you would have managed your finances better, to save back some cash to order a pizza instead. Holding onto the railing, your legs tighten to hold you steady, deep black sludge darkening the wood of your steps, covering your half-shoveled walkway. You clutch your Goodwill thrifted handbag, digging out your list and balancing your ink pen between your teeth.

This, of course, has you not looking as you approach your mailbox to start your journey, failing to hear snow pack itself down beneath bike tires. His big feet hit the pedals for all they’re worth, and he lets them slam into the ground to slide, cold instantly soaking through his boots, past his socks, and landing across his toes. He prevents a total collision, but his torso catches you by the shoulder and his arms release his mailbag, crashing into the ground along with your tangled limbs. Your purse goes flying across the road, list destroyed, ink pen a casualty. It takes you a few moments to realize that you’re laying back against his chest, legs wound together, his bike several feet beyond, both of you soaked in muddy rain water and discolored snow, that you pray to god Old lady Tilly’s Pomeranian didn’t piss or shit in.

Everything aches, near that numbing, throbbing process from temperatures. Baron is groaning behind you, fingerless gloves swiping his chocolate tresses from his face. Looks like he forgot his hat today, you note, drinking in his disheveled appearance beneath his patchwork coat (you’re pretty sure he got that thing from a time capsule planted in the 70’s). His green cargo pants are sopping wet, having taken the brunt of the mud, his cheeks are dusted pink, along with his damp mouth and red nose. He’s an absolute treasure, shining everytime you see him, blinding your vision and common sense.

You look down as your skin warms from your realized predicament, almost forgetting about the snow and slush soaking through your pants, and now your panties.

“You okay, doodlebug?” His accented voice is winded, his hands reaching out gently to grasp his own ankle and lift it off of yours. Once your legs are free, he pulls you up with him and that hidden strength he possesses, his coat crunching under rustling fabric.

Your snow boots smack into the watery muck below, one hand held in his massive, gloved palm, the other planting itself on his jacket clad chest. You’re nodding, lifting your chin to face him. “I’m so sorry, Baron. M’ good, I just wasn’t paying attention —“

“You know how many times I’ve done that? Knocked into your mailbox a time or two.” He reaches down beside you to knock his knuckles across several indents in your box’s post. It makes you shiver, cars driving across snowy roads in the distance, a simple backtrack to you both.

Baron clears his deep, wind—coated throat, sniffling softly, taking a few steps behind him to grab up your purse. He brings it to you with an offered hand, starting to protest as you bend to retrieve his overflowing bag. Nothing is ruined, thankfully, and you make a quick exchange, fingers lingering, grazing.

“You’re cold, sweetheart. Should be wearing somethin’ on your hands. Momma used to tell me how fast the weather works against us.”

At the mention of his mother, you note his jostled deflation. You try to lighten his spirits, thanking him for breaking your short fall. “Just grateful we didn’t seem to land on anything special. Like a clockwork present from Mrs. Tilly’s dog.”

It’s comical how his moss-shrouded eyes, kissed beneath luscious lashes — widen in fear. He whispers, just to you, with tendrils of his hair blowing over your nose, tickling, caressing, drifting from your cheekbone, and even nicking your forehead. “Did it, ya know… do its business in there, you think?”

“I considered it within the first seconds, but I think we’re safe.” You’re chuckling, and the next sentence is leaving your mouth before you can stop it. “I think your ass got the brunt of the damage, if we’re being honest.”

He marvels at your language, lips pursing and then they pop, tongue clicking at the roof of his mouth. You start to wonder if you’ve overstepped, but he smirks, the corner of his mouth, tugging in a way that makes you want to kiss him breathless, not missing a beat. “You wanna check it out for me?”

Your brows raise higher on your frozen forehead, and he’s immediately apologetic, manners kicking into overdrive. “No, oh my goodness. Doodlebug, that wasn’t very proper of me when you were just—a—kiddin’ and all.”

His flustered state gives you confidence. “Maybe if you spin real slow. As for checking it out, I’d love to, if I didn’t have to make the store before closing.” You sigh when reality pushes its way in. Here in this park it’s usually Baron that jumpstarts those reserved butterflies, giving you something to always look forward to.

“What are you needin’? I might have it at home.”

“Baron, I don’t want to take anything from you —“

“It’s not takin’ if I offered, now is it?”

He’s slipping his bag over his shoulder and yanking bike by the handlebar off the ground, one hand on his trim waistline.

“Some stuff for supper. Dad is comin’ in this weekend.” Baron’s smile melts you entirely, your energies on high alert. He knows how your lack of relationship with your father affects you. He feels a possessive need to protect. Besides, your pop doesn’t deserve you working yourself into a frenzy over a home cooked meal.

“I got a frozen pizza. I think that’ll do just fine for him.”

He raises a hand off his bike to push his hair back, and then scrambles to replace it, the heavy object almost clattering onto the ground once more.

By god, he’s too cute for his own good.

“Okay.” It’s not one word, but it’s how you say it. Pliant and secure, satiated.

“Okay.” He replies, bashful, toeing his work boot into the ground and swirling it around the slush. “You go on back in and I’ll bring it to ya after my route?”

Your response shocks his flickering gaze into finding you. “Can I walk with you, Bar?”

Because yeah, you sure can…

// Eat me paragraph //

44 notes · View notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Note

oh sorry, sorry your actually blog like the one you write on. sorry i should’ve been more clear

Sure! Ask away!

#asks

0 notes

wroteclassicalyslibrary · 3 months

Text

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, NSFW, smut, and pegging.

A/N: Missed this man! Here’s a little somethin’! ;)

The floral bed sheets are in complete disarray, much like a set of frizzy, chocolate brown curls that you’ve got fisted in your palm for leverage, tugging several times before you release. The man below you hisses, cock trapped between you and the stained mattress, dripping, aching with this agonizing pain that he wants to inject into his veins, lick off the air it floats on. He is making pleas and promises that you ignore, your perspired doused skin slipping across his, barely able to keep yourself steady, but you do. He hisses through pearly whites, cheek pressing into his own puddle of drool as his jaw drops and he groans through wet, kiss-swollen lips… deep.

It’s so fucking hot with the baseboard heaters in this trailer, that you’d both began to sweat when all layers were shed and you got Eddie Munson on his back, lube in hand, devious plans in mind. Something you had both talked about and agreed upon.

His spread legs tense, feet dragging the corner of the sheet completely off the bed. You tut, reaching down to slap the small swell of his ass cheek, pulling it to the side to see your silicone engulfed in that tight muscle. You’re hyper aware, just now, that the record player is spinning static, having gone off minutes ago — who knows? He can feel himself losing it with every drag off your delicious tits across his bare back, every scraping of your nails along his tattooed forearm, the harness digging into his backside, and your soaking wet cunt leaking through it and smearing all over him.

You won’t let him touch himself, often pulling his hands back behind him to use as reigns. And just when he thinks you’re going to take it easy on him, you slam your hips forward and drag him up the bed, the entirety of your full figure settled over his own as you fuck his body pliant and boneless, is a fuckin’ work of art, and he’s seen a lot of art in his twenty years. You do it again this time, one hand combing through the accumulated sweat at his neck’s nape, the other reaching to hold his ring clad hand in your fingers, tightening, reassuring. Eddie positively croons.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. Fuckin’ me like a rockstar.”

362 notes · View notes