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lovebugism · 2 years ago

Note

for the blurb sleepover thing, i am asking for a crumb of stancy x reader smut 🥺

✶ ┄ LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON ME !

summary: your lives weren't supposed to turn out like this. but you're so very glad that they did. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / nancy wheeler word count: 3.2k warnings: threesome, ffm, oral (f!receiving) smut 18+ mdni a/n: you asked for a crumb and in return a bring you a little over three thousand words and some of my favorite smut i've ever written <3 thanks for request anon!

( BLURB SLEEPOVER ) | ( MASTERLIST )

Nancy thought her entire life had been planned out before she was ever born. That her fate was doomed from the beginning and she was destined to end up like her mother — her mother’s mother, her mother’s mother’s mother.

It was too easy to picture a life with white picket fences and too big houses and ten-carat diamonds that didn’t mean shit.

It’s all just a shit show of wealth. None of it’s love. None of it’s real.

And even though she can see it all right in front of her, so tangible she can almost touch it, it doesn’t mean she wants to. Or that she’s ever wanted to. And rather than stare at herself in the mirror and see a life she’s been cursed with, she stares directly at the sun and decides to date the weirdo of Hawkins when she turns sixteen.

Jonathan Byers was rugged and strange and not all there sometimes, but he was kind. And he loved her. More than anything, though, he was a distraction from the plain vanilla lifestyle of the cul de sac. He showed her that there was more to life than pearls and pretty dresses and country-club-coded boyfriends.

For the first time, she saw herself as someone else. Not the goody-two-shoes, straight-A student from the wealthy part of town, but a person who could be so much more than all that. And, for a long time, she thought her happiest moments were spent with the freak from the wrong side of the tracks. They were. Until they… weren’t.

Nancy turns twenty and something shifts. She comes to the sudden realization that she was only happy because she felt like she was rebelling against some great, big, imaginary thing and it pummels her in the face with a closed fist.

She thought they loved each other in spite of how different they were, but the entire time it was because of how different they were. It was something short of a fetish, an acute fascination in each other, because both of them understood that they weren’t supposed to be dating a person on the farthest side of the social spectrum.

Jonathan was never supposed to end up with a pretty girl who grew up in a pretty house with prettier money. Nancy wasn’t meant to settle down with a guy from the bad part of town who worked two jobs to stay afloat and had no real aspirations in life because he was never really able to do anything in the first place.

But he did. She did. And it worked.

Then the dust settled and the fog cleared, and she realized none of that was real either.

Feelings were misplaced. Obsession ebbed to neutrality. Dumb teenagers grew up.

It all faded until the only thing left was a couple of kids who spent so much of their life running in the opposite direction because it felt good to rebel. When there was no authority to raise their middle finger to, there was no love left to give. There was no love at all. A mutual adoration for one another wasn’t enough to keep each other afloat.

And rather than drown in spite of it all, they swim even though it hurts.

Jonathan ends up on the opposite side of the country, still awkward and trying to take shape on the west coast. He keeps reveling in his boyhood with weed and arcades and pretty girls. Nancy stays close to home and tries like hell to grow up. She goes to college and moves out of the suburbs to a string of half-rundown apartments on the far side of town.

Not because it felt good to do the opposite of what her mom had done.

Not because there were a couple of odds she felt the need to defy.

But because it was what she wanted to do.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t doing something for someone else, and she started to slowly blossom, like a wilting plant that just needed a little extra love.

She gets a lot of that these days, more love than she thought she could ever be deserving of. Because now she has Steve. She has you. And if he’s the rippling waves in the tides of her heart, you’re the moon that guides them.

You keep her steady when shit gets rocky, when she starts to get scared that she’s falling back into old ways. When she’s scared of how much she loves Steve because he’s the carbon copy of the man everyone’s expected her to love and when she’s feeling bad for what she did to Jonathan and it’s got her all scared of herself.

She’s got you to keep her anchored. You tell her that she’s not her past. That she’s still growing all the time and that she’s blossomed into something so beautiful that you’re grateful you get to see it firsthand. “You’re your own person, Nance,” you remind her. “You love us. We love you. So… Fuck everything else.”

Nancy trusts you and she's not exactly sure if she’s ever trusted anyone before. She’s only ever given pieces of herself away before now, but it’s different with you. You look at her in a way that makes her feel naked, like you can see all of her without really trying, and it feels good to have someone who knows her without her having to say very much.

You sit cross-legged on her bed, absentmindedly nodding your head to the music playing from her small television across the room — a static, technicolored picture that croons “hot dog, jumping frog, Albuquerque.”

She smiles at you from across the checkerboard that sits between you. You’re so cute, she doesn’t even care that you’ve taken two of her red pieces in one go.

She lets you talk about everything you’ve got on your chest and right now, it’s Eddie Munson — an ex of your’s you saw on a coffee run earlier that morning. You tell her how much you’d loved him when you were a teenager, how you wanted to get married and follow him across the world when he made it big with his band.

But he hasn’t yet made it out of Indiana and you’ve settled down with somebody else. Somebodies.

“I remember him,” Nancy lilts with a soft smile, ocean blue eyes concentrated on the board as she calculates her next move. “He was… interesting.”

“He was a total freak, but he was the nicest guy I’d ever met. He was, like, super into rock music and the color black and creepy shit — everything super metal, you know? But he was also really sweet… Like sunshine, kinda. Like Steve,” you reminisce distantly.

“Of course, we picked the nicest one, huh?” she teases you, herself. “Steve is like… good.”

“Like prom king wrapped up in sunshine,” you nod.

“Great bod, too.”

“And stupid handsome… Stamina like a super soldier or somethin’.”

Nancy breathes out a laugh, a sad scoff.

Steve’s been busy with work these days. Trying to make it big at his mom’s real estate firm has been taking up most of his time. She’s glad she’s got you to keep her company, to hold her and to hold you when the days are cold and the nights are colder. But she’s noticed the lack of his presence, both of you have.

He left and pieces of the two of you went with him.

“I miss him,” she admits softly.

“Me too…”

She bites the inside of her cheek when a smile threatens to tug at her mouth. Her lashes touch the bottoms of her bushy brows as her eyes flit to yours, scrunching her nose as she jokes: “We probably shouldn’t tell him, though.”

“Of course not,” you scoff playfully. “Don’t want him to get too cocky.”

As much shit as you both of you like to talk about Steve, behind his back and to his face, all in the name of good fun — you love when he’s cocky. When he’s inside you, fucking up into you with all the strength of a madman, he’s King Steve all over again. Because he’s got something to prove.

With his cock nestled deep inside of Nancy and his tongue shoved inside of you, the only thing he wants to do is make the two of you feel good. And he does. Catastrophically so. When he’s brought both of you to mind-numbing climaxes full of wild moans and shaking limbs, you feel him smirk against your skin while he presses wet kisses to your trembling thighs.

It makes him proud of himself, all smug and boastful. And you and Nancy let him have his fun. You figure that he deserves it after making you feel such an unearthly sort of pleasure.

Out of the two of you, Nancy’s orgasms are most violent. They always have been to a certain extent, but more so with you and Steve. It starts as a low ripple in her lower belly that pops into a full boil. Her muscle tense something fierce, she twists herself into knots and rides her pleasure like a bucking bull on Steve’s cock or your face.

They feel a bit like riptides. They pull her under and drown her, force her to ride each rough wave through rough wave. She digs her manicured nails into Steve’s freckled back or your sweat-slicked shoulders or her own pale thighs while the both of you dismantle her piece by little piece.

You’re more like the wings of a butterfly. Built from the same cloth as her, you still have a simmering anxiety beneath your skin, scared of ever enjoying a good thing, lest it gets ripped away. Rather than fight it like Nancy, you embrace it head on. You let it run over you like hot water, revel in the way it prickles your skin, and then thank them for making you feel so good.

You never had to, though. Thank them. They made you feel good because they liked it just as much as you did, but you felt the need to express your gratitude for it anyway. Just grateful for them and the moment and all the ways you get to share yourself with them.

Steve makes Nancy come with his tongue nestled inside her pulsating cunt and giant hands palming her ass. You kneel just beside him, pressing kisses to the outsides of her thigh, as you pull the hood of her clit taut with your free hand for him. The boy suckles at her swollen button and she cries through it all, hips bucking like she’s trying to run away from how good it feels.

You stay soft; kiss up her thigh and her belly, her tits and neck and jaw. Too innocent for all the filth around you.

She makes you feel good next, even though her legs still feel a bit like jelly. The two of you lie on your sides on the pillows, facing one another, kissing each other breathless. You’ve got one hand beneath Nancy’s head and the other folded behind you, entwined in the strands of Steve’s wild hair. He lays behind you, slicked body pressed intently against your own, while he sprinkles wet kisses to every part of you he can reach.

Nancy touches your pussy with methodical grazes. She runs her pointer finger through the hot slick gathering between your lips and Steve holds you open for her as she dips a finger into the fluttering hole of your opening, adding another right along with it.

“Nance,” you moan sweetly, light as air. Your hips rock slowly against her hand, not nearly as rough as her’s had against Steve’s face. You’re much softer than her. More patient. Your clit presses against her smooth palm and you shiver between the two of them “Shit. Right there.”

The girl revels in your sweet pleas and how your warm walls pulsate around her fingers — the wings of a butterfly indeed. You change color in front of her, from a blotchy red thing to a bright burst of rainbows. You let Steve hold you when you come, let him pet you while the aftershocks of your orgasm make you shake.

Nancy brings her come-soaked fingers to her mouth and admires the taste of you and the way you look pressed against him. You, made of vivid and sparkling colors, and Steve, made of gold and velvet and expensive silk.

Truth be told, she likes to watch the two of you fuck the most.

There’s something about seeing Steve on top of you — tanned skinned and fuzzy chest and tremendous strength. His broad shoulders and slick back tense and ripple while he fucks you in brutal, powerful, diligent strokes.

You’re far more delicate in comparison.

Your moans are light, touches lighter, as you let him fuck you so ruthlessly. Even spread open like this, wet pussy on display for the both of them, you still manage to look so sweet, so innocent.

“Can you lift your hips for me, sweetheart?” he coos, your thigh gripped in one hand while he puts a pillow beneath you with the other. And you, obedient you, abide him. He slips the cushion under you and hits new depths within your fluttering pussy. “Aw, fuck yeah, baby— that’s my girl.”

Nancy’s lying right next to you, on her back, with her fingertips swirling around her clit. Her heavy, glazed-over eyes flit between your fucked out face, Steve’s scrunched features, and where his glistening cock pierces you over and over and over again.

“Grab the headboard, baby,” he tells you, not the most wholehearted of his otherwise glaring demands, but more so advice — the number of times he’s driven his hips too hard against you and all but smacked you into the headboard is uncountable at this point. He punctuates his order with the hearty smack of your ass. The palm of his hand collides with your rounded, slick skin and you keen.

You heed his advice as he hooks your knee up and around his waist. He bends over you to sink his tongue into your obedient mouth. Nancy does the same with her fingers, pushing her fingers inside of her gaping cunt, curling them within her like she imagines Steve’s doing inside your mouth just now.

He eases his cock out of you — inch by thick, soaking wet inc — before plunging right back into you. His hips clap against your own and you squeal inside his mouth, grasping the wooden headboard with enough force to crack the damn thing.

Nancy’s bedsprings creak with every one of his barbaric thrusts. It’s almost as pornographic as the wet sounds between your legs, the wet clicks of his cock pounding so aggressively into you.

Each snap of his hips drives you further and further up the bed and you try to match them, hips bucking against his own in attempts to bring him further into you, to swallow every inch of him.

Nancy does the same with her fingers, imagining it’s your hand or Steve’s cock, as she fucks herself with her eyes locked on where his dick disappears inside of you.

C’mon, Steve, fuck all the way into her, she scolds him silently. Hit the furthest part of her. Make her fucking scream—

“C’mon, Nance,” Steve mutters suddenly, gaze heavy and full of fire when he looks over at her. He plants his knees and picks up the pace, fucking you like a fucking maniac. “Make her come.”

He might as well be superman the way he pistons in and out of you, with both speed and diligence that manages not to feel too fast or too mindless. Sometimes you think he is — superman. It feels like he is sometimes. Whether he’s fucking you within an inch of your life or saving you from a spider in the bathroom.

Nancy smiles lazily over at him, happily removing her soaked fingers from her pussy and putting them on yours.

“Yes, sir,” she answers playfully, having no idea what it does to him. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s exactly why she said it, to laugh softly to herself when it makes his hips stutter.

The girl slithers closer to you, pressing her naked body flush against the side of yours. She kisses the sweat off of your jaw while her fingers settle beside the place where Steve drills into you. He punches into your pussy again and again and again and she circles your clit with the pads of her fingers with a similar mercilessness.

“Feels good, huh?” she asks you, lips like silk against your cheek.

“Yes,” you answer in a moan before a whine climbs through your tightening through. “’S so good, Nance. So fucking good.”

Steve tosses his head back when his own moans escape the depths of his chest. “Fuck,” he drawls, revealing the chiseled columns of his neck and the sweat dripping down his hairy chest. “You’re so perfect, baby. Both of you. So fucking good for me.”

Nancy smiles to herself, spreading her middle and pointer finger around the puffy lips of your cunt and Steve’s cock, before bringing them up again to pinch your sensitive clit.

You cry. You arch. You writhe.

“Fuck,” you sob, one hand clutching Nancy’s wrist and the other gripping Steve’s tensed bicep as you come something fierce.

Nancy can only imagine the way you convulse around him, choke the absolute shit out of his cock with your tightening walls, because Steve’s done for after that. His rhythm stutters all at once and he whines a low and pathetic whine, going rigid as he presses his hips against yours.

He spills all of himself into your pulsating cunt with a drawled out and nearly feral grunt.

He collapses into your arms and you accept him wholeheartedly, letting him hold you as your hands wrap around his sweat-slicked back. Nancy shows no such patience as she pokes him in the ribs to urge him off of you.

“Move,” she orders suddenly. “Move—”

“Alright,” Steve chuckles at her urgency. He’s not too happy to leave the warmth of you, but he’s in no place to deny Nancy. His hand skates down his torso to cup his softening dick when he pulls out of you, falling onto his side next to you. “Jeez.”

Nancy slithers between your legs. She cups her slender fingers just under your thighs and forces your knees back, spreading you and putting you on display all over again. Your cunt is still gaping from Steve’s cock, still sensitive, still hungry.

You’re far too exhausted to say anything. You just flash her a curious look with pinched brows as you stare down at her through a heaving chest. But Steve gets the hint without a word. He holds his weight on his forearm and uses his free hand to help Nancy, pulling one leg up to spread you further for her, for him.

“Just wanna taste you,” she lilts with a too innocent smile, using one hand to reach between your legs and gathering the honey that drips from your opening — a glistening mixture of your and Steve’s climax. “Wanna taste both of you.”

#published by bug #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things imagine #nancy wheeler x reader #nancy wheeler smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #stevie drabble #nance drabble #st drabbles #bug's blurb sleepover

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fandom-hoarder · 2 years ago

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do you really think dean is aro? no judgement, it's a cool thought, i just can't reconcile it with all his secret desires for romantic picnics and an apple pie life

My answer is a little complicated, anon.

Essentially, yes, I headcanon Dean as aro/arospec. But this is a headcanon, not what I think the show intended as canon; much as I'm sure it wasn't their intention to canonize Sam and Dean as a queerplatonic life partnership, nevertheless they did, for those of us who know and appreciate what that is.

I've seen arguments for him being frayromantic (when someone only experiences romantic attraction towards those that they are not deeply connected with, and lose that attraction as they get to know the individuals), and that lends itself well to the way Dean has been shown to be a very romantic lover, I suppose.

But I tend to think of him more as greyromantic (feeling romantic attraction rarely/infrequently, and only under certain circumstances). I think this can account for Cassie and Lisa, and lends itself well to my SamDean headcanons.

Now, as for "all his secret desires for romantic picnics and an apple pie life," I personally think this perspective only works if you haven't finished the series. Particularly if you haven't gone past season 5 or 6.

Now, in s2, we get a glimpse of this idea of Dean's secret "apple pie" desires in What Is and What Should Never Be. But that is less about Dean's romantic desires than it is a manifestation of his boyhood desire for his family to not be affected by the supernatural. For he and Sam to have grown up in a normal, stable family (with normal chores like mowing the lawn for your mom, instead of cleaning the guns for your dad), and for Dean not to be the reason his dad is dead. And once again, Sam is the one with more of an apple pie life, whilst Dean has a reputation for drinking and doesn't have a relationship with Sam.

In s3, we get Dean's dream about Lisa and the picnic. This dream often leads to the interpretation that Dean loved Lisa the whole time, and sometimes causes upset at the apparent slighting of Cassie as Dean's first/true love, but I think it's a mistake to take this dream at face value -- dreams rarely are just what they show, even if spn tends to be heavy handed in their storytelling.

-- again, I think it's less about Dean's romantic desires, and more about the idyllic life he's never been able to have -- and won't get a chance to because of his Hell deal. Lisa is the one in the dream because of that split second where Dean thought Ben could be his son-- in the middle of this middle class neighborhood with a bouncy house and backyard bbq-- and he imagined an entirely different possible life for himself if he wasn't a hunter headed to Hell. Dean is easily baby-trapped, lbr.

Being aromantic doesn't necessarily preclude fantasizing about being able to be romantic, either. Especially if a person is still on their journey of self discovery. Sexual and Romantic orientation are a spectrum, too, and sometimes that spectrum is traveled throughout one's life. And sometimes we spend time fantasizing about the ability/ideal to do what is socially expected of us.

But the Dean of mid-to-late seasons doesn't really show a desire for an "apple pie life" beyond his belief that he wants Sam to have one. He doesn't talk about settling down himself, or show a desire to build lasting romantic relationships with anyone other than Sam, who he married in a handfasting in Sacrifice.

And when Sam asks Dean in Baby if he never thinks about settling down-- well, actually, here's how that post-Piper scene goes:

SAM: Dean, I can explain what was going on -- DEAN: No, no, no. No. SAM: Don't "Night Moves" me. DEAN: Shh. Just let it wash over you. SAM: Let . . . DEAN: Just take it in. Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” plays on the radio.

[The Night Moves interlude, my beloved...but cut for length.]

Let's take a moment here to appreciate Sam's apparent need to explain himself to Dean. 👀

SAM: I tried to give her my number. You know what she said? DEAN: "We got tonight. Who needs tomorrow"? SAM: Is everything a Bob Seger song to you? DEAN: Yes. Well . . . [ sighs ] SAM: It was nice knowing you, Piper. DEAN: Piper? That's awesome. Heather. One-night wonders, man. Shoot, we're lucky we still get that at all. SAM: Really? You don't . . . Ever want something more?

DEAN: I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life? DEAN: Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about?

And Dean leaves it at that, but it's pretty clear romance is not something he's really thinking about. He's seemingly fine getting even the small amount of "one night wonders" that 'they' do get. (Another moment here to appreciate that Dean's pronouns are we/us, in a SamAndDean kind of way. --and that this conversation takes place over the course of a very domestic montage.)

Now, granted, at this time they're dealing with the release of the Darkness and all that entails; and granted Dean has been dealing over 3 seasons with the perpetual idea that he should expend his life and soul for the sake of Sam getting that apple pie life; but Dean seems to have left those "domestic" thoughts behind even before he had Castiel wipe Lisa and Ben's minds in s6. Dean's primary domestic relationship is with his brother, and as long as Sam is there, that's alright with Dean.

And what does Amara give Dean as his reward for helping her with Chuck in s11? Mary. Ignoring the later reasoning/retcon that she did it to teach Dean some lesson, we can say that once again Dean's domestic desires are pinpointed as having a fulfilled family life, but not necessarily romantic fulfillment.

And later, when Dean's "greatest desire" comes up again in Lebanon, what does he get from the pearl? He gets his father and mother, alive again under the same roof as him and Sam (and if you want to give subtextual meaning to Doylist ~fanservice~ concerns, wished it so that John and Sam would get along better than they would've if that were the actual 2003!John).

All this, and the fact that he and Sam continued to live and hunt domestically after Chuck was gone, are why I like to headcanon Dean as aro.

#asks #anon ask #aro!dean #aro dean #qpr samdean #aro!dean/ace!sam #dean winchester commentary #spn hcs #me.txt

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