—summary: trapped in a radio station with the world about to end, you and steve decide there’s no better time than now to give in to desire, curiosity, and years of unspoken yearning —and because you need to know if the rumors about his measurements are true!
—pairing: steve harrington x female!reader
—word count: 3k
—content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), friends to lovers, established pining, idiots in love, suggestive banter, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, big dick!steve, p in v sex, radio booth sex!!!, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, praise kink, size kink, aftercare, steve being cocky and shy
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
“It's too big, it won't fit” Dustin openly expresses his disagreement with Hopper's absurd plan to fly a whole helicopter into the center of the wormhole.
“Steve hears that all the time, and he goes in anyway,” Robin remarks in a suggestive tone, smiling knowingly at her friend, “don't you, Steve?”
After that, she winks at you.
Steve is frowning, baffled and entirely dissatisfied with what Robin just said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Murray, sitting on the couch right in front of him is smirking, his eyes wandering between yours and Steve's, and vice versa, puffing out a knowing chuckle.
“It's funny,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
You bite your lower lip, struggling to hold back laughter, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you sense Steve's gaze on you now.
So you just choose to play dumb. As usual.
You've heard about it, of course, many times before. Robin has told you over and over how over-sized Steve is, emphasizing that he would be exactly what you need, ever since you told her about your miserable and unsatisfying sex life.
The best fuck of your life, possibly.
“Ten out of ten,” she would say, shrugging her shoulders at your face, all contorted with skepticism and flushed with embarrassment. “That's what I heard.”
And unable to really say anything in his own defense, he smacks Murray on the shoulder, trying to get the man to stop giggling like a witch, but instead, he laughed even harder.
Steve's mouth opens and closes, stammering out a response.
“It's very funny,” he repeats, glancing at you this time and nodding his head.
Steve doesn't deny it either, you notice.
The conversation about the final plan against Vecna and the end of the world carries on all around you, but you can no longer really focus on that.
Instead, all you can concentrate on is Steve's scent invading your nose, the perfect opening in his sweater neckline that wraps around his neck, his left hand twitching on his knee, and his other hand reaching across the backrest of the couch where you are seated to support his own weight. But his fingers seem to have a different purpose and they graze your shoulder. Intimate, complicit.
One touch of him has you as horny as the fucking midsummer sun.
How could you possibly pause to think about the potential apocalypse in six hours when you're falling downward in a spiral from the slightest touch of his fingertips on your shoulder?
His closeness is suffocating, his body heat mingling with yours, making the room feel unbearably hot.
It's not until about forty minutes later that Steve is bold enough to look at you again, offering you a small, sheepish smile and sweeping his hand across his neck as he walks toward you with purposeful little steps.
He looks so good with that ridiculous backwards trucker cap that you have to physically restrain yourself from bouncing on him right there.
“Hey, look, I—I'm sorry about Robin. She's been acting weird about—” His voice falters as the air is knocked out of his lungs the moment you lock eyes with him, looking up at him so intensely that he is literally left speechless for a long moment. “About– about us. I've been telling her to stop sticking her nose in, but she's—well, she's Robin, you know her and—”
He keeps chattering uncontrollably, his brown eyes wandering down to your hips, appreciating what a great fit those jeans are on you. You look so hot in your monster-slaying outfit that it's making his face turn bright red and distracted.
“Is it true?” you interrupt him right there, because you don't have more time to waste. I mean, time is running out for all of you right now.
But you need to know.
His mouth gapes open in confusion. “W–what?”
“Is it really that big?”
Steve's brain short-circuits.
Completely. Catastrophically.
His jaw doesn't just drop; it hangs there as he stares at you, his eyes darting to your lips and then back to your eyes, searching for the slightlest hint that reveals that you're really joking.
But you aren't. And he just realizes it.
He glances around to see if there is anyone nearby, but fortunately for both of you, you are all alone. Finally.
Then Steve steps closer to you, his face morphing into one that expresses complicity and yearning and need.
“You really want to talk about this right now?” he whispers, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates right through you. “With the world ending in, like, six hours?”
“Especially because the world is ending,” you consider, your voice surprisingly steady despite the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. “When then, if not now, Steve?”
Steve reaches out, his thumb finally finding the skin of your neck, tracing the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness.
“You want it now?” he has the nerve to ask, when you're looking at him like that, as if he were the center of the entire universe, as if the world weren't ending, as if everything weren't collapsing around you. “You want me?”
Twenty minutes later, he is only just pushing the swollen tip of his massive cock into you and you already have tears brimming in the corners of your pretty eyes.
He has you sprawled out on the desk in the radio booth—his idea, since no one could hear you there even if you screamed, which you would, he had promised.
Your shirt is tossed somewhere, along with your jeans and panties and bra. You don't even know where your shoes might be.
You're too busy trying to let your body relax and let him in. Because, holy shit, he's big. Big, big.
“F–fuck,” you whine out, feeling his pulse thrumming wildly under your palm clutched to his shoulder. “It's too big, Steve—”
“Shh, you've got this, princess.” He soothes you, pressing little loving kisses on your flushed cheeks, his lips wiping away every trace of tears. “Aw, it's okay. You're doing so well, so well.”
Steve groans as he pushes forward, just a little, because you're already crying into his neck, big tears falling down your cheeks now. The air leaves your lungs with every ragged whimper that crawls up your throat, every time he forces another inch deeper into your tight pussy.
“Hmm—!” you moan, your head thumping back against a radio monitor. “Oh my fucking God...”
You look heavenly under him him, with your legs spread, the gates of paradise wide open for him.
And he's massive, filling you so perfectly that you feel your insides stretching to their absolute limit.
“I know, I know,” he coos into your ear, his voice strained and thick with the effort of holding back. He is being so patient and good to you. “Just breathe for me, baby— fuck— just breathe. Let me in, yeah?”
Because he knows he can't just dive in. He needs to open you up, that you adjust to his size, to make sure this doesn't hurt you, Steve wants to make things right with you after all.
With a shaky motion he pulls back just an inch and slides down a little more, his knees opening yours wider.
“Doing so well for me, baby. So good, I–I'm halfway there,” he's praising you in soft, trembling whispers, placing gentle, affectionate kisses all over your tear-stained cheeks. “I'm going to go in a little deeper, o–okay? Just a little more, mhm...”
You nod your head eagerly, gripping his shoulders, clawing at his back, and forcing him closer to you. Your legs wrap around his hips, urging him to thrust deeper.
He sinks in deep —all the way to the hilt— in one smooth, heavy thrust. Your eyes roll back as a strangled moan escapes your throat.
He's so big you can feel him in your fucking throat. You can feel your guts rearranging to fit his shape, molding and squeezing him so deliciously that you've got Steve whimpering on your chest, soaking your skin with drool and tears.
“There you go,” Steve whispers, his forehead dropping against your tits, “I'm all yours now. Taking me so fucking good, like no one else, f–fuck, baby. Still so fucking tight— fuck”
Steve's hands are shaking as they grip the edge of the desk on either side of your hips, his knuckles white as he tries to anchor himself. The feeling of being entirely encased by you, of your warmth and your tightness clamping down on his length, has his self-control hanging by a single, frayed thread.
“Steve...” you sob out, the sensation so overwhelming it's almost dizzying. “Don't... don't stop. Move— please, ohh—”
He is a good boy, so pulls back very slowly, just a little. The friction make your hips hitch off the desk, and then—he drives right back in.
Steve isn't just fucking you; he's claiming you, taking everything he possibly can of you, reaching your soul and lifting you to unknown heights. Every inch of him slides against your gummy walls with a perfect fit, hitting that special sweet spot of yours every time he bottoms out.
“You're... I—” he chokes, his voice breaking as he starts to pick up the pace.
Every time he bottoms out, his hips slap against yours with a wet, filthy sound that echoes off the metal equipment in such a pornographic way that has you all worked up and shivering.
Slap, slap, slap!
“I— I can't— you're so t-tight,” he slurs, his eyes blown wide and glassy with pleasure. “So perfect”
He looks perfect. For some absurd reason, his hair looks flawless, even though you're constantly pulling, ruffling, and tugging at it. His hands, big and veiny and craving you, cling to your flesh, marking it, claiming it, pawing at your hips, your ass, your waist. He's out of control, he finally has you there, all for himself, at his mercy and will. To touch, to kiss, to fuck, to claim as his own.
His hands caress a path down to your thighs, hiking them higher onto his shoulders to get an even deeper angle. Although his eyes display a sense of uncontrolled ferocity, his treatment is careful and gentle.
The shift allows Steve to bury himself to the all the way into the deepest part of your core, his pelvic bone grinding against yours as he sinks inside you. You let out a broken, high-pitched cry, your fingers tangling in his hair once again, pulling him down so you can find his mouth.
When your lips meet, the kiss is messy and desperate. It tastes like salt and heat and longing and love.
Steve moans right into your mouth, a deep, vibrating sound that you feel in your chest. He's moving faster now, his breaths coming in short, jagged hitches.
He's hitting that spot again, more firmly, more determinedly—the one that makes your vision go blurry and your toes curl into the air.
“Steve—” you gasp into the heat of his mouth, your body vibrating with the intensity of it all. “I need— I need more!”
“More?” he purrs, incredulous and playful.
He pulls out of you with a wet, loud pop that makes you whimper at the sudden coldness and emptiness he left behind, but before you can even protest and whine about it, his big hands are on your body again, hoisting you up.
“There you go, sugar,” he coos softly, “Yeah, mhm, just like that.”
He spins you around, your palms slamming onto the cluttered surface of the desk. You lean forward, your chest almost touching the wood, scattering papers and radio logs as you find your footing.
You're bent over, your spine arching perfectly, presenting yourself to him in a way that makes Steve let out a low, animalistic growl.
From this angle, he can see everything—the plumpness of your ass, open for him, the line of your spine, the gaping hole of your pulsating pussy, the wreckage that he himself has made in there.
“Look at you,” Steve breathes out in awe, his hands sliding down your back to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your ass, before tentatively slapping one of your ass cheeks, grunting at the sight of the jiggling under his palm.
He hisses as he slides a teasing finger along your folds, your pussy responding instantly to him and sucking him in on instinct.
“Look at her. You look so fucking good like this.”
Steve doesn't give you a chance to bitch about it, stopping your ass from wiggling back in search of him ravenously and just lines himself up and lunges back into your pussy, his massive length sliding back inside you in one devastatingly deep stroke.
He gazes at the way your folds stretch around his bulbous head, drool dripping from his half-open lips.
At the new position, he’s hitting your cervix with every thrust, sending jolts of pure electricity straight through your spine up to your brain.
“Oh! Steve!” you babble his name over and over, with your voice cracking. You grab whatever you can over the desk so hard your knuckles turn white, your head hanging low as you watch your own reflection blurred in the glass of the radio monitors. You're a mess. “Baby, fuck— right there!”
He’s relentless now. With his hands firmly anchored on your hips, he uses you as leverage, pulling you back onto him every time he drives forward.
“I've got you,” he answers your cries immediately, kissing down the point where your ass meets your back, “I've got you, baby.”
He's looking in awe the way your body is reacting to him, lowering his gaze to the space where his body connects with yours, admiring the sight of your pussy stretching out all around him, forming a white, creamy line around the girth of his cock.
You're taking every inch of him as if you were made for this. For him.
“You like that?” Steve snarls cockily, one of his hands landing on your lower back and forcing you to arch it for him as he notices that you are begin to squeeze impossibly. You are close. “Is it big enough for you, hm?”
“Yes—yes, please— oh, Steve!”
He obviously has you cumming sooner than you can blink. And it's a earth-shattering, soul-shaking, life-changing orgasm.
Your breath comes in ragged sobs, your vision spotting with white crazy shapes, you feel like you're floating off into the distance.
“Baby,” Steve is calling your name in a breathless whispers behind you, noticing you're still on cloud ten, shaking like jelly underneath him, so much that he has to hold you tightly by your hips, “where—”
“Inside,”you manage to croak. “Cum inside, I need it, please. Cum in me—”
You're hardly finished formulating the words when he delivers one brutal, final thrust, sinking so so hard inside you the desk groans under the weight of his force. He's growling, sobbing, praying your name, and cursing, all at the same time.
“Oh, God—” he chokes out, his body seizing.
It is God. The way your pussy is clenching him, milking out every drop he has for you.
And he is cumming so much that his seed starts to leak out around the base of his cock. He is filling you to the absolute brim, spurting ropes after ropes. Then he lets out one last, shuddering breath of your name, burying his face between your shoulder blades,kissing your sweaty skin appreciatively.
Steve is whispering sweet words of praise, repeating over and over how good and perfect and gorgeous you are.
“Is this a terrible moment to ask you out for dinner?,” he sheepishly asks after just a few seconds of silence, a moment that feels comfortable and heartwarming.
His hands are caressing your sides reassuringly, fingers trembling as he waits quietly for a response from you and pulling away from your back, not without first pressing a shy, soft kiss upon your shoulder.
Shy. As if he weren't literally buried balls deep inside you, his cum oozing out of your pussy after filling you to the fucking brim.
You let out a low, dazed laugh that vibrates through the desk, your cheek still resting against it as you try to remember how to breathe. The contrast between the animalistic intensity of the last ten minutes and his sudden, boyish vulnerability is almost enough to make you cry all over again.
“Dinner?” you say finally, your voice barely a whisper, raspy from all the moans and cries and whimpers he got out of your throat. “Steve, if we survive tonight, you can take me wherever the hell you want.”
He lets out a relieved, shaky breath, almost too shy to look you in the eye. “It's a date then. Enzo's?”
He finally begins to withdraw, the sensation of him sliding out of you leaving you feeling cold and so empty that you have a sudden urge to start complaining. You can feel the warmth of his seed beginning to trickle down your thighs.
Steve is quick to help you up, his hands steadying your waist as your knees threaten to buckle. He cleans you up with a fresh towel he finds in a nearby drawer, his gestures and gaze full of concern and care.
“You okay?” he asks so gently.
His hands lingering on your waist to make sure you’re steady before he starts frantically scanning the floor for your clothes. The air in the booth is thick, humid, and heavy with the scent of what just happened, but the ticking clock of the apocalypse is finally starting to penetrate the bubble you’ve been in
“I've never been better,” you admit, smiling. You watch him getting dressed now while you sit on the desk. “So... Enzo's?”
“Enzo's. I’m gonna wear a suit. I’ll even get the hair extra perfect for you,” a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face at the mere possibility of a date with you. “You don't know how long I've waited for this.”
Steve draws back toward you, like a force of nature, and you reach out to him, your hands coming up to his neck. He watches you fix his jacket, his gaze softening.
You kiss him on the cheek and he is left breathless, with that goofy little smile on his lips. Your hands caress his chest affectionately, “Robin was right. Ten out of ten.”
His smile just keeps getting bigger, that classic, cocky Steve Harrington smirk returning to his face as he adjusts that trucker cap back over his hair. “Only ten? I'll have to try harder next time.”
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