dontcha, big boy?

Abbee, 24, she/her - 18+ blog mdni

[corrodedcorpses]

Abbee ~ 24 ~ Australian ~ Cancer ~ she/her ~ infp

Buy me a “ko-fi”🖤

Masterlist: Ao3 ~ Taglist

All works are 18+ MDNI

Completed series: 🥀 In Progress: 🦇 Coming Soon: 🕸

Steve x Eddie x reader:

This is So Wrong 🥀 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 | Smut, Angst, eventual fluff

How Did I get So Lucky? | Smut, Fluff, Kink content

Boys On Film 🦇 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 4.5 | PS! Steve, PS! Eddie, Smut, Angst(ish), Fluff

Eddie x reader:

I Know You Want to be a Good Boy | Sub! Eddie, Smut, Angst

Do You Trust Me? | Smut, Fluff, Kink content

Jealous Eddie | Requested, Smut, Dom! Eddie

Milkshakes | Angst, Flight, slight Dom!Eddie

Just a Taste | Fluff, Smut, Virgin!Eddie,

Steve x reader

Steve not being able to hide his boner at the lake | request, smut, slight Perv!Steve

Drabbles:

Touch Starved Eddie

Steddie Pussy Drunk

Dom! Steddie Overstimulation

[flyingpurplepeopleprogrammer]

[kassy-djomunson]

the prettiest boy ever

[arelliann]

Post credits scenes I pinky promise

[mischievousmoony]

steve hears that all the time steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: it takes some coaxing to get you used to steve’s size ⊹ 659 warnings: smut mdni, the definition of porn without plot, fluffy, unprotected p in v, steve’s big 🤭

note: first steve fic and it's just smut buttt trust something fluffy and plot focused is in the works too!

· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·

“Steve, s’too big,” you whine, your nails biting half crescents into the back of his broad shoulders.​‌‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‌‌‍‍‍‍‌‌‍​

“Shh, you can take it, baby. Know you can,” he coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. His kisses trail down the side of your face, and he finally seals his lips over yours as he presses his hips forward. Slowly easing every inch of his thick cock into your tight, needy hole.​‌‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‌‌‍‍‍‍‌‌‍​

A flimsy little whimper slips past your lips, muffled by Steve’s mouth as his tongue slides against yours.

Steve has already made you cum twice on his fingers, crooking two of them deep inside you to prep you for a third. The third to prep you for his girth. It’s not enough. Never is.

He has you underneath him now, hips pressing yours into the soft sheets beneath your bare body. His large hands squeeze your thighs, holding you open for him as he buries his cock only halfway inside.

“Just relax f’me, baby,” he grunts, stilling his hips to allow you a moment to adjust. He needs it too. It’s almost too much, too good, the way your gummy walls clamp down on him, nearly milking him dry already.

Steve’s right hand releases the tight grip he has on your thigh, instead finding the space where your body meets his. His thumb presses against your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles against the sensitive bud that has you mewling for him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, feeling your body relax beneath him.

“Steve,” your moan is music to his ears as his cock slides deeper, finally filling you completely. Even fully sheathed inside, his entire length doesn’t quite fit, but it feels like heaven regardless.

Steve can’t help the shallow roll of his hips, the slight shift causing him to push against your cervix. He’s almost too deep, the pleasure bordering on pain as his cock stretches you open.

His hands move to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he starts to move. Slowly pulling halfway out, then pushing back in again.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his voice a low rasp in your ear as he nips at the curve of your jaw.

Steve’s movements are measured and slow, he’d never want to push you too far. As much as he loves the idea of fucking you until your legs turn to jelly and your brain to mush, he can’t bear the thought that he could actually bring you pain. Which is why he always goes at your pace. Only when you’re begging him for more will he ever give in to his desires.

“Too much,” you whine despite the way your body pulls him in and your hands snake around his back, holding him close.

“Aw, but you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, smushing his face into your cheek, kissing you again like he can’t stop. “You feel perfect, always so perfect f’me.”

Your hands find a home in his hair. You’re the only one he ever lets touch it, and you’re the only one who knows how to tug at it in the way that drives him crazy.

His lips latch onto your neck, practically purring at the way your nails feel against his scalp. He sucks faint bruises into your skin between murmured sweet nothings and quiet professions of love.

Your breath shudders as he drags his cock out of you again, nudging that sweet spot just right as he slowly sinks back in, a content sigh leaving your lips as he does it.

“Steve,” his name falls from your lips in a soft huff. You wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your heels into his lower back to force him deeper. “Please. M-more.”

The corner of Steve’s lips quirk into a smile. “Yeah, baby. Anything you want.”​‌‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‍‌‍‍‌‍‍‍‌‌‍‍‍‍‌‌‍​

· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·

[jarochoangel]

sweet dreams r made of this babyyy

i love love love bottom dom leather eddie

[corrodedcorpses]

ST5 spoilers I think?

Damn am I the only one who actually really enjoyed this season and the ending?? Of course there were things that weren’t amazing and some things I wish they had included (Eddie my beloved) but that kind of just happens whenever you watch a show or movie after spending years with theories of how it’s gonna end?? But idk overall I was entertained, the acting was amazing, Steve was in a backwards cap and confirmed to be HUGE. Idk I really liked it

[7spaceace7]

Eddie didn’t just HAUNT the narrative. He was the narrative. He was Dustin and Steve’s narrative this season, everything they did was in part because of Eddie in some way.

We did get Eddie back, guys.

He was there when Robin asked for bad news first “always”, and later when she broke down after almost losing Steve.

He was there when Jonathan still hated Steve’s guts instead of seeing how he changed, and later when Steve makes sure to thank him for saving his life.

He was there when Nancy promised not to miss this time, and later on when she put everything she had into saving her family.

For Dustin and Steve? We watched Eddie in every scene they came on. We saw them cry, tear each other apart, hug, love, and heal through Eddie. Through his memory. Through everything he ever stood and died for.

Yeah, we got him back, guys. This was our year.

For Eddie.

[djotime]

STEVE HARRINGTON 5.08 – The Rightside Up

[bsxcrxts]

Steve Harrington’s dick is canonically so big that his lesbian best friend 1. Knows about it 2. Makes jokes about it

[eddielove]

Thanks Robin and Dustin for confirming big dick Steve 🥵

[disasteracesstuff]

Saw this on TikTok

[aconiteandausten]

somehow haven't seen anyone point this one out yet??

[lvrsnt]

ATTENTION

softdom!eddie munson x sub!reader x meandom!steve harrington ( aka poly!steddie x reader)

bored while waiting for steve to finish up the morning show, you decide to grab his attention- with your bare tits on the radio booth glass . . . ( 2.6 k ) a/n: pretty sure nobody has done this yet but i just love the concept of utilising the huge fucking glass box at wsqk. i guess this also techincally falls into the troublemaker reader au but she' s a bit less bitchy here so idk. also i kinda wrote steve meaner than i wouldve but i dont think hes a full on mean dom so idk if the tag is deceiving lol ( divider by @cafekitsune ) tags: mdni 18 + , flashing, annoying eddie and r, oral (m receiving), cum eating (kinda idk?), p in v sex, rough steve, gentle eddie, cumming inside, kinda mean steve, rough sex, r described as wearing lip gloss and a skirt, pet names, steve calls r a whore like once

There’s virtually nothing to do in Hawkins after the quarantine, so when Steve has to fill in for a sick Robin during their morning show, you and Eddie are more than happy to tag along.

Except for the fact that it’s boring- you can’t even hear Steve through the soundproof booth as you slump down on the couch, picking lint off of your sweater. Eddie kicks feet up on the coffee table, scrubbing his eyes as he yawns. 

You sigh, flicking away the soft cotton and turning to your boyfriend as your feet dig into his side. “Eddie, I’m bored.”

He snorts, throwing back his head of pretty curls to stare at the ceiling, his big hands rested on his stomach. “Yeah, sweetheart, I kinda gathered that with your intense lint-picking over there.” he sighs, checking the time on his black watch, “We’ve got like, 10 minutes until our boy’s done, and then we can get the fuck out of here. Grab a pizza on the way home or something.”

Your groan comes exaggerated and whiny as you pout petulantly. “You said 10 minutes until it’s over, like, 10 minutes ago.”

“Dude, you’re so impatient,” he laughs, before jumping up to stretch. His white t-shirt lifts up to reveal a sliver of his happy trail, and you stare greedily. It disappears quicker than it was there, and Eddie holds a hand out for you to lift yourself up. “C’mon, baby, let’s go see how long Stevie has left.”

You both make your way over to the glass booth, where Steve lounges in his chair, mic in hand. He lounges in his desk chair, ankles crossed so he can stretch out. You know Robin would freak if she saw his sneakers all over her sacred workplace. You gently rap on the glass to get his attention,

How long? Eddie mouths, pointing to his watch.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow: 10 minutes, why?

You make an exaggerated gesture of choking yourself, pretending to bang your head against the glass: I’m bored.

Steve rolls his eyes. Read a book, he gestures to Robin’s stack of science-fiction novels on the table. You and Eddie both tried but to no avail. He’d already read all of them twice and would ‘accidentally’ spoil the plot-twist every time you picked up a new one.

You point a finger at Eddie: He can’t read.

“Hey!” Eddie scoffs, shoving you slightly with a pout, “Asshole.”

You watch with a grin as Steve covers his mouth to stifle his laughter before pointing at you and Eddie to sit back down and wait.

“He’s just jealous that if we had our sticky hands on those mics, we would be unstoppable.” Eddie grimaces, rolling on the balls of his feet as he stares daggers at Steve, trying to get him to break as you giggle, “We would rope in so many listeners, and then Steve would just have to be known as our trophy husband for the rest of our lives.”

Steve knocks on the window, glaring at you and Eddie. Cut it out, he mouths, pointing at the microphone, trying to wrap up the morning session before your antics begin.

In true Eddie fashion, he pulls the world's most ridiculous face at Steve, eyes moving in opposite directions as his tongue lolls out. You smack his shoulder, “Dude, how’re you even doing that?” Steve shields his eyes with a hand before throwing Eddie the bird. 

“Ouch.” Eddie winces as Steve avoids all eye-contact, making a talking hand motion to the two of you. 

“Wait.” You shuffle nearer to where Steve is sitting behind the glass, hooking your thumbs under the bottom of your shirt and lifting them up to reveal your bare tits. Eddie chokes on his spit next to you.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out, his hand clasped over his mouth. You think it must be a miracle: Eddie Munson, rendered speechless.

You press your  bare chest against the glass, hissing at the cold sensation on your nipples as Steve looks up.

The poor boy practically falls out of his chair, his feet slipping off the desk as he sits rigid and upright, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. You watch him splutter into his mic, his wide brown eyes still trained on your tits.

Eddie comes up from behind you, his curly hair tickling your cheek as he holds your hips, pulling your ass back into his hardened cock. You grind back into him and he moans into your ear. “Our poor baby,” he tsks at Steve, both of you watching a tent grow in his jeans, “got him all worked up already, sweetheart?”

You brace your hands against the glass wall as you feel Eddie’s hands travel up your skirt, his fingertips brushing your clothed cunt. In one swift movement, he rips off your panties and your denim skirt, letting them both pool around your ankles. Steve’s jaw seems to unhinge itself further.

You grab Eddie’s wrist, checking his watch. “We’ve got 5 minutes, baby.” you moan as his fingers collect the slick pooling in your cunt, using the lubrication to easily draw figure eights over your clit, “Gotta make this quick.”

You press a kiss to the glass, leaving behind a pink lip gloss mark. Eddie pulls his fingers away to wave them at Steve, showing off your slick ribbons before licking up his middle and ring finger, his digits almost brushing the back of his throat. Steve stays glued to his seat, unable to pull his eyes away. His hand drops from behind his head to squeeze at his bulge.

Eddie quickly removes his studded belt, letting it drop to the floor with a clang before pulling his cock out of his jeans. You keep your tits pressed firmly to the glass for Steve to admire, the surface pushing your cleavage up. Eddie kisses up your neck as your hot breath fogs up the glass. You’re almost dizzy with want as you watch Steve dip his hand into his waistband.

“Sorry, honey,” Eddie mumbles, eyes still admiring the flushed, desperate looking boy in front of you, “we don’t really have time for foreplay.” He guides his tip to your wet cunt to coat it in your juices, preparing to fuck into you and put on a show for Steve.

“That’s okay,” you respond, all breathy and cute as Eddie’s heart swells, “played with myself in the shower before we left.” 

His nose gently knocks the side of your head in an affectionate gesture. “Smart girl.” he praises before pushing into you with a low moan.

Even though you were three-fingers deep that morning, nothing would’ve been able to prepare you for the stretch of Eddie’s cock. It feels like years before he finally bottoms out with a low groan, his torso pressing hard into your ass. “Open up for me, honey,” Eddie mumbles, talking to your pussy as you moan against the glass. 

Steve’s eyebrow twitches as he watches your blissed-out expression, albeit void of all you and Eddie’s prettiest sounds. His cock aches as he hurries to queue the next songs.

 “-And now we’ll be joined by Indiana’s own Michael Jackson with, “We Are The World.” Steve speaks hurriedly  into the microphone he’s white knuckling, using his other hand to fumble with his zipper. “We’ll see you all tomorrow morning-” He watches with wide eyes as Eddie kisses the length of your neck, “-This has been, um, the Squawk.”

 His trousers are already halfway down his thighs as he presses mute, ripping off his headphones and throwing the booth door open, letting it slam against the wall. The sound of your moans and the slap of Eddie’s balls against your clit fill his ears as he practically sprints over to meet the two of you.

Steve’s on you two in an instant, one hand in Eddie’s hair to press a rough kiss into his mouth and his other cupping your jaw, his thumb snaking its way in between your lips. Eddie’s forced to pull out of you with a wet shlick as Steve drags him over to the couch, their lips still connected as they tumble over the back and on top of each other.

“Hey!” you pout, arms crossed over your chest.

Steve’s hand shoots up to beckon you over. “C’mere.” he says, letting out a long curse after as you hear Eddie press wet kisses down Steve’s neck.

He’s already shirtless, his jeans halfway down his big thighs as Eddie slots a leg in between his legs, letting Steve rut over black denim while he pumps Eddie slowly, his cock still wet with your slick.Your mouth waters at the sight and Steve shuffles back against the arm of the couch, letting you slot yourself in between the two panting boys. His mouth captures yours in a hungry kiss as you feel Eddie come up from behind you, his big chest pressing hard into your back so your tits can press against Steve’s torso. You’re now effectively sandwiched.

Steve pulls away from you, his hand coming up to roughly grip your jaw, eyes flickering between you and a grinning Eddie. “You’re both so fucking awful, you know that?” he grits out as Eddie’s hands reach under your armpits to palm at your tits, letting the soft flesh spill out from in between his fingers as Steve groans.

“I wasn’t the one with these tits on the glass,” Eddie huffs out, pressing a soft kiss to your head, “Fucking perfect, by the way, sweetheart. Prettiest things I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” 

Oh, Eddie, you think, how do you manage to make the most vulgar comments sound so sweet?

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sit back, honey.” he orders Eddie, who leans back against the arm of the couch, peeling the rest of his clothes off onto a pile on the floor. 

Before you can process what’s happening, Steve flips you on your stomach, your face inches away from Eddie’s cock and your heat pressing against his length. You immediately grip Eddie’s cock, kissing up his thighs as he cradles your face.

You’re mouthing at the base of Eddie’s cock when Steve presses into you, forcing out a pornographic moan out of your lips. Your legs shake as he bottoms out, his tip kissing your cervix as he presses hard into your back, forcing you into an arch.

“So fucking tight, baby. Jesus Christ.” he groans, pulling out to watch his fat cock disappear back in your warm cunt. “My little attention whore.” Steve coos, his hands running up and down your back, “I shouldn’t even be doing this- giving you what you want. Maybe I should pull out, let you go all dumb on one cock instead of two. What do you think?”

Eddie snorts at Steve’s empty threats, watching his expression that you can’t see. Steve’s eyes roll back with every slow thrust. You couldn’t pay that man enough money in the world to pull out of your sweet cunt, Eddie thinks.

Your head whips around, hands still pumping Eddie as you whine. “No- no, baby.” you plead as Steve’s face returns to an apathetic expression, “‘M sorry, Stevie. I won’t do it again.”

He nods to Eddie, “Eds?”

Eddie pretends to think about it, his thumb stroking your cheek gently as you look up at him kissing his tip so you can encourage the answer you want. “I believe her. She’s drooling all over my cock, Harrington, I’d say she wants it real bad.” he grins.

“Alright,” Steve says simply, and buries himself deep inside of you.

Sparks fly up your body and his hands grip your waist, fucking into you at a relentless pace as you’re thrown farther up Eddie’s legs, hands clawing up his thighs while you scream. 

“Fuck, fuck- Steve, wait!” you whine, pleasure making your legs go numb as he digs bruises into your sides. “Take what you want, baby.” Steve says roughly, the sound of his skin against yours filling the room, “You fuckin’ asked for it.”

Eddie talks you through it, watching your eyes roll back with every thrust. “I gotcha, honey.” he coos, his cock still aching, “Feels good right? I’m going to need you to do something for me, sweetheart: I’m gonna need you to suck me off, m’kay? Can you do that?”

You nod dumbly, whines still spilling out of your throat as you grip Eddie’s thick cock with both hands and press his length into your mouth. Your warm mouth envelops him as he grips your hair, gently guiding you up and down his cock.

“Ohhh, shit.” Eddie groans out a beautiful sound, head thrown back as you lick up a vein on his shaft, “Good girl, baby. Good fucking girl.”

You feel filled to the brim as Eddie slowly fucks into your mouth while Steve’s hips slam into the back of your thighs, his pubes coated in your juices. “Fucking strangling my cock, honey.” he groans, feeling the start of his orgasm pool in his stomach, “So needy, being all sweet for me now, aren’t you?”

You try to voice your agreement, but Eddie holds your head down as you breathe in roughly through your nose. The answer comes out warbled on his cock as he sighs. “You don’t have to speak, baby,” Steve laughs, pushing your back into a deeper arch that has you feeling split open, “Pussy’s dripping all over me, I know you fuckin’ love it.”

Eddie groans as you whine around his cock, sending vibrations up his body that have him shivering as he chases his orgasm. “Steve,” he warns, “‘M close, baby.”

Steve nods, running his hands through his hair. “Me too, Eds.” he agrees with a moan “Our girl here’s close too- I can feel her pussy sucking me in, holyshit.”

He’s right. You can feel your thighs trembling as Steve pounds into you, rolling his hips so his tip presses into your sensitive spot inside. There are stars in your bleary vision as Steve’s thrusts become more frantic, your brunette boy chasing his own release.

Eddie cums first with a shout, holding your head all the way down his cock, his pubes tickling your nose. You feel his warm seed trickle down your throat as he moans. “Fuck, baby, so fucking good.” He brushes the hair out of your face to get a good look at your blissed out expression, eyes in the back of your head and your eyebrows turned upwards.

Steve cums just as you do, filling your pussy to the brim as he gently rocks into you, working you through your shared orgasm. Your pussy flutters around him as you feel your body go limp with a mix of exhaustion and pleasure. “That’s it, baby, that’s it.” he praises, massaging your sides gently, “Did so well for us, our good girl.”

Eddie lifts you off of his cock with a wet pop just as Steve pulls out of you, letting his cum run down in between your thighs. “Fuck,” you whine hoarsely, feeling empty. Eddie lays you gently on his bare chest as your eyes flutter shut, hearing Steve’s footsteps retreat back somewhere into the building.

“Good job, sweetheart.” he mumbles into the crown of your head, your hands coming to wrap around his neck. You feel a dip in the couch as Steve returns with a warm towel, cleaning up himself before gently wiping down your legs and you whimper as he brushes your sensitive cunt. “Sorry,” he whispers before coming around to kneel in front of you, gently wiping off Eddie’s cum from the side of your cheek.

“Hey,” he greets softly as Eddie cups his face with a soft smile. ‘’You okay? Wasn’t too mean, was I?”

“No, Steve.” you mumble into Eddie’s chest, your hand seeking his, “I like it when you get all mean, baby.”

He holds your hand tight, his voice gently lulling you to sleep. “I know,” he beams, “just wanted to hear you say it.”

[arelliann]

Little goblin man

[s0phslibrary]

This makes it canon idc argue with a wall

[levanswrites]

𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐲𝐦𝐧𝐬

“Gosh, babe. I think she might've been right. It is too big.”

pairing: steve harrington x reader warnings: established relationship, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, throatfucking, cock worship, body worship, praise kink, hair-pulling, semi-public sex, bigdick!steve obv, tiny bit of end-of-world angst, that damn knit sweater!! summary: your man, who, for all his confidence and libido, would much rather wait to make love to you on cotton sheets than surrender to the thrill of a quickie in this impersonal space. your man who holds your hand when his face is buried in your cunt, who likes to be face to face during sex, who could spend hours on end kissing you and not have it lead anywhere else—now the object of your most debauched, impatient desires. a/n: i couldn’t just write a quick blurb about sucking his dick noo I had to do a 4k character study abt it. smh. title by florence+the machine

.   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

At the end of the world, you love him with intention.

Because of all the ways to love Steve Harrington, this one outshines the rest.

“Hah—shit, baby, that’s it...”

Cornered, breathless, all that easy bravado stripped away, reduced to nothing but instinct.

Your brave, reckless boy—the one who charges headfirst into nightmares, who squares his shoulders and steps forward when everyone else hesitates—shuddering with restraint under your palms. The same Steve who stares down monsters without blinking, now breaking into choked grunts and muffled curses, control slipping away in slow, beautiful increments.

He’s made a habit out of offering himself up. Body, bones, blood—whatever it takes.

Yet he can barely keep it together at the sight of you on your knees.

The obscene, torturous sight of his cock pressed up against your pretty face, laying flushed and heavy from brow to chin.

The view from down here is just as exquisite.

You’ve got him pinned against the sink, his back pressed hard to porcelain, boxed in by tile and steel with nowhere to go. The long, flushed column of his throat is bared to the ceiling, adam’s apple working around each thick swallow as he tries to steady his breathing. The overhead light catches on the veins standing out along his neck, the frantic jump of his pulse, his skin still slick with leftover sweat.

There’s a bruise blooming dark across the hinge of his jaw. A small cut over his left cheekbone—one you helped clean not twenty minutes ago, your hands gentler then, careful in a way he never is with himself.

Your boyfriend treats his body like collateral.

Except here.

Here, his body becomes the subject of the most devout kind of worship.

You study him like scripture, tracing the lines of pleasure etched so deeply into his expression.

Because for all his bravado, Steve Harrington has never been good at masking his emotions. Written across his face, his voice, the tension in his breath, clear as day—and ecstasy is no exception.

You watch the soft, pink pout of his lips, the way they part around each shuddered exhale. The heat that spills from his gaze, clinging to dark, fluttering lashes before sliding down the sharp bridge of his nose.

His warm brown eyes, wide and usually so steady, have gone molten, pinched at the corners as he struggles to hold your stare.    

Looking up at him like this, you notice everything about the boy who’s owned your heart for longer than you can remember: the trembling outline of his shoulders, the soft swell of his stomach with each shallow breath, all wrapped up in the warmth of that sweater.

Light-washed Levi’s shoved unceremoniously to his ankles, yet you wanted him to keep that cream sweater on. Plush, warm, achingly domestic, the fibers gone fuzzy from too many washes. From down here, though, the softness does nothing to temper him.

The lines of him are amplified beneath the thick fabric, stretched taut across the broad plane of his chest, the swell of his pecs, his biceps—hard-earned muscles carved from years of blood and sweat. Every small movement betrays him: a subtle flex, a shiver of tension, all magnified by the way the knit clings to his skin.

And all of that obscured by the thick, wondrous sight between his thighs.

Laid warm and heavy across your face, you drag it slowly across your cheek, over your nose, marveling at it’s weight, the velvety texture, the raised veins along the top and the flushed rosy hue that deepens at his tip.

The smell is intoxicating; a lovely, familiar musk that sends your head spinning the longer you breathe him in. You lick lazily along the length, dipping down to press a kiss to his balls, just to hear the stutter in his breath.

You take your time with him. There’s something sacred about this kind of leisure, stolen from the end of the world, where every second has felt like a countdown, borrowed and fleeting.

Here, in this quiet space, you get to linger. Trace and touch and memorize every detail of the man you love most.

A pearly bead of white clings to his tip, glistening under the low light. Each stroke of his cock—slow, firm pulls, gliding along all eight inches of him—forces it upward, the droplet swelling and quivering with every pass. You squeeze a little harder on the next upstroke, thumb and index making a tight ring to wring more out of him. Your fingers never fully connect in the middle, even around the very tip.

“Gosh, babe,” you huff in mock defeat, dropping his cock to bring your hand up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out for a taste, lips closing around the patch of pre smeared across your skin. You suck it off with a wet smack. “I think she might've been right. It is too big.”

That’s what started all this, really. Robin’s childish, offhand joke.

The laugh tore out of you before you could stop it, sharp and way too loud, only made worse by the incredulous looks you received from the adults around the room—your boyfriend’s being the most scandalized of all.

You’d found him soon after, elbow-deep in a crate of old gear, leftover giggles still fizzing in your chest. You slipped up behind him, arms looping around his waist as you nuzzled your face between his shoulder blades. He’d laughed when you nipped at his neck.

“Jesus,” he smiled fondly, glancing back. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

“Mm, can’t. Keep thinking about what Robin said.”

“What did—?” He rolled his eyes before the confusion could even fully land, giving you an exasperated huff. “Oh my god, you two are—you’re both children, you know that? I swear, it’s like I’m surrounded by nothing but twelve-year-olds.”

That triggered another bout of giggles as you tugged him up by the collar, fingers sinking into the plush wool of his sweater. He came easy, always does, soft and pliant in your hands as he leaned in for a kiss, lips curled into a helpless grin you were itching to spoil.

What he’d clearly meant as a brief, chaste peck didn’t stay that way for long.

Not when you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging sharp enough to hitch his breath. Not when you dragged your tongue slow across his lower lip, teeth sinking into the tender flesh before you let go and mumbled:

“Think I need a reminder, babe.”

“Hm?”

“To see if it’s still too big,” you smiled sweetly, brushing your nose against his. “Bathroom. Five minutes.”

Then you skipped off before he could get a word in edgewise.

The bathroom in the basement of the radio station is little more than a cramped, fluorescent-lit closet.

One narrow turn down the hall and there’s over a dozen people readying themselves: boots scraping, weapons clicking, voices murmuring final checks as everyone braces for the most important fight of your lives.

The end of the world, looming just outside these tiles.

Meanwhile, you’re here.

Tucked away in a room that smells of bleach and mildew, low on your knees before the man you love.

Your man, who, for all his confidence and libido, would much rather wait to make love to you on cotton sheets than surrender to the thrill of a quickie in this impersonal space. Your man who holds your hand when his face is buried in your cunt, who likes to be face to face during sex, who could spend hours on end kissing you and not have it lead anywhere else—now the object of your most debauched, impatient desires.

Boxed in all sides, buzzing with the kind of delirium that only comes when desire eclipses logic, when the vice-grip of need is louder than the impending doom he knows is waiting outside.

A sort of primal frenzy born out of your loving gaze, your smile, the way you’re stroking him and nuzzling against where he’s most vulnerable.

He sucks in a sharp breath when you finally close your mouth around the tip, enveloping him with warm, wet suction. You suckle around the spongy head, glide your tongue across the raised ridge of his frenulum, the veins that pulse steadily along his length. You revel in the small drop of salted bitterness that melts onto your tongue and swallow it back greedily.

Fitting just the tip inside your mouth feels like a feat—you have to force your jaw to unhinge all the way—and the thought of that is enough to get you going again.

Quiet little laughs bubble up in your chest, erupting with barely any warning as you quickly pull off him, teeth grazing against where he’s oh-so-sensitive.

“Oh my god… are you still—?” he pants, eyes wide, caught between confusion and disbelief. He groans, tipping his head back while your stifled giggles echo through the cramped space. Both hands buried in his sweat-matted hair, he lets out a long, half-laughing sigh. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

You only hum in response, his faux annoyance breaking into a shuddered groan when you go back to stroking him, the obscene clicks of his spit-drenched cock filling out the space.

“I guess the secret’s out,” you murmur, still smiling, admiring the way his cock jumps when you squeeze around the head, twisting your wrist just right. “The whole group knows about it now.”

“Yeah, not exactly thrilled about that,” he mutters dryly, though his breath turns uneven as you pick up speed, the grip around his cock firm and relentless.

“Mm, bet they don’t know how pretty it is, though,” you mumble, pressing your lips against the underside so he feels the vibrations hum throughout. He lets out a startled grunt, eyes squeezing shut, shaking his head at the sensation—or your words—it’s hard to tell which.

“Jesus christ, babe.”

Praise hits him harder than anything else. You know that now. A lifetime spent proving his worth through usefulness, through sacrifice. To be desired without condition is a revelation you hope to etch into him again and again, as many times as it takes.

“You are, baby,” you continue, nosing along the underside. “It's perfect. So thick, long. All pink and shiny at the tip. So pretty.”

You watch his jaw clench down at your words, brows scrunched tight under the weight of your honest attention.

And it's here that your narrative starts slipping. Away from the obvious and toward the essential. Not just the strength of his body, but the strength beneath.

You tell him how he’s always there for you, how you feel safe and seen and adored, just by being near him. How brave he is, how he never hesitates for the people who need him. You tell him how confident he sounded laying out the plan, smart enough to see angles no one else had.

“I really don’t know how you do it, baby… should’ve seen yourself up there. Everyone was listening. You’re so good. So smart. God, can’t believe you're mine sometimes.”

Hand still working his cock, you blink up at him, lashes fluttering against the heavy weight nuzzled against your face.

He’s staring back, incredulous.

Pupils blown dark with lust, yet there’s something earnest that flickers there. Almost pained.  

Steve’s never been good at being seen like this.

He’s used to being desired. Admired from afar. Used to being strong, useful, first one to step up, last one to step down.

Pain is familiar. Courage is second nature.

But being wanted—this openly, this deliberately—leaves him off-balance.

And it’s why loving him in this way feels so sacred.

Why being on your knees, filthy and exposed, carries a kind of divine transgression. A ritual to honor the man who bears the weight of the world, a quiet reminder that he deserves care, softness, to be accepted without expectation or pretense.

Here, in the heat of something so taboo—nothing to separate you from the rest of the group but a clumsy, rusted lock and four inches of drywall—he is laid completely bare. Cradled in a kind of devotion he’s never truly known, the impropriety of the act overshadowed by the purity of the intention. The trust he surrenders in letting you cherish him like this.

“I love you,” he breathes suddenly.

You go stock still for a moment, stunned out of your quiet rambling.

Your cheeks grow hot, lips curling in a flustered, dumbstruck smile. Not a single trace of doubt on his handsome face, nothing but that earnest, Harrington-brand intensity, through and through.

And it’s ridiculous, really, to think that after twenty minutes of being on your knees—making a mess out of his cock, teasing and drooling all over him—this is what gets you blushing.

“I love you too,” you murmur quietly, holding his gaze as you press a chaste kiss to his slit, licking away the pre that smears there before wrapping your lips around him again.

Deeper now, your jaw warmed up from the initial stretch, you take him in as far as you can, humming so he feels the little buzz at the back of your throat. You pull out all the stops, every trick you know will have his thighs quivering—cupping his balls, tongue flicking against the head, pulling off to lick from root to tip.

“Fuck, baby...” his breath fractures, words barely audible under the loud creak of the sink. He’s got a death grip around it, knuckles bleached whiter than the porcelain. The skin over the back is bruised and swollen, split open from god knows what this time. The same hands that have carried more than he’ll ever admit: for kids, strangers, people who’ll never know his name—and most of all for the people he loves.

“God, honey I‘m.... ’m close—”  

You pull back with a soft pop, both hands wrapping tight around his cock, viscous dribble running down your wrists as you squeeze in rhythmic strokes.

“Shit—you’re—baby, please.”

“What, Stevie? Tell me.”

He groans, chest heaving, eyes rolling all the way back.  

It’s impossible to look away when he gets like this. Your sweet, golden loverboy, who gives and gives in every way that matters. Selfless when it comes to his pleasure, he’d much rather fall apart under your insistence than ask for it himself.

But now, this close to the edge, there’s a hint of something wilder, something savage stirring beneath his skin. A kind of violence he’s never learned to use on you, for he’d sooner bleed than hurt you.  

His fingers twitch as they thread into your hair. He rarely does this—rarely pulls, even when you beg for it—but there’s something a little insistent about the way he's brushing your hair to the side, fingers curling around the back of your head. It ignites something low inside you, a quiet sense of pride that sharpens into satisfaction when he tugs you forward with his grip, just a little.

“Wanna—ah, fuck—wanna come in your mouth.”

“Yeah? You want to fuck my throat?”

He makes a sound like he’s dying, eyes pinched so tight they’re narrowed down to slits.

“Yes, goddamn it, please. Need you, baby.”

You let out a pleased hum, taking him back into your mouth, letting his hips guide the pace.

“God, that’s good... feels so good honey, jesus christ.”

His thrusts run shallow at first, fucking in and out of your mouth, slipping wetly across your tongue.

The first real push has you gagging—eyes watering, throat instinctively clenching around the intruding length. Yet, when he tries to pull back, you make a soft, breathy whine of disapproval, fisting the hem of his sweater with one hand to yank him back forward. With the other, you reach around to the back of your head, clasping your fingers together, pressing hard, holding him there with all the insistence you can muster.

“Oh my god, baby—” he gasps, hips twitching as he lets himself push inside, the tight catch of your throat squeezing around him as he bottoms out again, and again, and again. That small thread of violence in him unspools with every thrust, cock burying all the way in, down to the hilt, as deep as it'll go, forcing your lips to stretch wider than they’ve ever had to.

You let the strange, almost blissful discomfort carry you for a while: the stinging at the back of your throat, the dull ache in your jaw, the heavy weight against your tongue as it gets crushed down by his girth.

“Shit, shit, I gotta—" There’s a sharp rustle of fabric overhead, nearly lost to the sounds of your soft gagging. A desperate hand slips down into your periphery, scrabbling for the hem of his sweater. You blink up at him through tear-blurred eyes, the golden, freckled expanse of his skin melting into a wavering shimmer as you watch him drag the sweater up and jam it between his teeth.

His jaw locks down hard, teeth sinking deep as he buries his grunts into the plush fabric. Nostrils flaring, brows drawn tight, those molten eyes sear into you with an intensity so raw it makes your stomach twist. The ache between your thighs flares red-hot, despite your stubborn resolve to ignore it.

You bring yourself back to the pain, trying to relax your jaw, letting your tongue hang loose while he fucks up into your mouth. Slowly, you slide your free hand up to the base of his cock, fingers brushing against the coarse hairs, made tacky with your spit, before following the familiar path upward. Along the happy trail running below his navel, the jagged, faint pink scars along his sides, just under his ribs. His stomach’s clenching tight in that familiar, tell-tale way, muscles coiling as he braces for the mounting pressure in his gut.

You keep moving, up, up, as far as your arm will reach, splaying your hand over his chest to feel the soft tuft of hair between his pecs. Stroking over warm, flushed skin, feeling the frantic, insistent hammer of his heart under your touch.  

The sink gives a shuddering creak as he lets go, his hand closing around your wrist instead. He grips on tight, laces your fingers together, pulling you closer without saying a word.

You hold him in your throat, nose nuzzled against the curls at his base, and squeeze his hand in silent encouragement. He grunts, fucking himself deeper, rocking, grinding, burying one last groan into his sweater before he spits it out just in time:

“Fuck, fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”

His whole body bows, a muffled shout tearing out of him as he comes.

It hits him so hard, for so long—heavy, relentless waves of pleasure that has him pulsing and twitching on your tongue, thick ropes spilling down your throat. His whole body shudders as he stays folded over you, hand still locked around yours.

You manage to swallow most of him, reveling in the creamy, bitter aftertaste that blooms on the back of your tongue—sharp at first, earthy and a little sweet—letting it flood your senses until your head feels light, pleasantly dizzy.

When he gently slides out of your mouth, hips twitching from the aftershocks, you look up at him.

Lips parted, neck arched, showing him what’s left behind.    

Pearly white coats the back of your tongue as you smile, breathless and smug.

And the sound it pulls from him is pained, almost a whine.

“Jesus,” he groans. “C’mere.”

He hauls you up with insistent hands, his jacket abandoned on the floor where it’d been bunched under your knees the whole time. Pulls you into him, kisses you hard, mouth hot and trembling as he licks his way inside without hesitation. He doesn’t mind the taste.  

In fact, you think it’s the part that turns him on more than most: sharing flavor, doesn’t matter if it's yours or his.

You pull back with a grin, pressing one last peck to his swollen lips. Your throat stings, still so dizzy and out of breath but the sight of him like this—panting, smiling, more fucked-out and love-drunk than you’ve ever seen him—is worth more than words can say.

“Good?” you ask lightly, tapping his cheek.

He blinks at you, stunned for all of two seconds before he starts moving. Hands gripping your waist, mouth crashing into yours again as he spins you around, backing you up against the sink. You laugh into his mouth as he gets you perched halfway on the porcelain, knee-kicking your thighs apart. His hands roam restlessly, fumbling with the button of your jeans—

“Hellooo? Is someone in there? I really gotta pee.”

Steve freezes so fast it’s almost impressive.

You burst out with a laugh that he manages to muffle just in time, a large hand clamped over your mouth that ends up covering the entire bottom half of your face.

“Uhh, yeah!” he calls back, voice cracking a little. “Just, uh—one second!”

You blink up at him from beneath his hand, brow cocked in a silent: What now?

“I don’t know!” he whispers back, eyes huge, hand twitching—and you’re so, so in love it hurts. “Maybe… maybe I can ask her to grab something for me? Shit, like—like a towel? Then she’ll leave for a bit, and you can—”

In all his panic, his hand slips down.

Just enough.

“—Yeah! We’re done, Robs!” you call out cheerfully. “All yours.”

Steve stares at you in horror.

You slide off the sink and step past his stunned frame, pressing a kiss to his cheek on your way out. His skin is so warm it leaves your lips tingling.

The door swings open, revealing an equally horrified Robin.

“Are you... were you two... oh my god, seriously?”

You grin, giving her a firm pat on the shoulder. “Only got yourself to blame, pal.”   

“Gross! Get—” She flails halfheartedly as you walk away, cackling.

Exactly two seconds later, Robin’s sigh echoes from all the way down the hall:

“Steve. Why is your jacket folded on the floor?”

...

You’re gloating by the weapons stash when Steve sidles up behind you.

He’s still a little breathless, snapback shoved low over his hair because it got ruined by sweat and the way he’d been raking his hands through it.

You don’t even turn around. Just tilt your head slightly, grin already forming.

He leans in close, pinning you against his chest, heat rolling off him in waves. His lips skim the shell of your ear, voice low and threatening though you can hear the smile tucked into it:

“Once we get through this tonight, you're in so much fucking trouble.”

You finally turn, just enough to press a quick, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, eyes bright.

“Yeah? Better hope your plan works, then.”

(It does.)

(And Steve Harrington has always been a man of his word.)