I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
★ summary: a new little black dress leads to you being late for your annual celebration dinner. steve can’t find it within himself to regret it
★ pairing: steve harrington x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, quickie, rough sex, spanking, breeding kink, allusions to past violence, scars
★ word count: 2.8k
★ notes: this lowkey made me cry it was supposed to just be horny why am i choking down sobs
Steve Harrington was a high-maintenance boyfriend; he’d be the first to admit it. He took too long in the bathroom, changed his outfit more times than you did, and used all of your hairspray instead of buying his own. Tonight was no different; the crackle of the record that needed to be flipped echoed through the room. You were putting in an earring with one hand and slipping on your heels with the other. Nancy would kill you if you guys were late.
It was the annual ‘We Saved Hawkins and No One Knows, And All We Got Was PTSD As A Thanks’ party. Maybe you and Steve added your own words to the end there, but it didn’t really matter. It was unspoken between you all.
“Steve.” You yelled through the door; you could hear the strategic sprays of aerosol and his brush clanging against the sink.
“One sec.” His voice grumbled out, a bite in his tone.
You rolled your eyes, adjusting the top of your dress. A black tie number with a little more cleavage than necessary. Max helped you pick it out last week, saying, “I’d never wear it, so you should probably buy it. Besides, it’s on Steve’s dime.” You unfortunately agreed, helping her pick out a new pair of Converse.
Your wrist twisted, the watch signaling that Steve had no less than ten minutes if you wanted to make it on time for your Enzo’s reservations.
Your heels clacked against the floor when you sauntered over, banging on your shared bathroom door. “Your second is up, Harrington. I’m sure your hair looks the same way it does every day.”
Another spritz of hairspray. He was single-handedly ruining the ozone layer, you were sure of it.
“I don’t appreciate your tone.” He hollered back, a loud sigh echoing in the room.
You jiggled the doorknob, scoffing when it didn’t budge. “Did you lock me out?”
“What if I were naked?” He barked back.
“Oh my god, be serious.” Another aggressive jingle of the knob. “I see you naked almost every day. Don’t lock me out of my own bathroom.”
“Uh, our bathroom.” He yelled, swinging the door open. “Can you help me fix the back? And my tie-”
His mouth stopped working when he finally looked down, eyes widening. “Oh.” That was all he said, his eyes glued to the fabric clinging to every one of your curves. Unabashedly undressing you with his eyes. You knew that look; you could see the playful smirk twitch on his lips. Something swirling in your brown eyed lover.
You spoke before he got the chance, “Nope. Nope, come on, we need to leave.”
His arm came up, bracing himself against the doorway. Eyes staring down into your chest, not even bothering to hide it. “That new?”
“Yes, I got it the other day. I put it on the card.” You breathed out, irritated at his nonchalant attitude.
“You should go back. Buy one in every color.” He stalked forward, pressing his body against yours.
Your hands came up to stop him, palms resting on his dress shirt you ironed this morning. The top few buttons were undone, his chest hair poking out the top, making your mouth water. You ignored the way his hard chest felt against your hands. “Get your tie. We need to leave. Your hair looks fine, baby.”
He hummed like he wasn’t even listening, which he probably wasn’t. He had a one-track mind, and the train had already left the station. His hands covered yours, “Baby.” His voice was deep, the same voice he used when he whispered filthy nothings in your ears, when he begged you to keep going, or bossed you around.
“Steve….”
“You look so beautiful.”
Despite your irritation, you smiled, “Thank you, baby.”
Of course, Steve had to ruin the moment: “Bend over for me.”
You spluttered, “What?”
“You heard me.” He ordered, walking you backwards to the bed. His eyes hungry on yours, his teeth tugging his bottom lip.
“O-oh no. No, Steve Harrington, you are not making me late.”
Still, you let him spin you around, his hand tapping your hip. The hard-on in his slacks pressed against the back of your leg. Heat pooling in your stomach despite your protests.
“Top down, skirt up.” He ordered, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt. Metal scraping against metal.
“I just did my makeup.” You babbled, letting him push your lower back down anyway. His hands were warm and heavy against the satiny fabric of the dress. “Seriously, I’m not doing my hair again-”
His body pressed against yours, hands reaching around you to cup your tits harshly. His movements were fast, heavily practiced. He knew just how hard to grab, where to pinch to make you arch against him.
“Knew you weren’t wearing a fucking bra.” He scoffed, both of his hands pinching your hardened buds. The tingling feeling in your stomach making your jaw lax.
“Can’t with the dress.” You moaned, eyes fluttering shut.
“This fucking dress, baby.” He groaned, his mouth pressing kisses along your neck. His hand went up to run through your hair, your hand slapping him away.
“Not my hair, spent all day in curlers.” You grumbled, grinding your ass against him pathetically.
“Oh?” He let out a laugh, “Miss, ‘you’re not making me late’. Now look at you, grinding against me.”
“Fuck you.” You grumbled, cheeks flushing. He always did this, and you always gave in to it. How could you not?
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He whistled, shoving his pants to his knees. “You gonna be a good girl?”
“Yes.” You mewled pathetically. All of your resolve flying out the window. The straps of your dress were pulled down in seconds, exposing your tits to the cold air. You flipped your skirt up for him, exposing the matching underwear.
“Oh fuck,” He stuttered, his eyes glued to the skimpy, lacy number he had never seen before. “Put this on the card, too, huh, baby?”
“Supposed to be a surprise for tonight, someone was impatient.” You wiggled your hips at him, bracing yourself on the bed properly. You were supposed to drink enough so that the heels no longer hurt your feet, then let Steve take you home. Letting him peel this dress off of you properly.
You felt the sting before you heard it, his open palm smacking your ass. A squeal tore from your throat, a red handprint decorating the skin. “Bet you’ve soaked through these, huh?” He asked, his hand coming up to test his theory, the damp fabric making a cruel laugh leave him. “Knew it, baby.”
“Steve..” You warned, not even having to point at the watch on your wrist. He wanted more time to cherish you, to show you just how much he loved this dress on you, but he was a little scared of Nancy when she was mad.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take good care of you.” He muttered, dragging the fabric down your legs. Your glistening cunt on full display for him. Bent over and ripe for the taking. You waited eagerly, hearing his cock spring free of his boxers. His hands came down on your ass, spreading your cheeks wide for him. A guttural moan leaves his mouth before he spits directly onto your open cunt. He grabbed his cock, rubbing the head through your folds, spreading the wetness around, not as if you needed it.
“Look at you. Always so fucking ready for me.” He hissed, slowly slipping his length inside you. Your warm walls suckling him in greedily. Your hands were twisting in the bed sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
It felt like hours before he rolled his hips into you. His hands had a bruising grip on your hips as his thrusts took your breath away. There was no time for loving words or messy kisses. It was sounds of skin slapping loudly, tight grips, and choked moans. You could barely breathe, his cock puncturing so deeply inside you.
“So fucking quiet when you can feel my cock in your throat,” Steve grunted, his eyes watching the sway of your tits. Hands grabbed whatever he could reach. Your head lulled to the side, a part of you trying to keep your hair and makeup intact, the other side uncaring. When he was this deep inside you, you couldn't care less about anything else.
“Feel so good. Don’t stop.” You panted out, your legs going weak.
“Not gonna stop.” He grunted, another harsh slap to your ass, making you cry out his name. “Who’s fucking you this good? Huh?”
“You. Only you, baby.” Drool was escaping your mouth when his body pushed you further into the bed, his hand forcing you into an arch.
“Arch that back, baby, yeah. That’s my good girl.” He whispered, “Pussy always taking this cock.” Between the sting of your skin and his cock piercing you through the bed, your legs were trembling, barely holding yourself up as he slammed into you.
“Steve.” You cried; he didn’t even need to hear you ask. His hand slides between your legs, pressing into your clit harshly. Flicking and rubbing the swollen bud.
“This what you needed? Feel you squeezing me-god. You gonna cum? Gonna be a good girl and cum?” He goaded, “Let me hear you. Let me hear it.”
His heavy breaths against your ear made you fall slack, your orgasm hitting you with full force. Pathetic moans left your still perfectly painted lips, your cunt creaming around him.
“Holy shit.” He huffed, a guttural moan escaping his chest while he watched you. You squeezed him so tightly his hips stuttered, having to gain his footing to fuck into your fluttering cunt. “You’re such a good girl, baby.”
“Wanna make you cum.” You whined, “Need it, baby, please.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna take it like you always do.” He stuttered, his cock twitching deep inside you. His hips stilled, his release blooming deep inside you. He pressed even deeper into you, stuffing you to the brim.
“Keep it there. Keep it there, hold it baby.” He cooed, his own legs trembling as he plugged you full.
All you could do was take it, tears springing in the corner of your eyes. His body went limp against yours, pressing small kisses to the back of your neck. Both of you lost in the moment, coming down from your highs.
Your eyes sprang open when Steve hissed, “Oh fuck. They’re gonna kill us.”
“I told you.” You whined, still relishing the feeling of him deep between your folds.
“Don’t act like you’re not gonna miss me when I pull out.” He punched your hips, slipping himself out of you slowly.
“So full of yourself.”
“And you were just so full of me.” He teased, your arm coming back around to slap him while you lazily pulled each other's clothes back on.
You stood up on shaky legs, Steve helping hold you up. “Gimme a kiss.”
At this point, you’d still be late, both of you having to get ready again. You threaded your hands through his hair, kissing him quickly. “See, your hair still looks beautiful.” He smiled.
You pressed a soft kiss to the thick scar around his neck, the constant reminder of what you endured. The reason you all celebrated today.
“You’re beautiful. Now wash your hands and put your tie on.”
The two of you got ready faster than ever before. Finishing your lipstick and perfume in the car while Steve made a pitstop. Declaring we couldn’t walk in empty-handed.
That was how the two of you ended up pulling into the restaurant parking lot half an hour late, handfuls of apology bouquets in your arms. Each one was meticulously picked and overpriced.
“Oh, look who finally decided to show up.” Dustin started, his voice carrying through the restaurant the moment he spotted Steve’s hair.
“Shut up,” Steve grumbled, leaning down to hug the curly-haired boy.
You watched Nancy’s brows unfurl in annoyance when you walked to her, handing her the wrapped pink roses. “A reasonable reason to be late, I hope?” You smiled, your friend hugging you tightly. Her lip juts out, giving you the Wheeler puppy dog pout.
“I guess you get away with it, this time!” She laughed. You watched Steve hand Joyce her flowers, getting kissed on the cheek in thanks. Hopper side-eyed him playfully before pulling him into a bear hug.
“My girls.” You smiled, handing El and Max their own bouquets. Red for Max, and yellow for El. Pressing kisses to the tops of their heads. Lucas and Mike are throwing their hands up.
“And my boys.” You snickered, patting all their heads as you walked around the table.
“I w-was also gonna get you flowers.” Lucas stuttered; Max ignored him. She brought the flowers up to her nose, sniffing dramatically. “Y/n I love them.”
“Thank you.” El blushed.
“Why do the girls get flowers?” Mike's eyebrows furrowed.
“Uh, because we rock?” Robin laughed, leaving Steve’s hug. Her own blue flowers hanging from her hand. Steve picked hers out personally, keeping you held up in the aisle, comparing the blue and the purple.
“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s fair,” Dustin spoke up, the boys chiming up about the cruelty of being forgotten.
“You know you boys need to learn to treat the ladies in your life with respect like Steve.” Joyce awed, forcing every man in the room to give Steve a look. All he could do was shrug, his cheeks burning red.
Steve came behind you, pulling your jacket off for you and hanging it on your seat. “So the dress was a hit, huh?” Max leaned in, El leaning over Mike to listen in on precious girl talk.
“Oh yeah,” Steve spoke for you, a stupid, smug look on his face. He dropped the smirk, smiling sheepishly. All while the kids narrowed their eyes at him.
“Don’t be gross, Steven.” Max shivered in disgust while he pushed your chair in for you.
“Yeah, Steven.” You mocked, jumping when Robin came up behind you. Wrapping her arms around your neck.
You kissed her forearm, “I know you guys weren’t late picking out these flowers.” She whispered in your ear before heading back to her seat next to Vickie. All you could do was flip her off. Later, when you all met up at hers, you’d have to diligently remind her of all the times you walked in on her and Vickie at the radio station.
The dinner went off without a hitch. Embarrassing stories took their turns floating around the table, stories all of you’ve heard a hundred times still made your stomach hurt with laughter.
“Can I sip your wine?” Max whispered, not even looking you in the eyes while asking.
You subtly pushed the glass towards her, turning the other direction to have plausible deniability. Letting the nearly legal girl take a sip of the red wine, cringing when it went down.
“That tastes like shit.” She shivered, washing it down with her Coke.
You shrugged, “You’ll grow into it.”
You’ve seen these kids grow up in the blink of your eye. Sometimes it feels like just last week you and Steve were roped into the demodog hunt.
By the time the dessert was served, the mood had shifted. One of recollection and nostalgia. Unspoken memories lingering between every one of you. All of you full on good food and good company.
Hopper, ever the silent sentimental type, cleared his throat. Everyone’s attention is going to him. Joyce and El flanking his side.
“I don’t wanna ruin everyone’s dessert with a talk, so I’ll keep it short.” He started, holding his girls close to him.
“They’ll never know the things we did for the world, the things we lost,” Hopper said, staring lovingly at Joyce. “But we do. We remember, as much as we don’t want to. We bear the scars, the weight. I say this every year, but I would do it all over again to have all of you in our lives. Although I’d really rather not.”
The table erupted in laughter, El tearing up as she leaned into Hopper’s side. Joyce holding her boy’s hands. Max’s hand found yours underneath the table. Lucas squeezing her other one. Robin and Steve shared a fond look. The core four boys nod at each other in a silent reassurance. Dustin flipping Steve off behind Hopper’s back, a contrast to Nancy and Jonathan are holding each other close.
Mike cleared his throat, tapping his glass with his butter knife. Raising it in a mock toast. “To family.”
The action made tears spring to most of your eyes, Steve’s hand wrapping around your shoulders tighter. A subtle reminder that you were here, that you all made it out. Between the nightmares, Steve’s headaches, and your knee that ached in the cold, you got something out of it that can never be replaced: your family. You hated to agree with Hopper, you would do it all over again.
You raised your glass, and everyone followed suit. “To family.”
An echo of Steve’s words ring in your head, deafeningly loud against the otherwise silence of his bedroom.
“Yeah, I mean, you could definitely use me even if I’m asleep or something. I think that’s like … hot, you know?”
He gave you his consent over and over again. It’s something he wants as well as you do. Yet you’re still hesitant as you linger next to Steve’s unconscious body.
He’s fast asleep on his back for once, hairy chest on display, boxer shorts hanging low on his slim hips. His head is tilted away from you, soft and gentle breaths escaping his parted lips. You bet he looks pretty right now. Too bad you can’t see him.
What you can see, though, is the outline of his cock beneath the soft fabric of his boxers. He’s not hard by any means, but with one gentle graze of your fingertips against the soft outline of his cock, you can already see the shape filling out. You continue your moments for a bit, curiosity leading you to test the waters to see how asleep Steve really is, and attempting to see how hard you could get him from just trailing your fingertips against the fabric resting on his cock.
By the time his cock is fattened beneath his boxers, you can see Steve’s breathing increasing, too. Nothing too concerning, it reminds you of when he’s having a particularly intense dream. You’re just trying desperately not to wake him as you pull the waistband of his boxers down and slip your hand beneath them.
Waking Steve would be equal parts mortifying and guilting. Even if you have permission, getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar would make you never want to see your loving boyfriend again—at least not for a long week or so. It would make you feel desperate, and like some sort of nympho (which, neither are too far off truthfully).
So you resort to moving slowly.
You slowly inch Steve’s boxers down until they’re resting below the heavy weight of his balls. You silently spit in your hand, and slowly side the glob down his shaft. You’re just meaning to do it to lube Steve’s cock up and make the entrance way easier, but then you get lost in the visual of your hand working self-made lubricant over Steve’s pretty cock. You stare at it, and stare at it. You admire it.
Every time your hand glides down and the red-flushed tip of Steve’s cock peeks out, you get excited all over again. It doesn’t matter how often you’ve had him, you always get excited at the sight of Steve.
You drag your hand over his tip how you know he likes, purely instinctively, and then Steve’s breath hitches.
He stills, and you still too with your hand still wrapped around his cock. You don’t know what would be worse, leaving your hand on and getting caught like that, or taking it off and somehow waking Steve up. None of this would be an issue if Steve didn't have mixed reactions to stimulants when he was asleep. Sometimes he wouldn't wake up even if you blow dried your hair and blasted music with the bathroom door open. Other times, he would stir awake if you even thought about breaking away from his bear hugs.
Steve breathes deeply before you can consider a choice. He takes a long inhale, the kind that he takes when he’s about to wake up, and mortification starts to slowly fill your body from the top down. You know it wouldn’t matter to Steve if he woke up with your cock in his hand. He would probably be surprised for a moment, make a little joke, and then urge you to continue as if he’d never woken up in the first place. But knowing that and making yourself truly believe it are two completely different things.
A moment passes, possibly the longest moment of your entire life, and then Steve does nothing but cant his hips up ever so slightly and nestle his head further into the pillow beneath him.
You wait a little longer though, just to be safe, and when there is no additional movement and his breathing has returned to completely normal, you peel your panties off, slide them down your legs, and straddle Steve’s hips.
Maybe you should’ve prepped yourself just a bit, because trying to get Steve into you is a little more difficult than you thought. It’s easier when he’s awake and guiding his cock into you with one hand on your hip and the other piloting himself. But with Steve existing in the land of the dreamers, you’re left to guide his cock to your tight entrance and slowly work yourself open with shallow sinks down onto his warmth.
Even this feels good, though. You’re not complaining one bit, there’s no way you could complain after finally getting what you’ve been craving ever since Steve kissed your temple goodnight and threw his arm over your waist.
Somewhere deeper in you than the desire is shame. Perversion. Unfortunately, it sits right behind the thick cloud of lust and satisfaction. Every so often, maybe every other time that you sink down onto your sleeping boyfriend's erect cock, you feel the shame settling deep in your bones. It weighs you down, stunting your movements, but then the pressure at your center reminds you of the satisfaction and you’re back at it again.
In the beginning, you ride Steve with your eyes shut. As soon as you’ve used his cock to open yourself up and fit him into the hilt (mostly), you pinch your eyes shut and focus on satisfying yourself without having to look down and see exactly what you’re doing. You allow yourself to get completely lost in bliss like this. Never fully sinking down because you don’t want the skin-to-skin contact to wake Steve, you’re still getting what you need. Steve is so big that you can still feel the ghost of his cock nearing your cervix, and as badly as you want to sit on his pelvis and feel his cock punch the most sensitive part of your walls, you resist the urge.
Instead, you settle on riding his cock and tweaking your clit with your fingers simultaneously.
It’s a lot of effort and requires more strength than you thought you could use this late at night, but the pleasure makes everything worth it. The feeling of your cunt creaming around his cock, the slight-stretch that you can feel if you tilt a little this way or that, the welcomed shape of his cock within you.
You’re getting there. You’re reaching the peak of the hill. Your eyes pinch shut hard and your muscles start to seize and—
“Hey, baby.”
It’s the smoothest drawl you’ve ever heard from him. Soft, gentle, caring and doting. Not the exact tone you would expect from someone who’s having their cock used in the middle of the night.
The shock sends you falling completely onto Steve’s cock. He groans just as you do, his eyes falling shut just as yours fly open.
When his brown eyes open again, he’s looking at you with so much love, adoration, and pride (?) that it’s startling.
“Hi…” you say, resting completely still on him, your hands just sitting on his lower torso. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Steve shakes his head. “Don’t even worry about it. Don’t let me stop you. Keep going.”
You have no choice but to keep going, especially with how close you were getting.
Now that Steve’s awake, and gave you permission, you allow yourself to put your full effort into it. Your ride Steve with all of the energy that you can muster this late at night, working your clit the entire time to urge yourself towards your singular goal.
Steve’s silent the entire time, his eyes so lidded that you can’t tell if they’re opened or closed in this low light.
“You’re so needy, baby,” he pipes up just when you thought he was teetering back towards sleep. “You know that? Just had me a few hours ago and look at you now.” His thumbs rub at your hips. His words are a little harsh, but his tone is nowhere near that. He sounds adoring, soft and gentle as if he's just commenting on a simple fact instead of making an accusation.
“I can’t help it,” you admit, almost completely shamelessly. Almost.
“I know, honey,” he coos, “I know. ‘s not your fault. Just go ahead and come for me, yeah? Use me all you want and do what you need to do.”
There’s absolutely no way you could feel anything other than a desire to do just what he asks of you.
I am forever a believer in Steve absolutely PACKING. Like he goes slowly and tells you "you're being such a good fuckin' girl, just a little more baby, gonna give everything" praising you SO MUCH, and then he makes you cry with the press of his massive cock...anyway that's what I'm thinking about...
wanted to write a little blurbie abt this bc it's horny hours, i fear!
steve harrington x fem!reader
MDNI 18+ graphic smut, protected piv sex, heavy praise, language, size kink i guess? soft!dom!steve, aftercare, not proofread bc i simply cannot be asked
nothing's gonna hurt you, baby.
The itchy fabric of Steve's basement couch press against your knees where they bracket your lover's hips; pants pulled down just enough to free you both into a dirty grind over each other's laps.
You hadn't exactly pictured your first time with him being on a decade's old sofa in his parent's finished basement den, but Steve had a particular talent for making everything special. The hopeless romantic.
Television static and The Police soundtrack your breathless make out session; Gordon Summer's voice carrying on softly around you. It was the song that you always found vaguely creepy, but with Steve, it just felt romantic. The bass and synth combining to perfectly punctuate your kisses. He swears that it's not his sex mixtape. You don't believe him.
His hands have a firm hold on your hips, dragging your embarrassingly slick core over his length. This was farther than the two of you had ever gotten before, and your gut told you it would be all the way this time, too.
Seeing him without the light-wash jean barrier you'd become so accustomed to was jarring, to put it lightly. Steve was a girthy eight inches, with a thick vein traveling from base to tip; wrapping around his entire shaft. His head was pink and leaking, daring you to dip your head and have a taste for yourself. You're not sure if you've ever physically salivated at the sight of a guy's dick before.
But this? This was no ordinary dick.
Your palms hold his cheeks; afraid you'll drift away if you let go. You can't resist ducking down to place a soft kiss to the twin moles beneath the left side of his jaw. Steve's head lolls back with a sigh.
Your curiosity has gotten the better of you the past few weeks. Steve was relatively quiet during your usual, run-of-the-mill make out sessions. You wondered if he was equally as quiet in bed. You can hardly contain the shiver that wracks you when you realize: you're about to find out.
Each time Steve's cock slides through your lips, his head catches on your entrance and you keen. Finally, he says, "You want me, baby?" God, I thought you'd never ask!
"Yes," you sigh. Maybe a little pathetically.
Reaching over to the end stand table beside the couch, Steve retrieves a condom from his wallet. And he's responsible! It takes all your strength not to physically swoon. He tears it open with his teeth despite technically having both hands free; careful to only tear the foil packaging.
You watch in silent awe as he rolls the latex over himself with practiced ease, and that's when it really hits you:
He's huge. And he has to fit inside of you.
"You're-" you swallow, trying to tamper your sudden anxiety, "Really big,"
"We'll go slow, okay?" He reassures with genuine earnest, a calloused hand caressing the soft plush on your cheek.
"Okay," you breathe.
The index and middle finger of his right hand find your throbbing clit, and he plays with you while he sheaths himself onto you with ease. The pleasure of it is enough to distract you from the sting of him stretching you past your previous limits.
"Good?" Steve asks though you can tell it's with great strength, like it's taking all of his will not to completely bottom out yet. You only love him more for the gentle consideration.
"Really good," you pant, "You can keep going."
So he does. He kisses you languidly, biting your bottom lip knowing that it would make you gasp enough to grant him entrance to your mouth. His tongue swirls delicately around your own.
"Just a little more, baby. You're doing so well."
Your foreheads press together with a shared gasp when he finally does bottom out; the sting eventually simmering to a delicious pressure like you've never felt before. Steve was big enough to reach that sensitive spot inside of you that you and any guy have yet to reach before.
He plants his feet firmly on the carpeted floor below you, beginning to thrust. You knew then that Steve wasn't going to make you move a damn muscle, opting instead to do all the work for the sake of your experience. His pace picks up in speed.
Your read lolls on your shoulders and you keen, every pump and circle of his fingers stoking the flames flickering in your lower stomach. It's as if you can feel him there.
"Fuck, Stevie, you feel so good," you whine, then gasp as he repeatedly pounds against the entrance of your cervix, "Right there!"
"Yeah? That the spot?" Steve asks rhetorically through gritted teeth, his hazel eyes burning with intensity.
"Steve!"
Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer intimacy of it all. You barely register them rolling wetly down your cheeks until:
"Don't cry, baby," his thumb swiping just below your eyes to catch the salty droplets.
You simply can't help but squeeze him in a suffocating embrace around his shoulders, grasping for purchase against the skin of his back-- anything to keep you even remotely grounded in this moment with him.
"I love you." You admit breathlessly. For the first time.
Steve stunned into silence only for a moment before responding, "I love you, sweet girl. Fuckin' love you--"
You fall off the edge together, almost too perfect. Perfect like the corny moments you see in romantic comedies, but Steve made it real. He always did.
Sweat drips from his temples onto yours, your bodies merged as one where you sit together.
With a hand to the back of your neck, he eases you down onto the sofa; ties the condom off before throwing it into the waste basket in the corner of the room. You barely register him leaving and coming back with a blanket and a dripping glass of water.
"Here," Steve says as he lifts the glass to your lips, "Sip."
He was domineering in that gentle way that made your head spin and want to obey his every command. So you do. You take long, measured sips from the straw he'd put in the glass.
"Good girl," he praises as he sets the glass on the table beside your head, pressing a soft kiss to your hair once his hands are free.
The central air conditioning causes the sweat on your skin to dry and cool rapidly, causing you to shiver. Steve doesn't need to be told twice.
He brings the knitted patchwork blanket up to your chin, tucks the edges comedically tight around your sides. You giggle lethargically at the gesture.
"What?" He grins back down at you. "Can't have my girl getting cold, can I?"
After some pouting, you convince him to share the blanket with you. Steve holds you tight to his chest, the mixtape long since having ended, but the silence doesn't feel suffocating with Steve. It just feels warm.
request: i cannot stop thinking about asking steve if he ever got himself off to you before you got together. he’d be so blushy and sheepish about it but man it’d be fun to watch him squirm 🤤
2.1k words, established relationship, masturbation (steve), gn!reader, MDNI this entire blog is 18+
It’s a universally awkward experience to have a sex-scene come on in a movie. Unless one’s watching it alone, of course.
You are not. Cuddled in behind you, cushioning you against his chest, Steve lounges, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Sure, in terms of awkwardness-rankings, watching this with your boyfriend who you also have sex with isn’t as bad as, like, watching with parents.
But still. You kinda can’t tell if you should be watching or averting your eyes — and you don’t want to peek over your shoulder to figure out what Steve’s doing.
The man in the film grunts, his hand in his pants jerking furiously, his eyes fixed on a polaroid of the film’s love interest.
You squint—surely this is stretching the truth a bit?
Yeah, yeah, guys jerk off, you know that - this isn’t your first day on earth.
You just didn’t think it would be like, romantic style. People in movies kiss in the rain and run through airports, so they’re hardly known for being grounded in reality.
The man in the film groans lewdly and you feel Steve shift slightly behind you, his fingers looped around your middle twitching.
Did he-? When you-? You suppose you’ve never really thought about it.
You’re asking before you can second guess yourself.
“Did you do this?”
Steve’s attention switches idly from the screen to you as you crane your neck to look back at him. His brows pinch together.
“Did I do what?” He asks, doting brown eyes searching your face.
You fluster a bit. This is certainly moving you up through the awkwardness rankings. But now it’s in your head —now you’ve said it — you can’t turn back.
The thought of it blazes hotly through your mind.
Steve, all those months ago, still just crushing on you, but never quite making a move. He’d told you, whispered his secret, when you’d finally gotten the nerve to ask him to be your boyfriend officially, that he’d been sweet on you far longer than you knew.
But the image of it is what has you interested. You imagine Steve, his fist stuffed into his tight jeans, working himself over and biting his fist to hide his moans, at the mere thought of you.
You’d had plenty of long, late night conversations on the phone before officially getting together.
The thought of if he’d ever touched himself while you talked, none the wiser on the other end, wanders into your mind — and your stomach clenches hotly at the thought.
Clearing your throat, you tip your head towards the screen.
“Like, before we got together?”
It takes Steve another glance at the screen to realise what you’re asking. A simmering, pink colour crawls up his neck and in a moment, you go from feeling awkward to feeling downright devious.
Steve clears his throat, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth from the screen to your face. “Uh, I- I mean, why do you ask?”
A coy smile curls at your mouth. “I wanna know how accurate it is.”
Steve stares down at you, the pink now creeping up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. God, he looks delectable like this.
Is this how he looked when he did it too? Blushy and embarrassed to commit such a filthy act thinking of someone that wasn’t his? A hot buzz drizzles through your core, fringed with endearment.
Steve licks his lips nervously. His hands on your stomach stiffen and then relax. The film plays on in the background. His expression shifts towards something sheepish.
“It’s — I, uh, well, yes.” He stammers. “It’s accurate, yes.”
“How many times?”
Steve’s eyes narrow, but his face gets redder. “What is this, an interrogation now?”
You giggle, drinking in his evidently embarrassed state. The confirmation of him doing it solidifies the perfect image of him in your mind, your own film-scene imagining Steve in the same position as the character on screen. In real life, Steve moves his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt.
“I’m just… enjoying the idea of it.” You muse.
“Uh huh,” Steve says, tongue jammed into the side of his cheek. “Not just—” He fumbles for his words. “Just enjoying seeing me, I don’t know, like—”
His words trail off and his head tips back with a groan, exposing the delicious expanse of his throat. It begs you for kisses and love bites. He moves both hands up to cover his face.
You wait til he pulls them away to nod. “Absolutely, baby. Watching you squirm is far more interesting than this film.”
In the background, the man on screen gives a pornographic shout as he finishes in his pants. Steve manages to turn redder, even if he keeps his eyes fixed on you.
“But I’m just,” You huff and pout. “Put out, I guess. You did all that for me and I didn’t even get to see it.”
At the exact same time, you watch as Steve’s pupils dilate, blowing out in obvious lust, and something pressed against your back thickens up.
Steve, to his credit, only makes one strained noise which he immediately smothers with a cough. You feel his hips twitch beneath you and make a quick decision, confidence built on the sweltering heat of Steve’s face.
You push forward and up, then quickly turn, slotting your knees across either side of Steve’s thighs, perching atop them nicely.
You’re not outright in his lap—there’s room between the two of you for what you hope will happen.
It takes Steve another long moment to catch your drift.
“Wait, you want-?” He inhales sharply. You can see the twitch of his cock through his loose sweatpants. “To see?”
“To watch,” You clarify, smiling almost mischievously. “Yeah.”
Then just to check, “Is that okay?”
Steve’s breath shudders out of him but he’s nodding before the question is completely out of your mouth.
“H-Here?” He checks. You nod, resting your hands atop your thighs to show you don’t plan on using them. Steve’s hungry eyes scan you up and down, the tent in his pants pitching up in arousal.
“Just show me how you did it,” You murmur, words on the side of sultry. Your own excitement, that faint thrum of pleasure, has already started to pool low in your gut.
“Yeah, but I normally don’t have an audience for it,” Steve mumbles, his left-hand reaching for the drawstrings of his sweats.
They come undone with a simple tug. Steve stretches the elastic out a bit and then slips his hand in.
You know the moment his large hand settles around his cock from the flutter of his lashes, the soft groan that curls out his throat, rough and sweet all at once.
This… This is new. You usually don’t get such a focused look at Steve’s pleasure, at the little shifts in his expression, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to pay proper attention. Getting this much detail sends a delicious throb between your thighs. You hardly want to blink.
Steve’s hand moves slow to begin with, slow, gentle strokes to get himself properly warmed up.
After a moment, he draws his hand back and some part of you worries he’s too weirded out now. But he only brings it up, to his mouth, and you realise what he’s doing.
Quickly stealing his hand, Steve’s eyes widen as you let spit drop from your lips and pool in his palm. Another soft, jagged noise drags from his throat.
“Jesus Christ,” He murmurs, more to himself. “This is not what it’s like when it’s just me, this is, like, ten fucking times hotter.”
His hand sneaks back into his sweatpants but this time when he grips his cock, the reaction this time is immediate.
Steve moans, louder this time, his eyes crushing closed and his hand starts moving faster. With the help of your spit, it doesn’t take long before you can hear it, the slick sounds of him fucking his cock desperately.
His head tips back against the couch and a piece of hair flops over, into his eyes.
You reach out and brush it to the side and Steve’s eyes crease open at the same time a whine threads through his moans.
“Fuck,” He grunts. He sinks in teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes desperately roaming your face. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.”
“That what you thought bout?”
You’re impressed with yourself for the cool, calm demeanour you’re portraying. Steve nods, the motion a little wild, his hand still making those lewd, wet noises.
“Uh huh,” His voice shakes a little. “Just, fuck, dunno, like, your face and-uh-what y-you’d sound like.”
Your eyes glitter with interest, ego raring at the devotion your boyfriend is spilling out.
“What I’d sound like?”
“Y-Yeah,” Steve stammers, his breathing heavy. “Like, doing this.”
Now that’s a picture; Steve jerking off to the thought of you, hot and bothered with your hand between your thighs. You give a breathy gasp without meaning to.
Steve hears it, groaning louder as he quickens his pace. You sort of want to reach forward and ruck up his shirt, so you can see the glorious clench of his stomach as he rolls his hips up into his warm hand.
“Can I see more?” You ask tentatively. “Please?”
This time, it’s more like a whimper that creeps out of Steve’s throat.
“Oh my god,” Steve mumbles through a stilted moan. “Jesus Christ. Yeah, yeah, of course.”
He swallows heavily, his free hand reaching down to push at his waistband. You help, lifting up to help tug the fabric out of the way.
Obstructions removed, your mouth salivates. Steve’s cock is pretty — and it looks that much more enticing when it’s worked up, pink and the tip of it leaking all over his hand.
Steve’s a fucking vision. His head still lolled back, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His throat, dotted with moles, crawling with pinkness. His big, veiny hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it steadily.
You think about how much you’d like the lick the trail of hair on his tummy, down, down, down.
“You seem close,” You say and it earns you a reedy whimper in response. “Is it- does it normally happen this fast?”
“Are you kidding me?” Steve whispers back. His eyes are closed and after a moment, you realise he’s trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly, even as his hand doesn’t slow. “I—ngh— n-normally don’t have such good, ah, material. My imagination is— is not this good.”
You’re equal parts flattered and flustered, heat twinging in your gut.
“Can— can I?” Steve whimpers out suddenly.
The question nearly throws you. You almost say Can you what? when the meaning of it douses you in fire.
He’s asking permission.
Oh, that does something to you.
“Yeah, Stevie,” You say, voice lilting closer to a coo. “I wanna see it, please.”
Something shifts in his motions, changing gear as Steve’s hand suddenly starts moving in smaller, tighter strokes, just over the head of his cock. His head tucks forward, his eyes scrunched closed, and he’s whimpers out, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”
It only takes a few seconds, the whine in Steve’s voice pitching higher and higher, until something gives.
His hips take over, something desperate and primal shoving them up, his thrusts rapid and frantic. His hand doesn’t stop moving, not even as his cock starts to leak out ropes of cum, shooting out enough to cover the back of his knuckles. It joins your spit to rub slick against his cock.
He keens pitifully. For one long minute, you listen to Steve’s breathy whines get softer and softer, watch his desperate thrusts abate til an overstimulated shiver wracks through his body. Then, and only then, does he collapse back, sinking into the couch.
He’s a bit ruined, truthfully.
And you’ve soaked through your panties.
“You’re welcome,” You croak, throat dry. His hair is back in his eyes and lean forward, tenderly brushing it out of the way. You leave your hand there, cupping the side of his face, and Steve leans into it, still panting.
“What?” He asks.
“You were thanking me,” You point out cheekily.
Steve’s face plunges back to that scarlet colour you’re beginning to adore most ardently. He turns his face further to hide away in the palm of your hands.
“Shut up,” He mumbles.
“So you don’t wanna do that again?” You tease.
Steve pulls back and eyes you. “Now, hang on, I didn’t say that…”
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