Summary: Your car needs a major tune up but when you meet your mechanic, all you want is for him to tune you up.
Author’s Note: So this is what happens when my beautiful friends, share their beautiful brains and we have thots and see amazing edits and vids and all the goodies. Thank you so much @blackwidownat2814 @ysmmsy and @buckysdollforlife for sharing with me and loving Eddie as much as I do. Your support is everything! love you all <3 Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my lovely @wannabehamlet thank you sweets!
Warnings: it’s soft and sweet and spicy and there’s tension and flirting and then smut, fingering, light dirty talk, cursing, I know nothing about cars so I apologize if I said something silly…also mechanic Eddie is a warning (18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!)
THIS EDIT IS NOT MINE: if anyone knows who it belongs to or recognizes the tag on it I will gladly give due credit. It’s amazing and I’m so thankful to the lovely person that made it!
Eddie Munson Masterlist
The moment you step into the small front shop you’re hit with the smell of grease and motor oil but there’s a hint of something else, something spicy and the mix is oddly aromatic. You search for the owner but see no sign of him.
“Hello?” you call out, listening for the sound of footsteps.
When you get no response you move closer to the small countertop and look around. The small bulletin board over the cash register is tacked with several receipts as well as faded photos and band patches. There are several cannisters of engine oil and windshield wiper fluid lining a small shelf in the back.
Summary: Your car needs a major tune up but when you meet your mechanic, all you want is for him to tune you up.
Author’s Note: So this is what happens when my beautiful friends, share their beautiful brains and we have thots and see amazing edits and vids and all the goodies. Thank you so much @blackwidownat2814 @ysmmsy and @buckysdollforlife for sharing with me and loving Eddie as much as I do. Your support is everything! love you all <3 Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my lovely @wannabehamlet thank you sweets!
Warnings: it’s soft and sweet and spicy and there’s tension and flirting and then smut, fingering, light dirty talk, cursing, I know nothing about cars so I apologize if I said something silly…also mechanic Eddie is a warning (18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!)
THIS EDIT IS NOT MINE: if anyone knows who it belongs to or recognizes the tag on it I will gladly give due credit. It’s amazing and I’m so thankful to the lovely person that made it!
Eddie Munson Masterlist
The moment you step into the small front shop you’re hit with the smell of grease and motor oil but there’s a hint of something else, something spicy and the mix is oddly aromatic. You search for the owner but see no sign of him.
“Hello?” you call out, listening for the sound of footsteps.
When you get no response you move closer to the small countertop and look around. The small bulletin board over the cash register is tacked with several receipts as well as faded photos and band patches. There are several cannisters of engine oil and windshield wiper fluid lining a small shelf in the back.
summary: you and your boyfriend haven;t had sex yet, and he doesn't understadn why. but one thing is for sure, steve is going to use a very hands on approach to make sure those insecurities never stop you two from being intimate...
wc: 5.9k
tw: explicit smut, p in v protected, oral (f and m receiving), titty fucking, lots of breast play, pet names, intimate dirty talk from our man, sex toy mention, beautiful loving sex with the most perfect guy ever, body insecurities
a/n: hey babes! i got such a beautiful response on the last curvy!reader and steve fic i did. it means so much to me that you guys like this, as a curvy girl myself. i hope this brings you as much happiness as i got writing it <3 -lovey
steve masterlist
"Baby, please."
Your boyfriend is caressing your breasts through your sweatshirt as you make out in your bed. His voice is almost a whine as he kisses down the slope of your neck, hot breath sending tingles through your body.
"S'been like, three months, how long are you gonna make me wait?" His words are muffled by the wet kisses he's pressing into your skin, the question teasing and sweet.
His fingers are brushing against the undersides of your breasts through the fabric, and you can feel goosebumps prickling your arms. This part of your relationship was still new, moving from friendship to romance. Steve's always been respectful, never pushing you further than you wanted to go, but it was clear he was a single minded man when it came to your body.
You, on the other hand, are still struggling with letting him fully see it. Your curves have always been a source of insecurity, something you've tried to hide with baggy clothes or cinching silhouettes. And while you know Steve is clearly attracted to you, you're terrified of seeing a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when he finally sees all of you.
It's not like you haven't had sex before, just that you haven't had sex with anyone who looked like Steve. Who is perfect. And gorgeous. And has had, you are sure, plenty of sex with plenty of perfect and gorgeous girls.
But also, it's Steve. Who always says just the right thing, who is sweet to you. You've always felt safe with him, protected. The worry volleying around your brain since you started dating is enough to make you want to take your hair out lately. The logical side says you trust him and know he won't hurt you. The insecure side screams that you're going to be a let down.
"Please," he whines again. "Maybe just the sweatshirt? Lemme see you?"
His tone is so gentle, so pleading.
"I just..." Your brain tries to come up with some excuse this time.
I'm not ready. Lie.
I'm tired. Another lie.
I'm not into it. Biggest lie of them all.
Steve's mouth has found that spot behind your ear, and a soft sigh escapes your lips instead of anything from your dwindling list of excuses.
"Tell me." He whispers against your skin. His hands are on your hips now, tracing their shape, thumb rubbing circles against the fabric of your jeans. "Tell me what you need."
You're silent for a beat, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the radio and your ragged breathing.
"Okay." He seems to take your silence as an answer of its own. "New plan. Less making out, more talking." He pulls back slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you properly.
"I like the making out part."
"Well, I like the 'not creaming in my Levi's' part and you're making that damn hard if we keep going just like this." His lopsided little smirk is softer than usual, free hand fidgeting with your sweatshirt hem, always looking for a way to be touching you.
He looks concerned at the sad smile you give him, clearing his throat a little.
"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"You're so..." You start, and trail off waving your handly vaguely at him. How can you explain your complicated feelings without sounding completely insane?
Steve waits patiently, still tracing the hem of your top with his thumb, but the crease between his brows grows deeper as you struggle to find the right words.
Part of you hopes that the way you're gesturing at him clears things up. Unfortunately, it does the opposite, because the most batshit insane question leaves his pouted lips.
"Are you not like, attracted to me or something?" He looks so genuinely distressed by this question that your heart clenches, the game of insecurity volleyball going on in your head is temporarily pushed to a time out by the sheer absurdity of it.
If your eyes could spontaneously pop out of your head at any moment? Yeah, this would have been the one.
"I'm sorry, what?" You ask, with an incredulous laugh you can't hold back.
He shrugs, a little bashful, and god, it should be illegal for a grown man to look that cute. "I mean... you're always stopping us. And I don't wanna be that guy, but, y'know. My ego is taking a bit of a hit, babe."
You still couldn't say anything, shocked that he'd ever think it was him that was the issue here.
"Look," he continued "If you're realizing we're better off as friends, that's fine. I'll be bummed, like really, really bummed. But I'll understand. Just tell me. Don't leave me hangin' here."
"Steve," Your voice is barely above a whisper as you struggle to find the right words. "I promise you, it's not that. God, you're the most attractive man I've ever seen."
That earned a small, relieved smile from him, his big hazel eyes looking more puppy like than usual. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His relief is short-lived when he hears the sadness in your confirmation. "Okay, so then why do you sound like you're about to tell me my grandma died?"
You sigh. "You're not listening. I said you're the most attractive man I've ever seen. And I'm... well, I'm me."
Steve's brow furrows again as he leans in, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "What?"
And suddenly, you can't hold it in anymore. The insecurities you've been hiding for months come pouring out. "It's just... I'm not... I'm not like the other girls you've been with, you know? I'm not... skinny. I'm curvy. I have rolls... and... and my boobs are too big..."
The words feel sticky and uncomfortable leaving your throat, and you can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
But it's nothing compared to seeing his face fall. A real, actual sadness. Not the polite, 'I'm sorry you feel that way' kind of sad, but a genuine, heartbroken sort of sad.
"You think I'm not going to like you because you have... rolls? And big boobies?" He looks so confused.
You give a weak little shrug, feeling incredibly small and pathetic all of a sudden. Even his genuine use of the word 'boobies' doesn't make you crack a smile.
And then, to your complete and utter shock, he laughs. Not a mean laugh, but an actual belly laugh. He rolls onto his back, clutching his stomach as he practically howls.
"You're... you're laughing." You can't keep the hurt out of your voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He gasps, rolling back towards you and pulling you into a tight hug. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise."
"It sure feels like you're laughing at me."
"No! No no no. I swear I'm not. I just..." He pulls back, looking at you with such adoration that it takes your breath away. "Baby, I have been dreaming about these curves. I've been thinking about these 'rolls'," he makes little air quotes around the word, "since the day I met you. And don't even get me started on your boobies."
You narrow your eyes a little, unsure if you believe him.
"Seriously." His hands are back on your waist, sliding up under your sweatshirt. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I love how soft you are. I love the way you feel under my hands. I love your curves. I love everything about you."
You two hadn't said the L word yet. You'd been friends for years, so three months in didn't feel too soon, but it still took you by surprise to hear it. He said it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Your brain is still trying to process it when he leans in and kisses you again. This kiss is different from the ones before. It's softer, more deliberate, less of a frantic race to an unknown finish line and more of a slow, sweet exploration.
"I've been pawing at you like a freakin' teenager this whole time because I'm obsessed with them." He says, breaking the kiss for a second to meet your eyes. His thumbs brush against your nipples through your bra, and you arch your back a little despite yourself. "Did you think I was doing it ironically?"
You can't help but laugh, the tension in your chest finally starting to loosen. "I guess I just thought... I don't know. I thought you were just being nice."
"Oh, I'm gonna be real nice, alright." He's got a glint in his eye.
You look at the way his hair falls into his eyes, at the little smattering of moles across his cheek, at the earnest, open expression on his face.
He slowly starts to help you out of your sweatshirt, leaving you in your jeans and bra. He's looking at you like you're a work of art, not a flaw in sight.
"God, you're so beautiful." His hands trace the curve of your stomach, the swell of your hips through the denim. "And so soft."
Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches for your bra, unclasping it with a practiced ease that surprises you.
"Gonna make sure you know how much I think about these." He murmurs, as your breasts spill free.
He takes a moment, just looking. His gaze is so full of adoration that it makes you feel dizzy.
"How are you not just staring at these all day? How do you get anything done? I would just hold them all day." It's so goofy and sweet that it makes you laugh again.
Steve doesn't waste any more time. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He's gentle at first, teasing, but then he gets a little rougher, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud to sooth it, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair.
His hands are eager but gentle, kneading the soft flesh of your other breast. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel a familiar heat building between your legs.
"Steve..." You moan, your head falling back against the pillows.
He looks up at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention.
"God, they're so big." He groans, as if he's talking to himself more than you. "Can't get enough of 'em."
He continues to lavish attention on your breasts, his mouth and hands working in tandem to drive you wild. You're writhing beneath him, your body begging for more. He moans like it's the best thing that's ever grazed his lips.
Every kiss, every touch feels like a revelation. He's worshipping your body in a way that's both reverent and deeply carnal. And with every passing second, your insecurities melt away, replaced by a burning need for more.
You try to gently pull him off, to move to other spots, but he's got one thing on his mind, swatting your hand away as he continues to lavish them with attention.
"'M not done." He says, muffled by one of your now spit soaked nipples. "Been waiting too long for this. Let me have my fun."
You can't help but laugh again. "You have a one track mind, Harrington."
"Two." He breathes, moving his head back to watch as he squeezes them together. " Two tracks. This one, and this one."
He keeps your breasts squished together with his big hands and licks a stripe between them, looking up at you like he's drunk on it.
"God, you're such an idiot." You say, but it's fond, and your fingers tighten in his hair.
"A hot idiot." He retorts, moving back to a nipple and giving it a gentle bite. “You basically said so.”
You gasp, the pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core.
"Would you, uh, ever let me... y'know..." His words come out distracted as he soothes the bite with his tongue.
"Let you what?"
A tiny trail of saliva links your swollen peak to his perfect pout when he pulls off to speak again.
"Let me... god there's no romantic way to say this..." he mutters the last part before spitting it out. "Put my dick here?"
Your brain short circuits for a moment. He wants to...?
"I mean, I've always wanted to try that." He says, continuing to knead your breasts. "But I didn't want to make you feel weird, or objectify you or whatever."
The fact that he's been thinking about this, that he's been holding back out of respect for you, makes your heart swell.
"Would that feel good...for you?"
"I don't know, I've never tried it."
It was a little jarring to hear there was something he had never tried.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs a little nervously.
"There's something Steve Harrington has never done?" You tease gently.
"There's a lot of things Steve Harrington has never done." He says, looking up at you with an earnest expression. "Do you think I'm some kind of sex god?"
"I mean, kind of?"
A genuine laugh escapes him. "Oh, babe. I'm just a guy. I've had my fair share of sex, but it's been... pretty standard. Missionary, doggy, maybe some lazy morning sideways stuff if I'm feeling frisky--"
"I don't really want to hear about the other girls you've had lazy morning sideways stuff with." You look away, the slight mention of them making your stomach clench.
"Hey," he says, moving up to kiss your lips. "None of them were you. It was just... stuff to do. This? With you? This means something. It would be very loving morning sideways stuff."
That L word again. The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart ache.
"Okay," you whisper, your resolve finally crumbling.
"Okay?" He asks, his eyes lighting up. "Okay, as in 'okay, I'm ready for you to see my entire naked body' or 'okay, as in I'm going to punch you in the face for asking to put your dick between my boobs'?"
You bite your lip, considering the idea again. The thought of him, slicked up between your breasts, is surprisingly arousing.
"I have lube..." You ask shyly.
His face brightens up like you just told him he won the lottery. "You have... you want to try it now? R-right now?"
You nod, a shy smile playing on your lips.
"Okay. Okay, yes. Absolutely." He's practically vibrating with excitement as he looks around the room, as if he could pinpoint the lube like a bloodhound.
"Nightstand." You whisper to him. "Top drawer."
He scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. You can't help but laugh at his eagerness as he rummages through your drawer, meandering through the other things in there.
"Oh...you have one of these..." he pulls your Hitachi massager wand from the drawer and looks at it with wide, curious eyes. "Cool."
The tips of your ears burn at the sight of him holding it. "The cord doesn't reach the bed... so I don't use it that much..."
He pulls an extension cord out of the draw next and raises an eyebrow at you. Busted. You try to hide your face in the blankets, but he just chuckles as he puts it away and finally finds the little pink bottle of lube.
"Hey, whatever gets you there is cool with me. Just wanna see sometime."
He's back on the bed in an instant, shedding his own shirt as he climbs over you.
"Alright," he says, a newfound confidence in his movements. "Let's get this show on the road." He wiggles his eyebrows at you, a goofy grin on his face that makes you laugh.
He helps you out of your jeans, his eyes never leaving your body.
"Its like you're poured into these jeans, baby." He grins against your tummy as he unbuttons your pants. His hands are steady as he tugs the denim down, revealing the lacy black panties you'd chosen this morning on a whim.
"Got all dressed up for me? Or just yourself?" He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners. He sounds so genuinely appreciative it's almost overwhelming.
"Both." You stop him as he pulls you to sit up, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I just... It's a little uneven right now."
"Oh. Right." He looks down at himself as if just realizing he's still in his jeans. He stands up, and you get to watch him strip more. And it's quite a show. He's all lean muscle and gorgeous skin, a dusting of dark hair on his chest that narrows down to a happy trail leading into his boxers.
He wiggles out of his jeans, getting stuck at the ankles and you giggle when he looks up at you, smiling excitedly through the hair that falls in his face.
Once he's just in his boxers, he's back over you in an instant, kissing your lips and grabbing at your breasts.
"I think we need to um... switch positions. For this to work..." Your brows furrow between wet kisses as you work the logistics out in your mind. "You should... sit."
Steve sits against the headboard and pulls you into his lap. He pushes your panties aside and slides a finger through your folds.
"You're so wet," he says, looking a little stunned. "This is... you're really into this idea?"
The casualness of his touch elicits a small 'oh' from your lips. "I… I think that's just...whenever you're around. But yes. This."
"You're so wet, baby." He echoes, a little less steady this time. He slips another finger inside you, curling them just so.
"Steve," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. You can't even help it. "I thought you wanted to..."
Your eyes trail down to the bulge in his boxers, then to the lube bottle he'd set next to him on the bed.
"Patience, honey. We'll get there. I just want to..." He trails off, kissing you as he continues to work you with his fingers. He's making you feel so good, and it's not long before you're panting, on the edge of release. "Baby, you made me wait so long when she's been drippin' for me like this? When she's been begging for it?"
"M'sorry..." You can't think straight with how his long thick fingers are learning just how you like to be touched. "I...I..."
"Shhh, I know." He says, soothing you with gentle rubs over your arm as you ride his digits. "Got nothing to be insecure about, pussy feels like a dream. S'like she was made for me."
Your head falls to the crook of his neck as you whine at his praise, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him as he gives you whatever you need.
"Gonna keep me nice and warm between these thighs when I'm done here? Huh? Let me stuff you full?" He mutters it into your hair, so dirty and so sweet, free hand carding through your hair as if he isn't saying the dirtiest things you've ever heard from him. "Can't keep all this softness to yourself anymore. No, baby, that's all for Steve now."
His words send a jolt straight to your core, and you can feel your orgasm building, a tight coil in your stomach. He picks up on it, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, little circles. You pull back to look in those big doe eyes of his, while you shudder and soak his fingers.
His lips are just barely against yours as you cum, whispering sweet everythings into your mouth. "That's it, sweet girl. There she is. Felt so good, didn't it? Yeah..."
You collapse against him, boneless and breathless, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through you. He holds you for a moment, stroking your hair and kissing your temple.
"You're so fuckin' pretty when you cum," he says, stilling his fingers and letting you ride out the aftershocks. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, leaving a trail of sweet, lingering kisses across your skin. "You gonna be okay to keep going?"
You pop your head up then to look at him better. "I think so." You say, with a tired, happy little laugh. "If you think you can handle it."
"Oh, I can handle it." He says, pulling his fingers out and holding them up to your face. They're glistening with your arousal as he lightly presses them to your bottom lip, pulling it down a little, before moving them to smear your own cum between your breasts.
He reaches for the lube, but you take it from his hands. "Let me?"
He nods, shimmying his briefs down, freeing his cock to lay heavy against his happy trail. You lips part, but no words come out as you take in the sight of him for the first time. He's perfect. Long and thick, with a generous head already beading with precum. You can't help but reach out, wrapping your hand around him. He's so warm, so hard, and he lets out a low groan as you give him a slow, deliberate stroke.
"You like it? Big enough for you?" There's a little bit of that classic Steve Harrington bravado, but it's softer, more genuine. He's not asking out of arrogance, but genuine curiosity, wanting to know if he pleases you.
"God, yeah," you breathe, your thumb swirling over the tip making him stutter out a whine. "Sensitive, too."
"He just really likes you. A lot." He says, trying to keep it together under your touch as he watches your hands on him. "So fucking much..."
You pop the cap on the lube, drizzling a generous amount over his length, making it glisten in the soft light of your room.
"How should I..."
You lift your breasts in your own hands and his head leans back against the headboard, groaning at the sight. "Jesus Christ, you're beautiful."
You press your breasts together around him, creating a warm, slick channel for him to slide into. The sensation is strange for you but not unpleasant, the lube making it easy for him to glide between your soft flesh.
His eyes flutter closed for a second as he lets out a shaky breath as you start to move . Your hands keep your breasts pressed together, creating a perfect, tight fit for him. His hands come up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together as you work together to create a rhythm.
"They're so soft, baby..." His eyes are glazed over as he watches the thick head of his cock peek out from between your breasts with each thrust. "They're...god..."
It's a heady feeling, this power you have over him. You'd never imagined it could be like this, that your body, the source of so much insecurity for you, could bring him so much pleasure. The sight of him this undone does wonders for your confidence in the moment and your tongue swipes against his tip on teh next thrust up, eyes trained on him to see if he likes it.
Steve is a mess of a man now, a whine leaving his lips as he arches into the sensation. "Do that again. Please? God, do that again..."
You're more than happy to oblige, leaning down to kitten lick at his slit. His movements slow, his hands replacing yours completely as you hold on to his thighs, sucking his pretty flushed tip between your lips. The taste of him makes you hum, sending vibrations up his length.
"Oh, fuck. That feels..." He's panting, hips canting up slightly. He's squeezing your tits tighter around him and pushing more of himself into your warm, willing mouth.
"Okay, okay," He says after a minute, "We need to stop."
Your eyes fly open in protest as you have his dick in your mouth. You pull off with a wet 'pop' to ask him what's wrong. "Don't you like it?"
"I like it too much, baby." He says, chest heaving. "Way too fucking much." He has a smile on his face, though, so you know he's not upset.
"I was trying to get you to cum." You say, a little pout in your voice.
"I know, I know. And it's very sweet. And another time we can explore your very... very talented mouth. But tonight..."
He carefully moves his hands from your breasts and shimmies his briefs off fully.
"I have been thinking about what it would feel like inside you for months. I'm not going to cum between your boobs the very first chance I get."
"But you do want to cum on them?" You ask, a little teasingly.
He laughs, a big, hearty, beautiful sound that fills the entire room as he lays you back down gently, covering your body with his. The weight of him on top of you is comforting, grounding.
"Yeah. On your boobs." His hands are sliding down underneath to your ass and squeezing. "And your ass. And your hips. And your stomach. And your thighs. Got a whole list of places to check off."
His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in a sea of sensation.
When he finally hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, you're ready. He starts to pull them down, the lace practically sticking to your core with the evidence of your previous orgasm.
His thumbs stroke your lips, parting them gently to reveal the slick, swollen flesh beneath.
"But right now... right now, I'm going to fill this perfect little pussy up until she can't take it anymore. Spread these thighs for me, pretty girl."
You do, without hesitation.
"Steve," you moan as he finally touches you where you need him most. His fingers circle your clit again and your hips buck up to meet his touch, a desperate plea for more.
"Thats it... gonna let me have a taste? Please?" His begs for permission are doing all sorts of things to your head, making you feel like you have all the power in the world. "Gotta get you ready f'me."
"Yes," You breathe, the word barely a whisper. "Please, Steve."
He needs no further encouragement. He lowers his head, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit is electric. He laps at you, a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars.
His hands are on your thighs, holding them open, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there.
"Could live between these legs," he says, the words muffled by your flesh. "Seriously. Just say the word."
You're lost in a haze of pleasure, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.
He pushes two fingers inside you, crooking them to find that spot that makes you see stars. The double stimulation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you is almost too much to bear.
"Steve," you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. "Please...I want you..."
"Baby..." He smirks against your folds, flicking his tongue a little. "You have me right now.."
"I want all of you," you plead. "Inside me."
"Is my pretty girl beggin' for my dick?"
"Please," You whine, pushing your hips back down onto his fingers.
"Okay, baby, okay," he says, pulling away from your core with one last, lingering kiss to your clit.
He's traveling up your body again, kissing his way up to your mouth, before he captures your needy whimpers with his lips.
"Think you're ready enough?" He whispers, moving your hand to stroke where he's aching. "You feel that?"
"Want you." You nod.
"Gotta get a rubber." He groans. "I don't have... I didn't think I'd get this lucky."
"Nightstand." You whisper again. "Same drawer." You smile a little.
He fumbles for a moment before he finds the strip of condoms and rips one off, the foil crinkling in the quiet room. He tears it open with his teeth, a move so practiced it sends a pang of something through you. But it's fleeting, replaced by the sight of him rolling the latex down his length, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrates.
"You're so gorgeous..." It slips out, a soft whisper as you look at him in this moment. He's so vulnerable here, so open, you can't help but be completely captivated.
A pretty pink flush creeps up his neck at your praise. "Stop, you're gonna make me nervous." He jokes, but he's already lining himself up with your entrance.
He settles between your legs, and for a moment, he just looks at you. His eyes are soft, full of an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. He pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size, the sheer thickness of him.
Your eyes squeeze shut and he cradles your face in one hand. "You can take it all baby, I know you can."
You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein, as he fills you completely. He bottoms out and stills for a moment, giving you a chance to catch your breath.
"Okay?" He asks, his forehead resting against yours, your soft breasts flush against the hair on his chest.
You nod, unable to speak, your body humming with pleasure. "S'big."
"Gotta make room for me." He coos into your ear, thrusting in and out of you slowly at first. And it feels... like everything. He's moving slow, gentle strokes as he continues to praise your body and all the space it's making for his cock inside you. "She loves it though, doesn't she? Gripping me so tight... wants me so close..."
"Steve..." You can feel another orgasm building already, the sheer pleasure of being so completely filled, of being cherished so thoroughly.
"You're everything," he says, kissing your neck, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. "Everything I've ever wanted."
His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, and he's hitting that spot deep inside you that sends sparks flying behind your eyelids. One of your hands is around his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape, he has the other one pinned just by your head, finger interlaced with his on the pillow.
It feels all consuming. You're completely surrounded by him, his smell, his taste, the feel of him inside you, moving with you. All your doubts, all your fears about your body have vanished, replaced by a bone deep certainty that he adores every single inch of you.
"Like having me like this? Yeah?" He smiles at your whine of 'yes'. "Gonna keep you nice and full?"
You don't even realize the noises you're making as your orgasm washes over you, but he groans at the sight. "Look so pretty, all fucked out by me..."
It is, without a doubt, the best sex you've ever had.
His thrusts slow and he's pulling out, the pout on your face making him chuckle. "Turn over for me, baby."
You do, moving onto your hands and knees. He takes a moment, just looking at you, his hands running over the curve of your ass, the roundness of your hips.
"Flat on your tummy, sweet girl, gimme a nice arch... that's it... and hike this thigh up..." He's so gentle, moving your body how he wants. One of your thighs is curled up, giving him a better angle to take you from behind.
"Mmm," The purr he lets out at this new view is absolutely sinful, "That's it, this perfect peach."
He slides back into you, this new angle allowing him to go even deeper. He's pressing kisses along your spine as he starts to move again, one of hands resting on the small of your back like some sort of grounding anchor, the other squeezing at the soft fat of your ass.
His balls graze against you with every thrust, hitting the little button of your clit in the most delicious way.
"Perfect," he grunts, burying himself deep again and again, "You feel perfect."
"You're so deep... oh my god, Steve..." Your hands have a deathgrip on your sheets now, the side of your face pressed into your pillows when he leans over you again to kiss your back and shoulders.
"Look at me, look at how much I love your body, honey. S'the best I've ever had, s'best I'll ever get." He whispers against your skin, the words being molded into your DNA with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels to have your tummy pressing into the bed while I fill you up like this..."
His praise is what pushes you over the edge again.
This orgasm is even more intense than the last, and you're not sure you'll be able to walk after this. You're putty for him, and he can feel it, so he pushes a little harder. Deeper. The sounds he's making as he chases his own release only heighten yours. He's lost completely in the pleasure you're giving him and it's an incredibly heady feeling.
His hips stutter, and you can feel him start to pulse. One, two, three deep, final thrusts, and he's crying out the sweetest sounds a man can make, his body collapsing on top of yours, hot and heavy and perfect.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck for a long moment before carefully pulling out and disposing of the condom. Your body is cold without his warm weight pressing down on you, but then he's back. Pulling you into his arms. You'd usually be a little self conscious about your size in a post sex cuddle, but he's just... so all encompassing, kissing your face all over and letting you tuck yourself into him
You end up with his head on your chest, the steady rhythm of your heart a comforting sound. His fingers are tracing lazy patterns over your arms, your back, your hips, mapping out every curve and valley as if committing them to memory.
You card your fingers through his hair, your other hand tracing the line of his jaw. His lips are having their way with your chest. He's not even looking for round two, just needs to be touching you however he can.
"Thank you." You whisper into the quiet room.
"For what?" He doesn't look up, too busy licking and sucking at your nipple.
"I don't think I've ever felt this... pretty before. As when I'm with you."
He stills, pulling back to look at you.
"You know I love you right?" He says, the words leaving no room for doubt. "I mean, I'm in love with you. And I want you to know that."
Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest. "I love you too." The words feel right and natural on your tongue.
"Good." He says, a huge, dopey grin spreading across his face. "Cause I'm not letting you go."
He goes back to what he was doing, but now it's different. Now it's a declaration, a promise.
"Love touchin' you." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your breastbone."Could do this forever."
"Eventually you'd have to go to work." You remind him.
"I'll quit." He says, dead serious. "I'll just stay here with you."
"I can't pay you to play with my boobs all day." You laugh. "Much as I'd like to."
"I have savings."
"Steve!"
You're both laughing now, tangled in each other, a mess of limbs and giggles. When the laughter dies down, he's just looking at you, a soft smile on his face.
"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. Just... happy." He says, and it's the simplest, most honest thing he could have said.
"Me too." You say, and you mean it.
steve taglist: @keer-y @aecd27 @snoopyharrington @mutual-future-repeat @djosfools @subtlesposts @cpnsteverogers @britt-mf @alimoiii @remorsefuul @bing72
ask to be part of any of my character taglists
summary: a melting hawkins afternoon, one dripping ice cream cone, and steve’s eyes that can’t look away.
warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, dry humping, heavy sexual tension, best friends to lovers, public risk (car), swearing. not proofread.
the summers in hawkins were unbearable. the pavement burned through the thin soles of your shoes, and the sun pressed down so heavy it felt like it was melting everything it touched. your light tank top and shorts clung to your skin, offering no relief. you hated summer. in winter you could bundle up and escape the cold. here, even breathing felt like swallowing fire.
“i can’t believe i followed your stupid idea of getting in the car,” you muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead. “it’s literally hotter here than inside the mall.”
“it wasn’t an idea,” steve shot back, wiping his own sweaty palms on his jeans. “it was a suggestion.” his blue t-shirt was turning darker in patches, sticking to his chest. “and i said: maybe the car is colder because we parked it under a tree.”
“do you know what maybe means?” he added.
“yeah genius, but didn’t you think about something called sun that moves?” you replied.
“okay okay, eat your ice cream. i don’t want this baby getting sticky and covered with vanilla.” he gave up, knowing he’d never win an argument with you.
“it’s hot and we’re eating ice cream, steve. i can’t promise anything,” you shrugged.
his eyebrows stayed furrowed, eyes locked on every little movement you made. he thought you didn’t notice, but he was already clutching a wad of napkins, ready to wipe away any drip before it could touch the leather.
you loved pissing him off. two years of friendship and you still never got tired of it. he was funnier when he got grumpy, and he was used to it. he’d act annoyed for a minute, then be laughing at your dumb jokes three minutes later.
this summer you’d both decided to find jobs. you and robin teased him endlessly about not needing the money, but he insisted. he wanted to prove he could do it without leaning on his parents. robin had already landed something at the supermarket but steve hated the uniform and the pay, so the two of you kept applying to new places every monday like clockwork.
somehow you’d ended up at the ice cream shop, and now you had to deal with steve’s neat-freak ass and his obsession with keeping his car extremely clean.
“relax your annoying ass. it’s not my fault your big mouth devoured your cone a second after we got out of the mall.”
“i’m not gonna say anything else, but i swear if you mess it up, you’re cleaning it,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair. wet brown strands clung to his forehead.
“i’m not cleaning anything. especially not so you can keep showing off to your failed dates. it gives me secondhand embarrassment,” you laughed.
“one: those are not failed dates. and two, you only say that because you’re clearly jealous.”
“oh my god, you definitely have heatstroke. you’re literally talking nonsense now,” you said, bursting into laughter.
“i’m not making anything up. you only say that when you don’t have an argument against me and i’m just noticing a pattern.”
your smile faded a little. he had never gone there before, even when you teased him constantly. the words made your stomach flip with a nervousness you didn’t want to name.
of course he was your friend. that was the title you gave everyone else. but you spent every day together, crashed at each other’s houses, shared everything. nothing suspicious.
still, when he said it, your brain short-circuited. the silence that followed stretched on for a bit too long.
you cleared your throat and changed the subject, desperate to save your own sanity. you didn’t notice the way he was staring at you the whole time, waiting for a real answer.
“stop talking and listen,” you said after an awkward pause. “we have to check this new shop near the park. molly just told me they’re hiring. i don’t know what for but—” you kept talking, dragging the little plastic spoon through the softening ice cream and licking it slowly.
steve wasn’t listening anymore.
his mouth was still slightly open, shiny and pink from the flavor he’d finished earlier. you felt a cool shiver run down your spine despite the suffocating heat. you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away before your thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. he was staring straight at your lips.
you kept avoiding his eyes, trying to focus on talking, until the melted cream started running down your arm. “oh fuck,” drops of vanilla slid onto your thighs. you reacted fast, licking every streak from your skin, then opening your mouth to catch the falling scoop.
your tongue passed over your sticky fingers, cleaning them, before finally circling your cold, sweet lips.
when you glanced up, steve wasn’t complaining about the mess. his eyes were fixed on you.
he turned his head sharply, tapping the steering wheel, then shifted awkwardly and looked out the window.
the silence stretched too long, again.
“what are you getting weird for?” you asked, finishing the last bite of the cone.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“you know what i mean. why are you suddenly quiet and not yelling at me for almost ruining your car?”
“it doesn’t matter. can we go?” he reached for the keys, but you stopped him. your hand, still a little sticky, wrapped softly around his wrist. “why won’t you even look at me idiot? i’m serious.”
he wiped his hands, and your eyes followed unconsciously.
that’s when you saw it.
the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. heat flooded your cheeks, hotter than the sun outside. sweat slid down between your breasts, but this time it had nothing to do with the weather.
you gulped and looked at him. his t-shirt clung to every line of his chest like a second skin. the few inches between you suddenly felt impossibly small.
when he finally met your eyes, his pupils were blown wide.
people would call you a liar if you said you’d never noticed how attractive steve was. how broad his back looked when he stretched, how his biceps strained against those tight shirts. knowing you’d caused this reaction in him made your head spin.
“steve…” you breathed. you quickly glanced outside. the street was empty; it was the worst hour of a summer afternoon. no one was stupid enough to be out.
“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know why—” he started, hands moving nervously, but you weren’t listening anymore.
you bit your lip, then moved without thinking. you straddled him, settling on his lap. the sound that left steve’s mouth sent shivers through you. his body burned under yours, skin slick with sweat.
you slid your hands down his damp chest. he tensed, hips lifting instinctively to meet you.
“shit,” he moaned softly. his hands settled firm and sure on your lower back, holding you close like he’d been waiting years for permission.
“what are we doing?” he asked, eyes dropping to your lips before finding yours again. “i don’t know—” you struggled, because he kept moving, pressing his hard cock right against your core. “you’re the one who had a little problem down there,” you teased breathlessly. he smirked, and you laughed, the sound shaky with want. “says the one on top of me right now.” his hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter.
you couldn’t wait any longer, so you kissed him, one hand cupping the back of his neck while the other slipped into his hair. when he pulled back for air, looking around nervously, you rolled your hips slow and deliberate. “someone could walk by and se—fuck.”
“we’re the only idiots trying to get heatstroke in the middle of the street, steve.” you kissed him again, deeper. that was all it took. he opened his mouth, tongue sliding against yours, turning the kiss messy and desperate. the salt on his lips mixed with the lingering sweetness of ice cream. your hips ground together, pulling soft, needy sounds from both of you.
“god, you feel so fucking good.” he murmured against your mouth. one hand stayed on your hip guiding you, while the other cupped the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together.
his other hand tugged at your soaked tank top; you helped him pull it off and did the same with his shirt. your palms slid over his bare biceps, squeezing the firm muscles as you moved faster.
your lips brushed with every shared breath, every gasp. you clenched around the hard press of him, desperate for more. he thrust up harder, chasing friction. the heat started pooling low in your belly, almost burning.
steve set a rhythm, steady and deep, like he never wanted it to end.
“i’m close,” he whispered into your mouth.
“me too,” you breathed, blood buzzing under your skin.
he gripped your ass again, helping you move exactly how you both needed. “just like that… oh god.” his head fell back against the seat, neck exposed and shining with sweat. you kissed along his throat until the pleasure crashed over you. “fuck,” you moaned, hips stuttering as waves rolled through you. steve kept going, chasing his own release until his body tensed and trembled beneath you, a soft whine pressed into your ear.
you stayed like that, foreheads together, breathing each other in while the car windows fogged from the heat of your bodies. the tension melted away, and suddenly you both burst into laughter, giddy and a little dazed.
you left a small, sweet peck on his lips.
he kissed you again, slower this time, cupping your jaw gently while his other hand rubbed soothing circles on your sticky back.
outside, the sun kept beating down, but for once the heat felt perfect.
I should be doing more to appreciate the lack of marvel movies in today's popular culture. I once yearned for marvel movies to have this level of irrelevance. They used to feel almost ozymandian, like an empire that had no beginning and no end. and now tony stark iron man is naught but two vast and trunkless legs of stone.
In case anyone hasn't heard, the cyclospora outbreak affecting tons of people in the US right now is coming from Taylor Farms produce. Best to stay away from bagged lettuce and prepared salads completely right now, but especially the ones mentioned in the screenshot:
Taylor Farms
Earthbound Farms
Little Salad Bar (Aldi)
Marketside (Walmart)
Kroger House Brand
Target private label greens
Costco salads and greens etc
Trader Joe's chopped salad kits and fresh produce
Fast food: McDonalds, Taco Bell, (Yum! Brands), Chipotle, Subway, Pizza Hut, KFC, Olive Garden, Top Golf, Red Lobster, Burger King, etc.
This is not the first time I've heard about a Taylor Farms foodborne illness outbreak. I stopped eating their salads after reading a description of the conditions in their facilities. Doesn't sound like they've improved anything.
We need a fully funded and staffed FDA, and regulations with teeth - and that's exactly what we don't have under Trump. To make things worse, the CDC is no longer tracking these outbreaks. We're on our own.
Random thoughts. idk i'm bored. the ending might be cringeeeee. someone send me asks my inbox is so quiet...jk there's loads of requests...but still...?
Mentions of smut, mdni! <33
Clark Kent who was a stuttering mess trying to ask you out, too oblivious to see your heart eyes around him.
Clark Kent who took you on four dates before kissing you, and another three before asking to be your boyfriend. He later admits he’s wanted to kiss you since the day you dropped all your paperwork in front of him, your first day, 16 months ago.
Clark Kent who sleeps with you on the night of your two month anniversary. He wanted it to be romantic, and he wanted it to be fully your idea, no pressure!
Clark Kent who is soo vocal in bed. You feel so so so good and he’s been waiting so long he just has to tell you how good he feels.
Clark Kent who wholeheartedly believes in aftercare, which honestly lasts longer than the sex. He runs baths, gets you a drink, a snack, changes the sheets, gets you some comfy pjs (his boxers and an old college shirt)
Clark Kent who starts getting very bold once you have sex, because once you’ve started, he can’t get enough.
Clark Kent who loves pinching your ass as you walk by, only to look completely innocent when you whip your head towards him.
Clark Kent who gets you flowers every Sunday without fail.
Clark Kent who loves picking you up whenever he can, over the shoulder, up against his chest, in his arms, he just loves holding you!
Clark Kent who never lets you plan a single date, ever! It’s either dinner at the restaurant you like, the museum, the movie theatre, a picnic, dinner at his place, a weekend away.
Clark Kent who tells you he’s Superman almost immediately because he can’t keep a secret from you. He’s riddled with guilt and loves you too much to lie to you.
Loves you?…Wait what!?
Oh yeah!
Clark Kent who tells you he loves you two nights after becoming your boyfriend. He just can’t keep it in! And bonus, he’s lucky you love him too.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend throws himself off a 200-foot tower to save you. and you've finally had enough.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship, heavy angst, character analysis, switch!steve, hurt/comfort, pain kink, breeding kink, minor blood kink, choking (m!receiving), bondage (?), hate-sex adjacent, sex as coping, descriptions of blood/injury, fantasies about marriage/children, scars, ptsd, aftercare, fluff, bathing together, palm reading, happy ending
𝐚/𝐧: out of everything I love about steve harrington, this is the thing that breaks my heart the most.
✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦
“You’re such a fucking—idiot—asshole—”
How do you love a man who would die for you, but won’t live for you?
“—selfish dick!”
You slam back into him before the sentence can finish breathing. Words shredded by teeth and tongue, by kisses hard enough to bruise. Bite hard enough, and maybe you can tear the martyrdom out from under his skin. Rip the halo off and snap it between your teeth.
You sink your cuspids into his bottom lip, right over a split that had barely scabbed over on the drive home.
You feel it tear back open. Feel the plush give of it, the hot burst of copper that blooms across your tongue. Metallic and thick, his life slides down your chin in a slow ribbon of red. It smears between your mouths when you grind closer, staining your skin, marking you both.
He makes a sound.
And it’s not anything born out of pain—you’d know.
Deep and guttural, dragged up from somewhere starved. His hands clamp around your waist, fingers digging into your ass as he hauls you flush against him. Denim rasps against the inside of your thighs when he rolls his hips up, grinding into you.
That thick, heavy bulge makes itself known, humiliatingly honest.
Blood in his mouth. Dirt under his nails and the sour, rotten tang of that other place still caked in his hair.
And he’s hard.
Something in him is broken that way.
Years of surviving by the skin of his teeth—beaten and concussed and tortured and choked and drowned and devoured—it’s fucked up the wiring in Steve Harrington’s brain.
Pain tolerance shot to hell. Fear braided with dopamine until his nervous system can’t tell the difference anymore.
Getting hurt no longer scares him.
Now, agony comes hardwired with clarity. That split second before impact, when adrenaline screams through his veins and he’s teetering on that razor-sharp edge of death, that’s when he feels most alive.
Your thumb presses into the fresh cut on his lip, smearing his blood back into it. His lashes flutter. His hips jerk up, rutting against you like you’re fucking him.
You grab his jaw, fingers digging into the sharp hinge to force his gaze down to yours. His pupils are blown impossibly wide; barely any color left, drowned beneath an endless wash of black.
“Yeah?” you whisper, venom-sweet. You drag your thumb down his throat, feel the jut of his Adam’s apple jump under your touch. “Does that feel good?”
He nods.
Doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Whatever scrap of self-preservation he’d once possessed hollowed out by hunger—by that sick, reckless void inside him that only ever seems to ignite after he’s survived something that should have killed him.
A cruel cosmic coin toss that keeps landing in his favor—and instead of gratitude, it leaves him burning for more.
You lift your knee and press your thigh into the seam of his pants. He sucks in a sharp breath through blood-slick lips, head tipping back, throat bared.
You despise it.
You despise that this is the language his body understands. That he can shove you out of the way without a second thought—dangle over two hundred feet of empty air because he decided your life was worth more than his—and still get hard when you hurt him for it.
You drag your bloody thumb to your mouth and suck it clean, eyes never leaving his.
He watches you do it, watches your lips wrap around the pad of your finger to taste, to swallow—swallow his blood like it’s yours, like he’s yours, like the world could never take him from you.
Like he hasn’t already tried to give himself away.
Only this time... it was for you, wasn’t it?
Hurled himself into the abyss without hesitation, fingers scraping at metal while the yawning darkness waited below.
One second slower. One fraction of a heartbeat, and—
Your palms slam into his shoulders.
Just like his had slammed into yours.
Bile surges up your throat as you claw at muscle and bone, shoving and shoving until his balance falters.
He stumbles back, heel catching on the edge of the bed. Momentum betrays him for a second time and he falls back onto the mattress with a startled grunt.
Your stomach falls with him. Phantom vertigo clawing up your spine, even now.
And the moment you close your eyes—
You’re standing on top of that tower.
You remember the look on his face.
That awful, quiet resolve of someone who had already made peace with his fate.
You remember his hands on your shoulders. The firm press of his fingers, the way he held on just long enough to make sure you were steady, to make sure you were far enough away.
Far enough that you couldn’t reach him.
Far enough that you would live.
And then he let go.
You remember the force of it careening you backward, your boots scraping against the metal platform as you fought for balance. You remember the cold bite of the railing against your back. You remember watching him move in the opposite direction, his own momentum carrying him toward the open edge.
You remember his hand shooting out on instinct, searching for anything that would keep him there. His palm scraping against rusted steel, leaving streaks of red behind as his fingers curled desperately around the railing.
The same hands that had pushed you away.
The same hands that had held yours on the way up, guiding you over every rung of that ladder when the height made your stomach twist.
You remember his mouth opening like he might say something—your name, maybe—a goodbye, something he needed you to know—but all that came out was a broken, ragged breath.
You remember the color draining from his face as he looked down, the terrible understanding settling in his eyes.
You remember lunging for him without thought.
You remember Robin’s arms locking around your waist, holding you back so tightly it bruised, her grip the only thing keeping you from following him over the edge.
And then his fingers slipped.
You stalk toward him now, trying to outrun the memory, fists clenched so tight your nails carve crescents into your palms.
He’s sprawled across the sheets, chest heaving, arms flung wide in surrender.
“Why?” you demand, climbing over him, straddling him with an anger so raw it shakes your whole body. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
He lets out a quick breath through his nose, incredulous. Raises his brows like you’re the insane one.
“Seriously? You’re seriously asking me that.”
He’s smiling.
A crooked, boyish thing, manic brightness behind the eyes, adrenaline still lighting him up from the inside out.
It detonates something in you.
You slam your weight down on him, knees digging hard into his sides. The mattress groans, the air punching out of his lungs in a sharp grunt.
You fist the hem of his shirt and yank it up.
The sight underneath steals your air right back.
It never gets easier to see.
Bruises bloom fresh and vicious across his ribs, inky purples bleeding into sick reds. New hurt swallowed by old hurt, skin that never gets the chance to heal clean before something tears it open again.
Jagged crescents from teeth, ropes of pale, warped ridges that split the tan of his skin like fault lines, ready to crack him open. That chunk of puckered flesh on his right side that never healed right—and it never will.
Your fingers drag down the center of his chest, shaking.
“What was the plan this time, hm?” you spit, nails scraping over the soft plane of his stomach, catching on one of the scars. “What was the fucking plan, Steve?”
You hook your fingers into his belt buckle and rip it loose, hard enough that the metal clangs against itself.
“Answer me. What would you have done if—if Jonathan didn’t catch you? If you slipped?”
His head falls back, exposing the flushed column of his throat, pulse hammering wild and alive under skin you’ve kissed a hundred times.
“What the hell was I supposed to do?” he pants. “Let you fall?”
“You didn’t know I was gonna fall!”
“Well I wasn’t gonna fucking wait to find out, alright?”
The mattress groans when he pushes himself upright too fast, pain flashing across his face before he buries it immediately, one hand flying to his ribs on instinct.
“I can’t... I’m not gonna just stand there and wait for something to happen to you.”
Your body goes still.
The bright sting behind your eyes arrives right on cue, the fury choking off in your throat until all that’s left is grief.
“You know,” you whisper, quieter now. “You know I’m not just talking about the tower.”
There’s a moment of recognition in his eyes as the words sink in, a flash of something that might be guilt if he ever let it sit long enough.
He knows exactly what you mean.
Then, just as fast, he shutters himself. Lets the feeling die before it can root.
His gaze slides away toward the ceiling.
“No, don’t... don’t do that,” he mutters. “Don’t make this into some... suicidal thing. It wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“You could’ve died tonight.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the fucking point!”
“Well what do you want me to say?” he fires back suddenly, frustration cracking his voice. “That I’m sorry I stopped you from falling?”
“I want you to stop acting like your life means less than mine!”
He clamps his mouth shut, an audible click of his molars as he frowns, incredulity settling behind his wide eyes. His brows pulling together as he stares at you like he can’t understand why you could possibly be saying this.
Steve doesn’t consciously believe his life matters less.
He would never say that.
But somewhere deep down—in the ugly marrow of him, in the abandoned, lonely places built inside him when he was a kid—he believes it instinctively.
You’ve known that for a long time now.
Steve grew up starving.
Not for food.
For affection.
A reason to believe he mattered even when there was nothing he could offer except himself.
Love, in the Harrington house, was conditional.
And at Hawkins High, he traded one kind of emptiness for another.
Built himself a throne out of borrowed attention and hollow praise.
Then the world ended, and suddenly everybody needed him.
Needed his fists, his strength. Needed the frightening way he could take hit after hit after hit and still stand back up bleeding.
Steve latched onto that feeling with both hands.
And his body became a type of offering.
A thing to spend.
You’ve lost count of how many nights ended exactly like this.
Both of you stumbling back home, adrenaline clawing through your veins, slick with sweat and blood—yours or his, it doesn’t matter anymore. Shaking so hard your teeth chatter while you scream at him, fists slamming into his chest.
Screaming and shoving and crying and kissing and begging—begging him to please, please stop being so fucking careless with your life. What’s the point of any of this shit if you’re dead, Steve?
It always ends the same way. Your anger dissolving into something wetter as Steve reaches for your waist with bruised hands, dragging you against him, mouthing apologies into your throat he’ll never say aloud. Fucking you on top of bloodstained sheets while the smell of iron hangs thick in the room, face buried in your neck, every thrust a word he won't say.
Sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
You stare at him now, chest heaving, lungs scraping for air that won’t come.
Then you reach down and pull his wrists together.
The leather creaks when you thread his belt around them.
Loop, thread, pull, cinch.
Survival knots perfected in the dead of night, in basements and back rooms, hands slick with sweat while you practiced until it stuck. So when the time came, you could hold down something thrashing and dangerous.
Because hesitation is what gets people killed.
It makes sickness crawl up your throat, how naturally your body remembers.
How this world has taught you to restrain someone you love—and taught you well.
You yank his arms above his head, the strap biting into his skin, pulling tight until the leather creaks and his skin pales underneath.
Steve doesn’t fight it, doesn’t even try. Just lets his head fall back against the pillows, wrists falling limp over dark linens.
Has the fucking audacity to smile.
“What,” he breathes, wrecked in an entirely different way now. “You gonna punish me?”
You yank the belt tighter.
He hisses softly through his teeth, brows creasing in a fake show of pain, hips stirring in anticipation.
“Okay, easy, easy,” he mutters breathlessly, grin crooked. “Jesus—easy, honey.”
“Oh, so now I’m honey?”
You shove his wrists harder into the pillow, then drop your hands to his pants, fingers rough and impatient. The button fights you before snapping loose, his zipper dragged down with a harsh metallic rasp. He sucks in a breath, back arching as the pressure eases off his swollen cock.
“Baby...” he tries, a soft laugh in his voice. “C’mon, you don’t have to, just—”
“Shut up.”
You shove him back into the mattress, gaze burning furiously through him.
He just stares back, that reckless, adrenaline-drunk smile still clinging to him like he hasn’t learned a single fucking thing.
So you wrap your hand around his throat.
Four fingers digging into warm, sweat-slick skin. Your thumb presses into the hollow beside his windpipe until you can feel it.
The frantic thump-thump-thump of life.
Life he throws around like loose change.
“S-shit, babe...” he chokes softly, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back, the fucked-up wires in his brain firing off all at once. He uses what little leverage he has to lift his hips, grinding against your ass until you tighten your grip, a crease of real strain forming between his brows as his breath snags under your palm.
But even then, he doesn’t push you away. His bound hands strain downward, fingers grasping uselessly at your wrist, tugging you forward so he can get you closer, grind up harder.
You hate him.
You love him so much it makes you violent.
And he’s still fucking bleeding.
Face covered all over in fresh cuts and bruises, illuminated by the soft blue glow of the dinosaur nightlight in the corner—same one he’s had since he was five.
This bed once held your first kiss.
Your first time.
Steve laughing breathlessly into your mouth at sixteen years old because he kept fumbling the condom wrapper with nervous hands.
Whispered promises under blankets about senior year and college.
A hundred different somedays and maybes.
About a future that didn’t look like this—didn’t include gates or monsters or watching the boy you love come within inches of disappearing, over and over again.
Now you’re choking him in it.
Straddling him with your hand around his throat because you don’t know how else to make him understand that you cannot survive loving somebody who keeps choosing death.
It won’t leave you alone, the image of his face on top of that tower.
Not an inch of hesitation.
Like it wouldn’t have mattered, either way.
Your other hand comes up, circling his throat fully now, pressing in.
Your eyes sting as you narrow them, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.
Barely a whisper, the words cut you on their way out.
“Fuck you.”
Some days you think about killing him yourself.
Ending it before the world gets to.
Precipitate the inevitable doom that is loving a man who would bleed for you, break for you, die for you—
But won’t live for you.
At least it would be quick, then.
At least you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life waiting for the inevitable moment where his luck finally runs out.
It’s unbearable.
Loving someone who would move mountains to keep you alive, but cannot understand why you’d want the same for him.
Calm in the face of oblivion, martyrdom fits him like a second skin.
That’s what terrifies you most.
Because somewhere deep down, you know he doesn’t fear death the way he should. The way a normal person would.
Sometimes, you think a part of him finds peace in the idea of going out useful.
And it’s all so completely, irreparably fucked, because you don’t love him despite it.
You love him because of it.
Loving Steve Harrington feels like standing on a fault line, waiting for the ground to split wide and swallow you whole.
It’s a special, exquisite kind of torture, to be so in love with a man who throws himself at death like it’s a dare.
And it is love, undeniably and irrevocably so.
You love him.
By god, you love him.
Because his martyr complex is just a twisted language for devotion. When he throws himself into danger, you know it isn’t bravado—it’s instinct. A reflex burned into his bones, older than logic, older than fear.
Love is the only language Steve Harrington has ever been fluent in, and he speaks it with his whole body.
It turns his skin into armor, his heart into a blade. Sharp enough to carve permanent lines inside you—wounds that might close, someday, but never fade.
And he really does believe it.
That this is what it looks like, loving somebody.
But what good is devotion if it buries you?
What good is love from someone six feet under?
Your hand loosens around his throat, just enough for him to drag in a ragged breath. His chest heaves under you, pulse still racing against your palm.
His Adam’s apple bobs, sending ripples of light over the pale rings circling his neck, thin and white against his flushed skin. Scars that still have him jerking awake some nights, clawing at his own throat, gasping like he’s still back there.
Nightmares that leave him staring at the ceiling until four in the morning because every time he closes his eyes, he sees vines threading around broken bodies. Migraines that get so bad after trips to the Upside Down he has to sit alone in dark bathrooms, forehead pressed against cool tile, breathing through the nausea until the room stops tilting.
His hands still reach for a nail bat when the house creaks at night, before he's even fully awake.
Fear has never made him run. It only ever taught him to step forward.
And the tear you've been holding back all night finally slips free, landing on his bare stomach with a soft, awful plop.
Steve flinches like it’s acid, muscles clenching underneath you.
“Baby...”
You let go of his neck fully as you sink back onto his thighs, fingers gone numb, teeth digging into your lip until copper floods your mouth.
“You didn’t even hesitate.”
You watch as his expression immediately sobers, brows drawing together, eyes flicking between yours.
“Y-you never do. You never fucking hesitate,” your breath starts coming in tight hitches, catching in your chest. “And it’s like—it’s like—”
The rest of the words slip free, torn loose now that everything’s exposed, out there in the open, your handprint around his throat and his wrists bound in leather.
“...It’s like you don’t even care if you leave me here.”
Steve goes silent for a moment, shoulders slumping with a quiet breath.
You watch—eyes burning, body trembling—as he slowly reaches for you. The leather belt creaks as his wrists slide down until his fingers brush yours.
You feel the metal burns on his palms against the back of your hand—his skin split from gripping the railing so hard he tore himself open just to keep from falling.
He whispers your name on a soft breath.
“Baby, if I ever lost you?” He shakes his head faintly. “That’d be it for me.”
You sniff hard, refusing to blink.
“I mean it.” Light pools in his eyes, trembling along the lower lashes until they glimmer like wet glass. “I’d never… I’d never leave you behind. How could I?”
He closes his fingers gently around your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse.
“I love you. More than... more than anything. You know that.”
You lift your gaze slowly to meet his.
“Do I?”
Two words, but it’s the ugliest thing you’ve said all night.
It's suffocating, the silence that follows.
“Do you ever think about us? About me?”
Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?
For all the names you’ve thrown at him in your worst moments—reckless, stubborn, idiot, a selfish asshole with a death wish—
It’s you who feel selfish.
For wanting him to stay.
For wanting to keep him in a world that seems determined to take him first.
For wanting him to choose you over the next disaster that crawls out of the dark.
Because you’re terrified that when the moment comes, when it’s you or the world, he won’t have to think about it. That the world will always reach for him first—and that one day, it’ll win.
Or worse, that he’ll choose you instead.
That he’ll stop running toward danger because of you. That loving you will make him hesitate.
And you’ll be the reason he changes.
The reason the world breaks.
Steve’s expression changes in a flash.
The belt creaks as he tries to sit up, a real wince cutting across his brow when his bruised ribs take the pressure. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, dragging himself upright.
“Look at me.”
You turn your head instinctively, but he follows.
“Hey. C’mon. Look at me.”
Hazel burns molten in the dim light, the shine in them trembling.
“Of course I think about you,” he whispers, breathless. “You don’t think I think about you? Hey, hey, look at me—you’re all I think about. You’re in my head, all the time. Every fucking second.”
Your tears spill harder, falling freely now, dripping from your chin onto the dark brown fabric of his cargo pants, leaving small damp spots that bloom between you.
“Every time something goes wrong, or—or I’m thinking about doing something stupid, you’re there. First thing. Your face, your voice. Telling me to stop being an idiot, telling me to think—"
You shake your head, a broken sound catching in your throat.
“And if I just stood there tonight,” he presses on, eyes locked on yours, brimming with tears but never flinching, “If there was even a chance you could fall, and I didn’t do anything?”
He swallows.
“I couldn’t live with that. I mean it, honey. I couldn’t.”
A tear slips loose and slides down his own cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.
“Baby, I... I wasn’t trying to die. I was trying to end this. All of it. So we don’t have to keep doing this forever.”
His mouth twitches faintly.
“You remember what we talked about? About college? That stupid road trip idea I had with the camper van?” He shakes his head, letting out a quiet laugh. “Six kids, right? Or... whatever insane number I said.”
His hands come up as much as the belt allows, clumsy from the strain in his shoulders, and cradle your face. His thumbs drag across the wet heat beneath your eyes, catching tears as fast as they fall, rubbing salt into flushed skin.
“That’s the goal. That’s always been the goal.”
He leans forward until his forehead presses against yours.
For a long moment, he says nothing. His hands stay on your face, thumbs brushing softly over your skin, his breathing uneven in the small space between you.
Then, almost too quietly to hear:
“I would’ve jumped with you.”
You recoil immediately, shaking your head hard, eyes squeezing shut.
“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that.”
Steve pushes on, voice low and terrifyingly calm.
“If you’d fallen off that tower tonight, I would’ve followed you.”
His thumb brushes under your eye again, catching another tear before it reaches your jaw.
“Wouldn’t even think about it. I’d just go.”
“Steve—”
“I’d go.”
Your eyes snap open.
Those big, stupid hazel eyes bore into yours.
That stupid nose. Those stupid thick lashes and those stupid moles and those stupid lips.
And underneath all of it, that huge, catastrophic, stupid heart crammed inside a body that keeps throwing itself into danger like it doesn’t belong to him.
Your chest aches just looking at him.
You’ve spent countless nights staring at Steve Harrington while he slept beside you, wondering if loving him would always feel like standing barefoot on train tracks.
Waiting.
Feeling the vibrations underneath your feet before the impact ever comes. Knowing that something massive and merciless will come racing toward you and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop it.
Sometimes you’d trace the slope of his nose with the back of your finger. Follow the shape of his eyebrows. The tiny scar under his chin from a T-ball game when he was six.
You’d study the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft curve of his lips as he breathed into his pillow, completely unaware of how thoroughly he’d ruined your life for anyone else.
And you’d torture yourself with the same impossible question.
If someone had stopped you before all of this, taken your face in both hands and said:
Here, this boy is going to become the center of your entire world.
He's going to make you laugh so hard your ribs hurt.
He’s going to kiss you like you’re the last person on earth, and he's going to love you so completely you'll forget there was ever a version of yourself that existed before him.
He's going to look at you like you're the only thing worth finding at the end of the world.
Then one day, he’ll start throwing himself in front of monsters and nightmares beyond comprehension.
He's going to throw himself off a tower without hesitating if it means you get to live.
Would you still choose him?
Would you still let him in, knowing one day he might not make it back?
Would you willingly hand your heart to someone who would protect it with his life—
But never his own?
And even in the quiet space of that hypothetical, the answer had never changed.
You would.
Every fucking time.
“I love you,” the boy in front of you whispers.
The words slice straight through you, scraping against everything frayed raw inside your chest.
“Shut up,” you breathe, eyes squeezing shut.
Because if he loved you, wouldn’t he try?
Wouldn’t he try?
“I love you.”
“Steve, s-stop.”
“I love you. There’s nothing—nothing—that matters to me more than you.”
“Steve, I swear to god—”
“You’re it for me. And if it came down to it again—”
“Please, stop—”
“—I’d choose to jump. Every time.”
It feels like a seam is splitting inside your chest.
Your breath caves first—a sharp, stuttering inhale that catches in your lungs hard enough to hurt—before your body moves on instinct.
You surge forward, the mattress groaning beneath the force of it as you crash into him, fists tangling in the front of his shirt.
“Fuck you,” you sob.
Steve sucks in a breath as you pound weakly at his chest, his restrained hands jerking uselessly between your bodies.
He can’t hold you properly. Can’t wrap his arms around you the way he wants to.
Still, he tries.
He shifts forward on the mattress, pulling you between his thighs. The leather around his wrists creaks when he strains to hook his arms around your waist.
You bury your face against his neck.
His entire body folds around yours, chest pressed flush against you so tightly you can feel the frantic hammer of his heartbeat through his sternum, the uneven rise and fall of his lungs where your bodies are crushed together. He presses his cheek against your temple, breathing hard through his nose.
“I know,” he murmurs hoarsely into your hair. “I know, baby. I know.”
“N-no, y-you don’t,” you choke out.
Your hands claw at his shoulders hard enough to bunch the fabric beneath your fists. You need him closer. Closer than skin, closer than bone. If you could unzip his ribs and crawl inside his chest just to keep his heart beating yourself, you would.
“You don’t know,” you sob against his throat. “You d-don’t know what it f-feels like—”
“Hey,” Steve whispers shakily. “Hey, c’mon. Breathe for me, baby. Please.”
You curl tighter against him, fists twisting in the soft cotton of his shirt until your knuckles throb from the effort. The tears don't stop. They soak into the warm skin at the base of his neck, your breath catching against him in broken, uneven pulls until your throat burns and your ribs ache with every desperate inhale.
Steve gathers you as close as his battered body will allow. Every so often, he presses another lingering kiss into your hairline, your temple, the crown of your head, each one quiet enough to say what words can't.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “M'right here, I got you. Not going anywhere.”
You let his words settle over you, one shaky breath at a time. The sobs begin to lose their violence, splintering into uneven hiccups that leave your chest sore and hollow.
When you finally pull back, it's only far enough to see him.
Your hand trembles when you lift it to his face.
Steve goes still as your fingertips ghost over the scrape on his cheek, tracing down the line of his jaw. He doesn’t so much as flinch when your thumb brushes over the split in his lip, featherlight over the broken skin there.
The first kiss is soft.
Nothing like the frantic, bruising collision from earlier.
But it’s worse like this, somehow.
Wet with tears, with blood, salt and iron passed between soft, shaking kisses. Steve sighs into it, a trembling sound that vibrates against your lips as he tilts his head and follows you deeper. His nose nudges against your cheek, his kisses careful, almost hesitant in how tender he’s being with you.
And it’s funny, really.
How grief can change shape in the span of a heartbeat.
One moment it's lodged beneath your ribs like broken glass, your body still trapped on that radio tower, watching Steve disappear over the edge.
The next, it's here.
In the careful way he kisses you, the warmth of his breath against your mouth.
In the slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours, your fingers hooking into the open button of his pants. The zipper presses cold against the side of your hand before you push deeper, slipping beneath the elastic of his briefs.
He’s already half-hard. Heavy and thick and burning hot against your palm, velvety-soft skin twitching when you wrap your fingers around him. The soft curl of hair at his base brushes against your knuckles when you adjust your grip.
He pants openly into your mouth as you slide your other hand into his hair, gripping tight, yanking his head back at the angle you want it.
Nose to nose, lips brushing even as you’re not kissing—only sharing air and spit, slick between swollen mouths.
And your eyes stay open, watching him.
Darkened hazels and helplessly fluttering lashes, his is a face that will haunt every version of your future. The one you almost lost, the one you’re still begging the universe to let you keep.
“Show me.”
He blinks at your words, lips parted in soft pants.
“Show me how much you love me.”
He swears under his breath, eyes clenching shut.
“Fuck…” he groans, shaking his head slowly, side to side, grunting when you drag your thumb across the sensitive tip. “Baby, please... just untie me,” he pleads, straining against his binds again. “Please—fuck—let me touch you—”
“No.”
“Please, baby—”
“No,” you repeat, wrist rolling as you start to stroke him harder, feeling him swell fully in your grip.
He grunts, brows creased in pleasure as you continue to squeeze and glide your palm up and down his length, lips parted to keep kissing you in this obscene way, tongues sliding together in slow, wet strokes.
“God, you’re so... so pretty when you’re mad, you know that?” He huffs against your mouth, almost a laugh, throat gone hoarse and dry from how hard he’s been panting.
“You get this look like you’re—ah, fuck—like you might actually kill me.”
You squeeze your grip around his cock, dangerously tight.
“Maybe I should.”
Something catches in those soft hazel eyes, then.
Pinning you in place with nothing but their unblinking stare, almost unnervingly steady.
You watch, helpless, as he lifts his own hands up toward his mouth. He spits lewdly into the hollow of his right palm, shoving his waistband down just enough to free his cock, replacing your hand with his own.
Wrists still bound, he slicks himself in slow, wet strokes, eyes never leaving yours.
"Yeah?" he asks quietly. "You gonna punish me?"
He tips his chin up toward you, lashes nearly brushing your skin when he blinks.
“You gonna use this cock, baby? Take it out on me?”
He uses what little range of motion he has to rub his tip up and down your glistening slit, obscene schlicks that fill the space between your breaths, spurred by the impatient grinds of your hips.
And the moment he pushes inside you, he breathes the words against your skin.
“I love you.”
His mouth swallowing your whimpers at the stretch of taking him this way—no prep, no lube, just spit—yours, his, it doesn’t matter anymore.
“I love you. I love you. We’re... we’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise. We’re gonna be okay.”
Your hands shake as you reach for the belt around his wrists, the buckle catching under your fingertips before releasing with a muted clink. He cups your cheeks as soon as it does, cradling your face, pressing his lips against yours.
“I love you,” he repeats against your mouth, over and over. “I love you. I love you.”
Grief really is a funny thing.
It burns until there's nothing left to consume
And the anger that had kept you upright for hours—the frantic, desperate need to make him understand how terrified you'd been—begins to crumble beneath the weight of what you almost lost.
Your strength gives out in increments. Your fingers slowly uncurl from his biceps, the crescents your nails pressed into his skin easing away. Your forehead finds the warm slope of his shoulder instead, eyes slipping shut as the last of the fight drains from your body.
You sag forward, soft whimpers and low groans exchanged between your lips as you rock back and forth on his cock, letting it fill up the hollowed-out places inside you.
And when you get too tired to do even that—when your strength gives out, thighs trembling with the effort of lifting yourself up and sinking back down—he’s there to catch you.
One arm sliding securely around you as he eases you onto your back, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under your fingertips as you wind your arms around his neck. You cling to him as he kisses you hard and deep, exchanging punched-out breaths as he starts up his thrusts with newfound fervor.
"Gonna marry you," he pants suddenly, stealing what little breath you have left.
You gasp against his mouth, caught between a disbelieving laugh and another sob. “Steve—”
“I mean it,” he insists, hips snapping into the mattress, barely pulling out before burying himself back in. “I-I want all of it. That house with the... the porch. That trip we keep talking about, in the camper van, and—”
His face screws up and he has to stop moving for a second, drawing in a shuddering breath.
“I’m gonna marry you and—fuck—gonna give you a baby.”
You choke on the words, a helpless sound catching in your throat as you cling to him, bruisingly tight.
“Yeah?” He strokes your hair back, cupping the crown of your head with his palm. Smoothing the sweat-slick strands away from your face, thumb lingering at your temple as his eyes search yours. “You want me to give you a baby?”
You nod into him, unable to find the words.
“How many?”
His pace is unrelenting—thrusts hard enough that the bedframe is thudding repeatedly against the wall, hard enough that you know the wallpaper’s going to show it tomorrow.
“Tell me,” he grunts, voice rough with emotion, like he needs to hear you say it out loud. “How many?”
Sweat shining along his skin, hair a damp mess across his forehead, but he never once looks away.
“F-fuck, I don’t...” you break on another sob, eyes clenching shut. “Two. Maybe... maybe three.”
“Three,” he repeats to himself, and his hips snap a little sharper. “What about... what about four? Make it a—mm, fuck—make it an even number.”
And it’s hardly new—the kind of bullshit he spouts when you’re both this far gone, when adrenaline has burned through every last nerve and neither of you are thinking straight anymore. He’s always been prone to making wild promises in the heat of the moment—spinning out impossible futures and reckless dreams, building an entire lifetime in the space of a few breathless minutes—just to get you both off.
But tonight, they don’t feel like a fantasy at all.
“You’d look so... so fucking pretty,” he pants, voice breaking. “Pregnant with my kid. Jesus.”
“Mm, close...” you whisper weakly, face scrunched at the unbearably mounting pressure in your lower stomach.
“Yeah? You’re close? You gonna come for me?”
You nod, burying yourself closer, clinging to him harder. “T-tell me again.”
“Tell you what, baby?”
“That you... that you love me.”
“Fuck,” he groans, thrusts turning sloppy as he buries a loud groan against your lips. “I love you. Love you so fucking much. I don’t even know what I’d do without you. I—shit, a-are you coming? Oh, fuck, that’s—that’s it. That’s my girl.”
Your orgasm hits hard and blinding. A broken groan ripping out of you as you clamp your thighs around his waist, mewling into his skin. You blink your eyes open just in time to see his gaze fixed on you—expression reverent, chest heaving as he watches you shake underneath him.
And as you go to kiss him, feeling the labored grunts of his mounting pleasure against your lips, the weight of his breaths and the slick drag of his cock against your heat—
When you press your lips to his and whisper for him to come inside you, make me yours Steve, get me pregnant, keep me, love me, stay with me, stay, stay, please fucking stay—
When he presses inside all the way to the hilt and lets his own pleasure overtake him—
You finally whisper the words back.
Three syllables against the enormity of what lives inside your chest.
Three syllables trying to hold every sleepless night and every quiet morning, every time you pressed your lips to the places on his body that hurt and wished that love alone could take his pain away.
They cannot carry it all.
They never could.
But when he closes his eyes and tips his forehead to yours—his weight melting against you as he presses an exhausted, dazed smile against your lips—you realize maybe the words don’t have to hold it all.
Maybe he can feel the rest.
· · ·
The seal breaks with a sharp snap, the plastic ring splitting loose and skittering across the bathroom floor.
You turn the bottle over in your hand, staring at it for a moment.
It’s the good kind—the expensive kind stored in heavy glass, the label still clean. You haven’t touched it since the day Steve brought it home months ago, back when you could still ask for things like Epsom salt and a box of chocolates at the general store without anyone looking at you like you’d lost your mind.
He’d shown up at your door that afternoon grinning like an idiot, grocery store roses tucked under one arm and a paper bag in his other hand that clinked when he lifted it.
“Thought we deserved something nice,” he’d said, holding up the bag with that stupid, proud little grin. “We haven’t done a proper date night in a while, right?”
But you hadn't used the bottle then.
You'd saved it.
For a night that felt right.
For a night where you weren’t just surviving long enough to see morning.
Your hands shake a little as you tip the bottle now.
Pouring more than you should, watching the pale liquid ribbon into the rushing stream of water, swallowed by the force of it before slowly blooming back to the surface in soft, frothy bubbles.
The smell hits a second later. Sweet, heavy lavender that clings to the back of your throat, swirling with the clean heat of the water.
For a moment, you let yourself go back.
Back to the day Steve bought this because he wanted to take care of you. Because he wanted one normal night where you could both pretend the world hadn’t changed.
A night where the biggest problem was what movie to put on.
Then, the sink creaks behind you.
You turn immediately, heart jumping.
Steve’s reflection is blurred in the mirror—shoulders slumped, chin dipping toward his chest. He’s got one hand braced against the counter, knuckles pale from how tightly he’s holding on. The other fumbles with an orange pill bottle.
“You okay? You need help?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I got it.”
The words are automatic. Steve’s favorite answer to anything that worries you.
He tips a couple pills into his palm, fills the glass beside the sink, and swallows them down.
You watch his face tighten afterward, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for it to pass. His throat works hard, his whole body briefly tensing, muscles bracing against something that should have been painless.
You step closer, hands settling carefully on his arms as you turn him toward you.
He doesn’t argue when you crouch in front of him.
You start with his shoes.
Fingers working at the laces, easing them loose before pulling them off one at a time. They hit the tile with a quiet thud. His socks peel off next. Then his pants, the buttons still undone. His briefs.
He stays silent through all of it, one hand resting lightly on your shoulder.
It’s not much pressure, but you feel the way his weight leans into you, the slight sway when you shift back, like he’s having to constantly correct himself just to stay upright.
Helping him into the tub takes time. You stay close while he steps over the edge, one hand gripping your arm, the other braced against the wall.
Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself into the water.
The second it reaches his ribs, he hisses.
“Shit—”
His head falls back against the tile, eyes squeezing shut as a sharp breath slips between his teeth. His hand tightens reflexively around your wrist.
Foamy water laps against his chest, darkening the hair across his sternum, rising and falling with each careful breath.
“Too hot?” you ask quickly, already reaching for the faucet.
He cracks his eyes open, shaking his head.
“’S perfect.”
You keep watching him, searching his face for the slightest sign that he's only saying it to spare you.
Then, little by little, the strain begins to loosen its grip.
The hard line of his jaw softens first, his fingers easing around your wrist. His shoulders sink another inch beneath the warm water, the tension slowly melting out of them as the heat works its way into his muscles.
His next breath comes easier. Then another.
After a long moment, his eyes drift open again.
They're hazy with fatigue, heavy-lidded and unfocused, but they find you where you're perched beside the tub, knees tucked against your chest.
He squints, mouth twisting into a petulant frown.
“What?” he murmurs. “You’re not getting in?”
A smile tugs at your lips. “You want me to?”
He gives you a slow, incredulous look—the classic Steve Harrington stare.
“Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, like it’s obvious. “How else am I supposed to feel better?”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you stand.
Your hands aren’t as steady as you’d like; you notice it more now, with nothing else to focus on.
You pull your shirt over your head, and immediately hear the quiet shift of water beside you, a soft slosh.
By the time you glance up, he’s already looking at you.
Sitting a little straighter than he was a moment ago, chin lifted despite the exhaustion pulling at him. Steam curls between you, softening the edges of his face, but his eyes never leave yours. They follow every movement with boyish concentration, fixed on you in a way that’s not even pretending to be subtle.
You huff a quiet breath through your nose, fighting a smile as you tug the rest of your clothes off.
“Seriously?”
The corner of his mouth quirks, all innocence.
“What? Sue me.”
He shifts deeper into the tub, water rolling around him as he eases back, making room between his legs before patting the space in front of him.
You step in carefully, goosebumps prickling as the heat climbs slowly over your ankles, your calves, your thighs. The water embraces you inch by inch until you're lowering yourself fully beneath the surface, warmth wrapping around you like a heavy blanket scented with lavender.
The moment your back brushes his chest, his arms find you.
They slide around your waist with familiar certainty, one settling securely across your middle to draw you closer. Your hand rises on instinct, covering his forearm where it rests across your stomach. His skin is warm and damp beneath your fingertips, the fine hairs catching against your palm as your thumb strokes absent circles over his wrist.
His chin grazes your shoulder as he nestles closer, his next breath warming the side of your neck.
“This is nice,” he hums, body growing heavier where it rests against yours.
You let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
You let your weight settle back into him completely. He answers by tightening his arm around your waist, one hand gliding up to squeeze your side as he draws you a fraction closer.
You take the other one for you to keep.
Turning it over slowly, relearning it by touch. The familiar roughness of his skin, the broad span of his palm, completely swallowing yours whenever he laces your fingers together. Your thumb glides over the callus at the base of his index finger, the thickened patch of skin from years of gripping weapons he never should have had to hold.
You rub over it absentmindedly, once, twice, then again.
“How do you know?”
The words come so quietly you're not even sure you've said them aloud.
“Hm? Know what?”
“How do you know...” You swallow, unable to lift your eyes from where the water laps gently over your joined hands, pale violet opalescence that ripples around you both. “How do you know this is real?”
He goes still at that, the only sound between you the soft ripple of water and the rush of your own thoughts filling the space.
“We could still be down there,” you whisper, the words gathering speed the longer you speak.
“Maybe... maybe we never got out. Maybe Vecna just made us think we won by giving us...” You gesture around the room. “...this.”
The lavender.
The warm water.
Him.
“What if none of it's real? What if he just—what if he made us think we were safe because it'd hurt more when he took it away? I mean, how would we even know?”
Your chest feels tighter with every word.
“What if we're still—"
“Hey.”
Steve's voice is so soft that you almost miss it.
“Hey. Look at me.”
His face is drawn with exhaustion, pain lingering in the tightness around his eyes, in the careful way he holds himself, like every breath reminds him of another bruise.
But they’re still his.
Still that same warm hazel you've spent so many nights memorizing, never daring to believe you'd get a lifetime of looking into them.
“You know how I know?”
Your throat goes tight. “How?”
“Because you’re scared.”
Your brows pull together, fingers tightening around his. He squeezes your hand back, gentle but certain.
“That’s how I know. Because you’re sitting here trying to figure out if this is real instead of just being happy that we’re okay.”
Steve watches you for a moment before looking down between you, at the lavender bubbles drifting around your joined hands.
A bead of water clings to his lashes before he blinks it away.
“I mean…” He draws out a slow breath. “I don’t know if I can prove it. How could anyone, right? After everything that happened? I don’t think any of us are supposed to just wake up the next day and be like, ‘Cool. Guess that’s over.’”
He pauses, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
“But then I look at you and… and I just see you doing that thing.”
You blink. “What thing?”
He lifts your joined hands from the water, droplets sliding down your wrists as the surface ripples around you.
“This.”
He gives your hand a little squeeze, lacing your fingers together more securely.
“You always start messing with my hand when you’re freaking out.”
Your brows pull together. “What?”
He lets out a soft laugh, reaching up with his free hand to gently tuck a damp strand of hair away from your face.
“Yeah, you grab my hand and then you start doing this weird little... I don’t know. Thing. Like you’re inspecting it or something.”
Only then do you realize your thumb has been moving back and forth over the same callus on his palm, tracing the same small patch of rough skin.
“...Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There’s something teasing about his voice now, his smile.
The same Steve who’d make an absolute idiot of himself just to get you to roll your eyes. Who could make you laugh in the middle of the worst days of your life.
His smile softens as he looks down at the water, where your fingers are still tangled together.
His thumb brushes slowly over the back of your hand.
“I guess… I guess that’s how I know.”
The steam curls around you both, blurring the edges of the room until there’s nothing left but this.
His hand in yours.
His heartbeat steady against your back and his voice low and certain beside your ear.
“Because I know you.”
He tightens his fingers around yours.
“I know you.”
· · ·
Eventually, the warmth of the bath starts to fade.
The water isn’t quite as hot as it was when you first climbed in, the lavender bubbles breaking apart into a faint, delicate layer.
You’re still holding his hand.
Neither of you has let go.
“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, giving your fingers a small tug.
“Hm?”
He lifts your joined hands out of the water, turning his palm toward himself.
Then he starts tracing something, slow and awkward, brow furrowed as he studies the lines crossing his palm.
You can tell he’s searching for something—squinting at the grooves in his hand, trying to remember a detail you’ve explained to him once or twice before, maybe more.
You watch him for a second, then mumble:
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m doing it wrong?”
“Yes.”
He turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, genuinely offended in that exaggerated way he does when he knows he’s being teased.
“How can I be doing it wrong? It’s my hand.”
You give him a look.
“Because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”
He glances back down at his palm, then back at you.
“Okay, fine, genius,” he huffs, holding his hand out toward you. “What’s this one mean?”
You smile faintly.
“You don’t remember?”
“No, I do. Just... tell me again? I remember you said mine was good.”
You did. Sitting cross-legged on the couch years ago, his hand stretched across your lap while you traced the lines in his palm. You’d laughed the whole time because you didn’t actually believe in any of it. But Steve had listened like it mattered, eyes serious, hanging onto every word.
You adjust your grip now, turning his hand so you can see it properly. Then you take his index finger between yours and guide it slowly along the deepest line on his palm.
“Here,” you murmur.
His finger follows where you lead it, brushing over the groove that starts just beneath his pinky and curves upward across his hand.
“This is your heart line.”
Steve doesn’t look at his hand.
He looks at you.
“It’s deep, and it doesn’t break. That means you feel things deeply. You lead with your heart.”
He hums softly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the top of your shoulder.
You keep tracing, guiding his finger toward the end of the line where it curves upward.
“And here, it turns up.”
You press lightly into the space beneath his index finger.
“See that spot?”
“Mm.”
“That’s called the Mount of Jupiter. And when your heart line curves up like that, it kinda means you’re... a hopeless romantic.”
You don’t even have to see his face to know he’s smiling. You feel it in the small twitch of his fingers around yours, in the quiet huff of amusement against your shoulder.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
You follow the line with your own thumb, pretending to study the grooves of his skin like they might reveal something you don’t already know.
But the truth is, you're not really reading his hand.
“It also says you don’t know how to love halfway.” Your thumb follows the line one last time. “When you care about someone… you give them every part of yourself.”
When you glance back over your shoulder, he's already watching you.
Something achingly fragile settled over his expression, a quiet wonder in his eyes as though he's seeing himself the way you always have.
“Yeah?” he whispers.
You nod.
“Yeah.”
You lean in to close the small space between you, brushing your lips against the uninjured corner of his mouth.
It’s a delicate thing, more of a press than a kiss.
His fingers tighten around yours beneath the water.
“Tell me what else.”
You smile, looking back down at his palm.
“You want me to read everything?”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
You turn his hand back toward you, guiding his finger to another line.
“Okay. This one is your head line.”
Steve settles back against the tub, his arm tightening around you as you continue tracing the little grooves and curves in his palm, explaining what they’re supposed to mean.
The truth is, none of this is anything you don’t already know.
You don’t need the lines in his hand to tell you who he is.
You’ve known for a long time.
So you tell him what you've been carrying in your heart for longer than you can remember.
That he’s stubborn.
That he’s brave.
That he loves harder than he knows what to do with.
That he’s always seen himself as ordinary when he’s anything but.
And Steve listens.
· · ·
You stay there together until the water goes cold around you.
And though the lavender fades from the bath, the scent still clings to your skin, lingering long after the warmth has left.
Outside this room, there will still be reminders.
Things neither of you can outrun.
Memories that return without warning, scars that ache long after the wounds have closed.
Maybe some things never fully leave.
Maybe they don’t have to.
Because the bad things are not the only things that get to stay.
And when the first light of dawn slips through the bedroom window the next morning, washing everything in soft gold, Steve is still there.
summary: Days of petty vacation bickering take an unexpected turn when Steve accidentally walks in on you naked. Now you're icing him out entirely, and he would do anything for you to talk to him again... literally anything.
warnings: accidental nudity (no descriptions of reader's body apart from being afab), SMUT (+18), oral (f), fingering, soft dom! steve, p i v, unprotected sex.
words: 3.8k || masterlist
August finally rolls around, and with it? The long awaited time off work you managed to get.
But it wasn’t just the time off that exited you. You were now finally in the cabin near the lake you've rented with your friends to get out of town for a week.
So these were exciting times. Sunbathing in front of a lovely lake with your best friends. Playing volleyball, chicken, and dumb drinking games. Having sleepovers every night for a whole week. Tripping over big Nikes thrown in the middle of the kitchen floor... Wait what?
Yes. It wasn’t all fun and games the living-together situation. Who in their right mind takes off their shoes in the kitchen and just leaves them there? Well, from the size of the shoe and the fact that they're white and red Nikes... It’s easy to take a guess.
"Steve!" you scream, holding the Nikes in your hand.
"Yeah, sup?" he comes out of the bathroom.
"Why are your shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor?"
"Oh, sorry. I just took them off before I took a shower." he says, grabbing them.
"In the kitchen? And you just left them here?" you question.
"I said sorry!" he looks at you like you're crazy.
"You're leaving your entire wardrobe laying around the house instead of your own room!" you start. "Just yesterday you had two hoodies on the couch. Not one, two! And, oh look at that! They're still laying there!" you glance at the couch.
"Jeez! Sorry, mom!" he chuckles sarcastically.
"Oh, shut up!"
"Well, what about you taking over the bathroom?" he complains.
"What?" you ask, confused at the accusation.
"You're taking up 80% of the sink with your hair products, and make up, and body creams." he lists. "I can't even find a square inch to put down my toothbrush!"
"Hair products that you are also using! Don't think I didn't notice!" you respond.
"Oh, please! That’s so dumb." he rolls his eyes.
And unfortunately, it doesn't stop there. Even though these are things that could annoy anyone also living in this house, it only seems to fire you two up.
"You still haven't done the dishes?" Steve comes into the kitchen already seeking troubles.
"What?" you frown.
"It was your turn! Robin did them yesterday."
"I thought it was your turn! I did them two days ago already."
"No, I already cooked today. So it's your turn to do them." he argues.
"Well, I cooked yesterday. What does that have to do with anything?" you say back.
"I can do the dishes." Jonathan offers.
"Yeah, but it was the princess's turn to do them. But it seems she thinks she's too good for that!" he smiles sarcastically.
"No, but I do think you're way too obsessed with me." you say final, and walk away. Leaving Steve with the next sentence in his mouth.
"Can you believe her?" he asks Jonathan.
"Dude, it's not that big of a deal." he says and starts with the dishes.
But to be fair, Steve is not the only one acting crazy.
"Give me the blanket." you say once you can lie down on the couch to watch a movie with the group.
"What? No, I grabbed it first." Steve says.
"Well, I called dibs on the blanket earlier when we were picking the movie." you explain.
"That’s insane! You can't call dibs on a blanket!" he laughs.
"I already did and nobody complained, so give it to me."
"That’s true, she did." Robin agrees.
"I don't care. You didn't call dibs while I was present, so it doesn't count for me." he argues.
"Oh, now you're just making shit up." you complain.
"Can’t you just share the blanket?" Eddie steps in, tired of the stupid bickering.
"It's not as comfortable!" you insist.
"It's even more comfortable! You can also cuddle while you're at it!" Eddie claims. "Maybe that's best for everyone so you two quit fighting over everything."
"He wishes." you comment.
"No, you wish." Steve responds.
"You both wish! You're acting like toddlers tugging on each other's hair because you like each other!" Eddie shouts and Robin chuckles loudly.
"That’s so true!" she says.
But the big problem comes the day after. You were alone in the cabin while the rest of the group was down by the lake. The sun was setting and you went inside to take a shower now before everyone here starts making a line in front of the bathroom to do the same.
You had everything set in the bathroom. Underwear, pajamas, skin care, hair products. Everything but the towel, you had left it in your room.
You were already butt naked about to run the water when you noticed. But since everyone is still at the lake and you're alone in here, what's the issue?
So you opened the door and walked quickly towards your room, when suddenly-
"Oh, shit!" Steve freezes when he sees you like that. It takes him three whole seconds to take his hands to his eyes.
"WHA- DON'T LOOK!" you try to cover yourself but you have nothing. You run to grab the first shirt you find laying around... his, of course. But you grab it either way and cover yourself up. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"
"I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D COME OUT NAKED!" he's still covering his eyes.
"I WAS ABOUT TO SHOWER BUT I FORGOT MY TOWEL!" you complain. "I THOUGHT I WAS ALONE HERE!"
"I JUST CAME TO GRAB THE CAMERA TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THE SUNSET!" he explains. "I SWEAR I'M NOT A CREEP!"
"GOD! JUST GET OUT!" you scream and he does so.
Not only did that leave you staring at the wall, still covering yourself with his shirt, when you should be taking your shower. But also, you couldn't even look at him that same night when everyone came back inside.
He saw you fully naked... not just half naked. Everything. And the fact that it has to be him out everyone here with you made it ten times worse.
If it were to be Robin or Nancy you'd just apologize and even laugh about it. Hell, even if it were Eddie or Jonathan it would be embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as it was with Steve fucking Harrington!
You've been arguing with him since you got here practically! You were at each other's throats all the time. It was humiliating.
So, no. For the next two days you don't even look at him, let alone speak. It’s not like he didn't apologize ten times more after the first one. He did.
"I'm so fucking sorry, okay? But it doesn't have to be a big deal. I swear I didn't tell anyone, and I barely even saw anything." he tries to comfort you.
But you know he's lying. He saw plenty. Three whole seconds actually.
"Come on, talk to me, scream at me, tell me I'm a fucking idiot." he insists, but no words leave your mouth still. You just leave the room like you didn’t listen.
But it's not like the rest of the group didn't notice something was wrong. The only one who knew was Robin, you told her that same night before going to sleep. She obviously tried to comfort you telling you it didn't have to be so embarrassing. And she even gave you the idea that maybe getting even would solve it. Maybe walking in on him in the shower would work. Kind of an "eye for an eye" situation. But you weren’t going to do that.
You didn't know what you were going to do, actually. You couldn’t ignore him forever, but maybe just enough time until you didn't blush at even the thought of it.
But the gang had a different opinion. Robin didn't snitch, but as I said, they're not stupid, they know for some reason you're not talking to him. So they decide to help by giving you privacy.
One afternoon you notice how empty the cabin is when you get back from a walk around the lake. You thought you were alone until you saw Steve coming down the stairs.
He freezes again for a second when he sees it's just the two of you here.
"Hey," he tries again. "I think they went for a hike."
You just nod slightly, letting him know you heard him, but still didn't feel like hanging out with him.
"Honey, I'm sorry. I don’t know how to keep apologizing. And I don’t entirely know what's the problem because you won't even look at me." he explains. "Please, just give me a hint."
"If I look at you, I’m reminded of why I want to pack my bags and take the next bus home." you finally say to him.
"But why? It was an accident, I didn't plan it like some freak." he explains for the millionth time.
"But you saw." you explain. "You stood there, Steve. For three whole seconds just looking at me, bare. I feel so exposed around you."
"Can you look at me?" he asks and you finally do. "I froze because my brain short-circuited. I walked inside the cabin and you just... took the air right out of my lungs."
You stay looking at him, listening. He's talking like he's admitting, confessing to something.
"I didn't mean to disrespect you, I am sorry." he continues. "But if you're embarrassed around me because of what I saw... then that's just stupid."
You frown, still listening but ready to get offended if he's not careful.
"You should feel embarrassed at all for the body you have. You are stunning. There's not a single bad thought about what I saw when I saw you. I'm just blown away by how beautiful you looked."
"Steve, It's fine-" he cuts you off.
"Don't tell me I'm just saying things to make you feel better. I'm telling the truth. I just saw how gorgeous and sexy you are and that’s all I can think about now. For two days straight, the only thing running through my brain is the image of your beautiful body." he says, almost whispering. "And I'm really sorry for embarrassing you, but you shouldn't be!"
You stay silent, not expecting this confession at all.
"And this is hell, to be honest too. Because at the same time, you're not speaking to me. You won't even look at me when the only thing on my mind is just you."
"You're not just saying things?" you double-check.
"I almost cut my finger off earlier when I was chopping the onions because I had my mind on you." he chuckles, showing you the bandaid on his finger as proof.
You laugh softly. "What were you thinking about exactly?" you ask, ever so innocently.
"I don't wanna say." he smiles, looking down. Shy all of the sudden.
"Come on. You have to now." you smile too.
"You are gonna think I'm a creep." he insists.
"Try me." you shrug.
"I was thinking about how soft your skin must feel." he admits. "Your chest, stomach... thighs."
Your breath hitches. And as he says the word 'thighs' you suddenly feel the need to rub them together. "What else?"
"It only gets worse from here." he warns you. "I can't quite leave the image of your tits off my head."
"Steve!" you close your eyes and cover your face at his words.
"I'm sorry, I just- it's true... they're even better than what I imagined."
"You... what?" you laugh.
"I've wanted you for months. Even more now that I see you every second of the day." he confesses. "And I may or may not have... imagined what's under the swimsuits you've been wearing."
"These are some... serious confessions." you say.
"They're not really helping my case of me not being a creep, are they?" he realizes.
"I know you didn't do it on purpose. You couldn’t have known I'd come out naked to look for my towel... Right?" you smirk.
"Right, obviously!" he nods.
"You know, um... Robin gave me the idea that, maybe, if I saw you naked I'd stop feeling so embarrassed."
"Did she now?" he smiles. "Is that something you wanna try?"
"... Maybe." you shrug again.
Without another word, he takes off his shirt first, showing his glorious chest and arms that you've already been eyeing way too much when he’s in his truck suits. Then comes off the sneakers and the pants. He looks over at you to check you still want this before lowering his boxers until they reach the ground.
And there he stands. A naked Steve in all his glory. And boy, does it help your case. He's... there's no way to put it lightly, big. Probably the biggest you've seen.
You've heard the rumours. You were friends with some girls who hooked up with him in high-school. Also, Nancy has told you how difficult and painful her first time was... you just had to do the math.
But this was more than you expected. He even looks pretty too. As well as the rest of his body that just seems like a museum sculpture in the flesh.
"You can say something..." he reminds you with a smile.
"It's not very comfortable, is it?" you chuckle and he nods. "This is just not fair, you look like a model." you say, smirking.
"Not fair?" he frowns. "You literally have the body I couldn't get out of my head for two days now."
"I think we could do something about that." you comment.
"And what could that be? Care to share?" he smiles.
"I can show you better than I can tell you." you say, and you start walking upstairs as you take your clothes off slowly.
Steve almost trips over his own clothes on the floor as he hurries after you.
When he reaches the room, he sees you standing bare in front of him once again. But this time, you're not trying to cover or hide yourself. You stand looking at him, waiting for him to walk over to you.
And he does so, only two big steps and his hands are on your waist. He pulls you closer slowly, your hands go to his chest.
"You sure you want to do this?" he murmurs.
"I think we've waited long enough. Drove each other pretty crazy already." you smirk.
"Yeah, you do drive me crazy." he whispers and finally leans in to kiss you.
Your hands go up to his hair and pull him closer. Just by a kiss you can already feel yourself getting more wet.
It's no coincidence, he is a great kisser. His tongue moves slowly against your lips and against your own tongue. One of his hands grabs your jaw to deepen the kiss.
It's a rather sweet and slow kiss, in contrast to you two standing bare naked already. But something about that tells you he's going to take his time with you tonight. And you already can't wait.
He walks you both towards the bed until you fall onto it. He takes another second to just stare at you like that, and then moves to kneel on the bed in front of you.
He starts kissing you everywhere, from your neck, down to your stomach, taking his sweet time with every new inch of skin.
"You're so beautiful." he murmurs. "Open these legs for me."
"You don't have to-" you tried to tell him you were wet enough already, but he interrupts.
"I fucking want to." he looks at your pussy, nothing else. Firstly, he opens it up with his fingers. He teases your clit just lightly, to make you squirm.
He leans over and plants kisses there, some licks just to mess with you. You go to grab his hair, move it away from his face. He looks at your eyes as you're looking at him, and he dives in. He sucks and then licks it over, alternating between those two.
His fingers also start teasing. His other hand grabs your thigh harder and harder and opens you up more.
He spits on your clit and then licks firmly. Your moans only working for him to work more fiercely.
"Such a sweet pussy." he murmurs almost against your skin. "This all for me? So wet for me?"
"Yes, Steve. For you." you nod and keep tugging on his hair.
"So pretty, and-" one big kiss. "mine, right?" another kiss. His eyes locked on your.
"Yours, baby." you nod again.
His fingers that were teasing your entrance finally start pushing in. You moan louder once he finds that one spot and curls his fingers towards it.
The combination of those thrusts inside you, right where you needed them, plus his mouth doing everything but stopping on your clit, is making a tight knot on your stomach.
"Don't stop." you exhale. He wasn't planning on stopping either way, but he takes that as fuel to move faster.
"God! Steve!" Your screams work like warning bells to let him know you're about to come, and he wants nothing more.
A strong feeling washes over you, hitting you like a wave in the sea. He still moves only to stimulate you more and drag it out. He loves the way your breath got messier and your hands grabbed him with all their force. He then moves back to let you catch your breath.
"Good girl." he praises you and keeps caressing your legs. After a minute, he speaks again to check on you. "You wanna keep going? Wanna go to sleep?"
"No, we can keep going." you shake your head.
"Alright. Stay like this, but wrap your legs around me." he guides you. Then grabs his big and now almost red cock and lines it with your entrance. "Tell me if it hurts."
"Keep going." you nod to let him know you'll be just fine.
He pushes in, first his red tip inside you, then keeps pushing until he's halfway in. He waits a second and starts thrusting back and forth, letting you get used to that. And with each thrust he lets just a little more in each time.
"That’s almost all of it. Think you can take it, pretty girl?" he teases you.
It's a new stretch that definitely feels different, but it feels so good at the same time. You know the pleasure will beat the pain in no time. "Yes, more."
"Atta girl." he praises you and pushes all of it in. He lets a loud moan out at the feeling of your tight walls wrapping around him completely. "Feels so good, insanely good."
"You're so big, Steve." you moan, what's the harm in stroking his ego while you're at it?
He keeps thrusting in and out at a steady pace, still slow to let you get used to it.
Then a few minutes later, he grabs your legs to pull them higher on his waist and starts going faster and faster.
"Oh, yes!" you let out as you hug him, pulling his body closer.
"You like that? How does my cock feel inside this sweet pussy?" he murmurs. His mouth goes to your neck while one hand is on the bed to keep himself from crushing you, and the other grips on your thigh almost definitely leaving marks.
"So good, Steve. The best."
"Yeah? That's right. Fucking made for my cock."
You don't know nor care if you're still alone in the cabin. Your friends could already be back for wherever it was they went to. And if they were, they would probably be able to hear you two. But that thought didn't even cross your mind right now. The only important thing was the feeling of Steve on top and inside of you.
He puts one of your legs on his shoulder and thrusts slower, this feels so much deeper he wants to feel every second of it. Your moans get higher and pitchier, letting him know it is definitely working wonders for you too.
He enjoys seeing you like this, totally ruined on his cock while he moves how he wants. You look beautiful and fucked out.
His thumb travels up to your mouth and you suck on it. This shouldn't make his cock twitch like it does, but he almost has to take a second to calm down.
With a pop, it leaves your mouth and attacks your puffy clit again. Not roughly, quite the opposite actually. A high contrast to his thrusts that are now going hard again.
One of your hands lets go of the sheets to grip on his arm, putting your nails into the skin. "Too much." you whine.
"Oh, it's too much?" he mocks you. "Poor baby, too bad you're just gonna have to take it."
"Fuck, Steve!"
"You're being so good at taking it, you can do it." The back and forth of his praises and mocks are making you feel dizzy in the best way.
"I'm gonna come." you moan, still digging your nails into his arm, but the movements of his thumb don't seem to miss even a little bit.
"Gonna come on my cock and make a mess?" he moves even faster. Talking to you like this, and knowing it's working for you too makes him feel just as close. "That’s it, come around me. Come on, baby, I want it."
"Steve, oh my god." broken moans that almost sound like cries leave your mouth. You arch back and let yourself be taken away by the pleasure once more.
"Yeah, yeah, just like that. Look how fucking pretty you look coming for me." he whines as well now. He was holding it until you finished first, and now seeing you come undone because of him is enough to drive a man crazy. "Where, baby? Where do you want it?"
"Inside, all inside." you pull him closer and he lets out big and loud breaths mixed with moans as he paints your walls.
His arms give up and he just lets himself rest on top of you. Careful not to hurt you, but definitely crushing you a little with his weight.
You both wait like that for your breaths to even out. A couple of minutes later, his face is nuzzling into your neck.
"You're fucking perfect." he smiles.
"So clingy." your turn to mock him now.
"Yeah, and you'll have to get used to it." he jokes.
"I can live with that."
"You sure? I'm gonna leave my clothes all around the house." he reminds you.
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna fill your bathroom with my things... and your bedroom." you add.
"Sounds great." he whispers.
"The clothes aren't so bad. But finders keepers." you warn him.
Warnings: Smut (18+), P in V sex (unprotected), praise kink, softdom! Steve (kinda), possessive/jealous! Steve, begging, coming inside, oral (both receiving), LMK if I missed anything!!!
A/N: It’s been a month since I posted something, and I’ve been working on this really sporadically. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know if there’s anything you wanna see; I would love to hear from any readers or followers!!!! Thank you sm for all of the likes and reblogs! I hope you like this one!!!!
“Are you almost ready, babe?” Steve calls lovingly from the bedroom, flipping through a magazine. You’ve already told him that you only need five more minutes twice.
He’s learned to be very patient with you, keeping a stash of reading material in a milk crate under your bed.
The door swings open and he straightens up, tossing the magazine on the bed.
“I just need my shoes,” you respond, walking out of the bathroom with a smile. “How do I look?” You stand in front of him, spinning around to give him the full view.
Steve’s eyes rake over your form. “You look so–” he grips your thighs and pulls you to stand between his legs, “–damn good,” he finishes.
His fingers brush under the denim of your skirt, stroking your thigh as he looks up at you with his signature bedroom eyes. “What’s underneath?”
You take both of his hands in yours and set them on his knees, leaning forward enough for him to get a good view of your tits in your sparkly top.
“That’s for you to find out.” You kiss him softly, teasingly, then pull away abruptly. “Later.”
He says nothing, just rubs his lips together with a smirk, tasting your lip gloss. He stands with you, grabbing your jacket as you put on your shoes.
“Such a gentleman,” you comment as he helps you put the jacket on, kissing your cheek.
—
At the bar, you meet up with a few friends. You’re there to see a band perform–Eddie’s “friend” is the lead guitarist, and you have a sneaking suspicion they’re hooking up.
“It’s not a thing,” he reminds you and Robin when you arrive. “Okay?’
You nod affirmatively.
“Not a thing. Got it,” echoes Robin, who sports a devious grin.
“Ugh, I’m serious, Rob,” Eddie groans. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
“I’m not embarrassing! Am I embarrassing?” Robin turns to you.
You look between them, holding your hands up in surrender. “Leave me out of it,” you laugh.
Steve arrives at your side, holding a beer for himself and a pink-ish cocktail for you. Saved by the bell, you think.
“Thank you.” You take the drink from him, sipping it as his hand falls to rest above your hip.
“Is it good?” He squeezes your waist, watching your reaction.
You nod happily. You told him to just get you “whatever,” and it’s delicious.
Eddie and Robin have wandered away to get closer to the band, leaving you and Steve on the outskirts of the crowd. “So, Eddie and the drummer...?” Steve prompts.
“The lead guitarist,” you correct. “And it’s nothing, according to Eddie. But I have my suspicions.” You cock an eyebrow.
“Ah, I see. Well, it must be something for him to drag us this far from town.” He looks around.
The crowd is a mixed bag. Some people you recognize from Hawkins, a few metalheads who must have ridden in on the motorcycles parked outside the bar, and some older couples. Not the place you’d normally choose for a Friday night outing, but not unpleasant.
“Are you gonna dance with me tonight?” you ask Steve, sliding your hand over his chest.
“Sure, baby, I’ll dance,” he responds, smiling down at you. Your perfect man. You know he’s not much of a dancer, but he’ll really do anything to keep you happy–especially when he knows he might get lucky.
Drums begin to thump loudly in the bar, and you know the show is about to start. “C’mon,” you grab Steve’s hand and pull him through the crowd to stand with Eddie and Robin.
The set is great–much better than you expected, honestly. You, Steve, Robin, and Eddie all dance through it, cheering loudly between songs and refreshing your drinks when you get the chance. Steve switches to water pretty quickly, knowing he’ll end up having to drive everyone home.
“That was so much fun!” Robin grins when the last song is done, and Eddie nods in agreement.
“They’re really good, right? I told you guys!”
Steve’s hand claps Eddie on the back. “They’re no Corroded Coffin, Munson. Don’t worry.” Eddie rolls his eyes.
Steve turns to you. “I’m gonna find the bathroom, babe. I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss to your temple and wanders off toward the wooden sign marking the men’s bathroom.
Eddie makes eye contact with the guitarist and quickly leaves you and Robin in the dust, boots clamoring to cross the floor.
Robin turns to you, looking mischievous. “I’m gonna go eavesdrop, are you in?”
You laugh, shaking your head. It sounds like fun, but to stay in Eddie’s good graces, you decide to stay and wait for Steve.
“Okay. I’m going in.” She turns and heads after Eddie.
Now, you’re alone. The bar is packed, but a few people start to head out as the band packs up. The taste of your drink lingers in your mouth–vodka, lime, something fizzy, and grenadine, maybe? You’re not sure, but Steve did a good job picking it.
You glance toward the bathroom to get an ETA on your boyfriend, but no luck. There are at least six guys standing outside, so you assume it’ll be a minute.
You’re not without company for long, though, because a man approaches you. Not just any man, but the drummer who just performed. He’s tall, slightly sweaty, and dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
He’s quite attractive, actually, and the drumsticks tucked into his belt really sell the look.
“Hey,” he greets you. “Did you come for the show?”
You nod. “It was great! I came with my friends and boyfriend. They loved it too.” You find the first opportunity to bring up Steve before the hot drummer can hit on you.
He doesn’t seem to mind. Just cocks an eyebrow. “Boyfriend, huh? He leave you here all by yourself?”
Cocky, you think.
“He’s in the bathroom,” you reply, narrowing your eyes.
He considers this, glancing toward the bathroom. You wonder if he’s trying to figure out which one of the six guys is your boyfriend. “Hmm. So, do you come here a lot?”
“It’s my first time, actually. But it seems cool. Do they have music here a lot?” you ask, nodding toward the stage.
“Wednesdays and Fridays. We play every other Friday. You should come more often,” he leans on the table beside you, a little too close for your liking.
“Maybe I will, if Steve wants to.”
“Steve.” The name rolls over his tongue. “Is that your boyfriend? What’s he like?”
You don’t hesitate. “He’s handsome. And friendly. Charismatic. Funny. The total package.”
The drummer sighs dramatically. “He sounds like a real Prince Charming.”
“He is,” you smile.
“He must be, if he’s dating a girl as pretty as you.”
Across the bar, Steve is finally out of the bathroom, scanning the space for you. He sees you and starts walking over, slipping by people smoothly. When he sees that you’re with some dude he doesn’t know, laughing, he speeds up, pushing past people with far less grace.
When you feel the heat of Steve behind you, you lean in, beaming. The drummer’s eyes track his hand as it slides across your waist, splaying out on your stomach. You can practically feel the smug smile all over Steve’s face.
“You must be the boyfriend,” the drummer says with raised eyebrows.
“I am, and you are?” Steve prompts, his voice friendly–you would kill to see the look on his face, though.
“Tim,” he replies. “Nice to meet you.”
Steve nods, and the beat of awkward silence kills you.
“Tim’s the drummer! In the band!” you exclaim, turning so you can see Steve.
“Oh yeah?” Steve meets your eyes briefly. “Good job, man, it was great.”
“Thanks, dude,” Tim says to Steve, but his eyes are on you. “I’m gonna go find the rest of the band. I just had to come over here. It’s not every day you see a beautiful girl alone in a bar.”
His gaze flickers to Steve. “You should really keep a better eye on her, man.” He grins, shooting you a wink, and he’s off.
—
“Okay, don’t puke on anything,” Steve grunts as he helps Robin into the backseat. “Y’have a few too many?”
“Yes,” Robin slurs. “Can’t believe Eddie’s getting laid and we’re not.”
Steve laughs. “Speak for yourself, Rob. Now buckle up.” He closes the door gently after her, leaving the two of you outside the car.
He lowers his voice, leaning against the passenger’s door. “Don’t invite her to stay over. We’ll bring her home and put her to bed.”
“Not up for company?” You slide your hand under his jacket, standing up on your toes to kiss him.
“No way.” He pulls you in, hand on the small of your back. His lips move against yours smoothly as he hums into your mouth. “Want you all to myself tonight.”
Then, he pulls away and opens your door. “Get in.”
—
Your body buzzes with anticipation as you unlock your front door, Steve’s presence heavy behind you. “I can’t believe that asshole hit on you,” he murmurs into your neck, hands wandering over your hips. “Not that I blame him. I would’ve done the same thing if I saw you.”
“You must really like this outfit.” You push the door open and step in, Steve trailing you closely.
“Oh, I do.” He kneels in front of you, grabbing your ankle gently so he can undo your shoes and pull them off one at a time.
You rest your hand on his shoulder, loving the sight of him on his knees treating you like a princess.
He slides his hand slowly up the inside of your leg, from your calf to between your thighs. “Are you gonna show me what’s under, now?”
You nod, pulling him up to stand in front of you. He captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, shifting your skirt up your hips. You sigh softly into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his hair.
You gasp when both his hands grab your ass firmly, pulling your hips against his. Then, he’s lifting you up and carrying you to your room.
Your door slams against the wall when he kicks it open, tossing you on the bed with ease. “Turn around.”
You do as he commands, settling onto your hands and knees. Your skirt is bunched up around your hips, leaving nothing to Steve’s imagination as he takes in the bottom half of the navy blue set you chose to wear tonight.
He runs his fingers over your panties, brushing your clothed clit and making you keen.
“Did you like having his attention tonight?” Steve asks in a low voice, still rubbing you over the lace.
You love when he gets jealous like this. You’ve seen it before–when he took you out to breakfast and you ran into your ex, when a club bouncer hit on you, basically any time a man looked at you in a way he didn’t like.
And Steve’s not crazy. He never makes a scene, never gets angry with you. Instead, he channels his jealousy, stores it away until he gets you alone.
“No,” you arch into his touch.
He tugs your panties to the side, clicking his tongue. “You’re all wet. Is that from him?” He slides his thumb through your folds, gathering the wetness and spreading it around.
You whine when his thumb rubs over your clit. You shake your head in response to his question, gasping when you feel his hand crack across your ass cheek.
“No?” he hums. “Who’s it from, then?”
Oh, he’s playing dirty. You dip your head, arching your back further to try and meet his hand, but he pulls it away with a smirk. “Steve, please.”
In one smooth motion, he flips you onto your back and pulls you to the edge of the bed, still standing over you. You hook your ankle around his hip, bringing him closer.
“Look at you, babe. So pretty.” He cups your jaw, tilting your head toward him. His fingers brush over your lips and you part them instinctively, sucking his thumb into your mouth and tasting yourself. “Taste so sweet, too.”
“Steve,” you plead when his thumb escapes your mouth with a wet pop.
“What, baby? Tell me what you want.” He grips the neckline of your top and pulls it down to reveal your tits.
“Want you to use your mouth on me,” you mumble, feeling suddenly shy.
You expect Steve to lower himself dutifully between your legs, to use his delicious tongue on you like he has so many times before, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he laughs. “You want my mouth, baby?”
You nod quickly, clutching his shirt. “Please. Been thinking about it since before we left.”
“Yeah?” A smirk creeps across his face at how utterly needy you are for him. “Then get on your knees and show me how bad you want it.”
You waste no time, sliding off the bed and onto your knees. Steve doesn’t usually order you around like this, but you can’t say you don’t like it. He watches your face with blazing eyes as you undo his belt swiftly.
You work on pushing his jeans down as he pulls off his jacket and throws it to the side. His cock springs free when you tug his boxers down, and you wrap your hand around the base, licking up the shaft.
He sighs in pleasure, his hand finding the nape of your neck. “Spit on it.”
You do as he says, gathering spit in your mouth and letting it fall on the head of his cock, pumping him to coat his length.
“Good girl. Open up.”
You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, letting him slap his tip against it a few times. You wrap your lips around him, swirling your tongue as you stroke what’s not in your mouth.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Steve groans. His eyes close momentarily, but come back to focus on you. A few times, you look up at him to make eye contact, and he looks very satisfied to see you on your knees.
You really start to take him in, opening your throat as much as you can and drooling on his cock.
He huffs and moans and curses, his fingers threading through your hair. “Fuck, you look so good like this.”
You catch his eyes eagerly, bobbing your head faster at the praise.
“Ah- fuck, babe. You’re mine, got it?”
You moan around him in response, and his grip on your hair tightens, guiding your head just enough.
When he starts to get loud and knows your knees are aching, he pulls you off of him by your hair.
Gasping for breath, you sit back on your knees. Spit coats his length, the dark hair at the base of his cock dampened. “Did so good for me, baby. Think it’s time I return the favor?”
You barely try to suppress your grin, taking his hands as he pulls you up.
Your disheveled clothes are quickly torn off, courtesy of Steve. He lays you on the bed, the soft comforter tickling your bare skin as he throws his shirt off.
Lowering himself between your legs, he litters kisses over your stomach, thighs, and down your calf. He’s working you up, teasing you like he normally does, but that’s not what you want.
You need his mouth on you–you’re dripping just from giving him head. But you know that you’ll have to beg to get what you want.
“Please, Steve.” You reach to make contact with any part of him you can, grazing his shoulder.
“You’re needy tonight, babe. What’s got you all worked up?” he mumbles into your thigh, his lips hot against you.
“You,” you respond, threading your fingers into his hair. You’re rewarded with a long, slow lick to your clit.
His tongue is sinful against you, making you keen instantly. And he looks so good doing it–hair pushed up off his face, brows furrowed as he continues his ministrations.
His arms wrap around your thighs, holding them open as he devours you.
“Fuck, babe. Just like that,” you moan, encouraging him when he licks into you just right.
“Mm, you taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against you. “Say my name.”
It’s not hard to moan his name when it’s the only thing on your mind. “Steve, fuck!” you cry when he slides two fingers into you, curling them up toward that heavenly spot.
His eyes burn with desire, his tongue and fingers spurred on by your words.
You know you’re not gonna last long– he always knows just how to take care of you, and your head swims with pleasure.
His fingers continue working you, his tongue unrelenting on your clit. You spew praise and pleas as you feel your climax approaching.
“Fuck, baby.”
“Don’t stop!”
“Please, Steve, I need it.”
“Ah- fuck, I’m gonna come!”
Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs fighting his grip as you writhe beneath him.
It hits you all at once. You screw your eyes shut, back arching off the bed as you clench around him, drowning in the ecstasy that washes over you.
Steve pulls away from you, rubbing his thumb over your sensitive clit while you catch your breath.
“Damn, baby. Look how wet you are.” He withdraws his fingers, holding them up so you can see your slick glisten in the light.
Your face flushes. “You’re such a freak.”
“Guilty,” he concedes. “But you love it.” He leans down, and his lips clash against yours in a messy kiss. He tastes like you, and he’s right– you do love it.
Finally, he straightens up, and he looks utterly pornographic. He licks his lips, face still shiny from eating you out. His cock stands at attention, thick and leaking at the tip, and the dark hair at the base leads up to the patch on his chest.
He reaches down to stroke himself a few times, and you spread your legs in anticipation.
“You want it, baby?” He taps himself against your clit a few times, drawing a gasp from your lips.
“Mm, need it, love it when you fuck me,” you purr, rolling your hips into his.
“Know you do, love. Always so good for me. Only me.” He sinks into you slowly, hissing at the sensation.
Your breath hitches when his tip kisses the deepest part of you, but you regain it with a gasp as he starts fucking you.
He starts with long, deep, deliberate thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips as he studies your face. Your mouth hangs open, head thrown back on the pillow. The feeling of him inside you is like no other– all your nerves are on fire.
“So big,” you moan, and you can feel his ego inflating with each thrust.
“Yeah? Can you take it, babe?” His lips turn up, eyes locked on you as he starts to move faster. A lot faster.
“Uh- uh-huh,” you stammer, hands reaching up to clutch at his biceps.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Steve’s thighs hit yours.
One by one, Steve pulls your legs up to rest on his chest, your calves on his shoulders.
“Mm, I like this one.” You bite your lip, relishing the new sensation as he continues his steady pace.
At the end of every thrust, when he’s deepest inside of you, he’s sure to grind into you, drawing whimpers from your lips.
Pleasure pools in your stomach, hot and tight as he hits all the best spots inside you.
“Fuck, Steve!” You clutch at his thigh, throwing your head back.
“Who else fucks you like this?” he demands, drilling you harder.
You open your mouth to form a response, but your mind is too occupied by his cock to answer his question.
“Tell me,” he grunts.
“N-no one!” you cry.
“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Good girl.” He releases your legs, not stopping his thrusts, and you wrap them around his hips.
It’s crazy how well Steve can dominate you in bed, when he’s normally at your beck and call–waiting patiently for you to get ready, fetching you drinks, getting on his knees to remove your shoes.
You’re not complaining–being Steve’s girlfriend is great, through and through, but the sex is incredible. It’s the kind of sex most girls can only dream of having once, and you’re lucky enough to get it nearly every night.
“Feels so good, Steve, fuck!” Your repeated moans fill the room, nails digging into his shoulders and pulling a grunt from his lips.
“You trying to mark me up, baby?” He grabs both of your wrists and pins them about your head, his rough thrusts never ceasing. “That’s my job,” he mumbles as his lips find a home on your neck.
His tongue traces the curve of your neck sweetly before sucking harshly on your pulse point, drawing a whimper from your lips.
He pulls away to admire his work, purple blooming across the spot already.
He watches you intently–the way your tits ripple with the force of his thrusts, the fucked-out look on your face, your hair messy against the pillow.
“You look so pretty, babe. D’ya hear that?” Every time he pulls out of you, a wet schlick rings out, simultaneously disgusting and erotic.
You nod in response, walls fluttering around him.
“Shit, so wet for me. So tight. Can feel you getting close.” He is too, if his filthy mouth tells you anything.
“M’gonna come, don’t stop,” you plead, rolling your hips against his to get any friction you can on your clit.
“Say please,” he commands, voice low and charged as his grip on your wrists tightens.
“Please!” you cry out immediately, afraid he might stop if you don’t comply. “Oh, fuck, please!”
You’re on the brink of an orgasm, just waiting. Waiting for him to tell you to come, for his permission. You meet his eyes, desperate as ever, and he finally gives you what you want.
“Go on, baby. Come for me,” he pants as releases your wrists, sliding his hands down your waist.
You let go, waves of pleasure crashing through you. Broken moans fly out of your lips, hips stuttering into his as you come for the second time tonight.
Steve stalls his thrusts for a moment, rocking into you shallowly so you can attempt to recover.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” His voice is weak, his eyes fixed between you where your bodies meet.
You pull him down so you can kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He starts fucking into you again, slower and more controlled. It’s your turn to take him apart now, clenching around him and grazing your nails over any skin you can reach.
He doesn’t stop kissing you, but he breathes and moans into your mouth, signaling just how close he is.
“Want you to come in me,” you pant, pulling him closer with your legs around his hips.
“Yeah? You want my come?” He fucks you faster, spurred on by your words. “You’ve earned it, baby.”
After a few final thrusts, he buries himself in you fully, coming deep inside you with a groan.
For a moment, you both catch your breath, the weight of his body heavy against you.
“Fuck, babe,” he exhales, rolling over to lie beside you. You curl into his side, smiling up at him sleepily.
You always get so tired after, and he knows he only has a few minutes before you’re out cold.
“Stay right there, love.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple before rushing to the bathroom to fetch a warm washcloth.
“So good to me,” you hum, squeezing his shoulder lovingly as he cleans you up.
“I love you.” He gives you a chaste kiss. “My girl.”
Your heart does a backflip. “I love you too,” you coo, then, just because, “You should be jealous more often.”
He laughs dryly. “Jealous? I’m not jealous.”
“Hmm,” you smirk, and he leans in, kissing you so sweetly your head starts to spin again. Then, he pulls away just enough to whisper on your lips.
SMUTTT thinking of steve harrington who can’t keep his eyes off chubby!readers tits the first time he sees you in a shorter cut dress at a party… enough that he just NEEDS to get you alone and out of it. Luckily Eddies van is empty at the edge of the forest and he left youwith the keys.🐞🐞 (steve is SUCH a boob guy)
⋆˙⟡ just a moment
ᯓ★ boyfriend!steve harrington x f!reader
⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni!!! smut, p in v, unprotected sex, steve is so subby and needy, kind of oral fixation (steve looooves your boobs), alcohol consumption
⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — steve sees you in a different style of dress for the first time and absolutely loses his mind. its impossible to resist, which is exactly why he’s dragging you off to the car for a moment alone.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ author’s note — thank you so much for the request love!!! i lowkey loved this idea and it was a little different from the stuff i usually write but the second i read it, i immediately had a vision and i hope this lives up to the request. please send in some more!!!
⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 2.01k
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.
the annoyingly bright florescent lights of the star court mall boutique hummed, casting a bright glow over the racks of neon fabrics and denim. you walked past the displays, your arms already heavy with a couple of records and a new guitar strap you’d managed to find for eddie’s birthday. shopping for your older brother was usually easy—just find anything black, studded, or related to heavy metal—but today, a stray mannequin near the back of the store had caught your eye.
it was wearing a dress. it wasn't your usual style at all—no baggy band tees or flowy maxy dresses to hide behind. usually, you avoided shorter, more revealing cuts. finding clothes that fit right was always a gamble, especially with a bigger chest; things either pulled too tight across your top or ended up looking like a shapeless tent.
but this one was different. it was a deep brown tone, with a slightly lower neckline and a hemline that hit a few inches above the knee. something about the cut made you pause.
“why not?” you muttered to yourself, slipping the hanger off the rack before you could talk yourself out of it.
in the dingy changing room, you set eddiems birthday gifts down and carefully stepped into the dress. as you pulled it up and adjusted the straps, you braced yourself for the usual disappointment. you reached for the zipper, waiting for it to catch, but it slid up smoothly.
turning to face the full-length mirror, your eyes widened.
the dress didn't just fit—it looked incredible. the lower neckline framed your breasts perfectly without feeling uncomfortable, and the fabric hugged your curves in exactly the right places before flaring out slightly at the waist. the shorter length felt fun and bold, completely different from the baggier, long clothes you were usually forced to opt for anyway.
for the first time in a long time, you didn't see the flaws in the mirror. you just saw how vibrant and confident you looked. a massive smile broke across your face, and you twirled slightly, watching the fabric move.
you couldn't wait to buy it. eddie’s birthday party was the perfect excuse to finally wear something that made you feel this spectacular.
hours had passed since then. now, you stood in front of your bedroom mirror, smoothing your hands down the fabric of the dress one last time. seeing yourself like this—confident, vibrant, and wearing something that actually made you feel amazing—felt entirely new, and you couldn't help but smile at your reflection.
a sharp knock on the door broke the quiet. "hey, kid! you ready? everyone’s waiting, and i am ready to celebrate!" eddie’s voice boomed from the hallway.
"yeah, just a second!" you called back.
remembering that eddie would definitely be celebrating with a few beers tonight, you walked over to your nightstand and snatched his van keys. as the designated driver for the night, you slipped them safely into your purse before opening the door. eddie took one look at you, gave a proud, approving nod at seeing his little sister looking so happy and confident, and the two of you headed out to the van.
the drive to steve’s house was filled with the usual loud music and eddie drumming on the steering wheel, but your heart raced a little faster as you pulled into the driveway.
when you walked through the front door, the crowded house seemed to fade into the background the exact second steve looked up. he caught sight of you from across the room, and his jaw practically dropped. he didn't even say goodbye to the person he was talking to. he walked straight over to you, his eyes locked onto yours, full of absolute adoration.
"hey, gorgeous," steve breathed, his voice warm and filled with awe as he stepped into your space. he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. "you look... absolutely stunning. i can't even take my eyes off you."
"you like it?" you asked, a flush of happiness hitting your cheeks.
“i love it. i love everything about it," he murmured, his hands resting securely on your waist, completely unwilling to let you go. he leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your forehead and temple, mumbling against your skin about how incredible you looked.
your cheeks tinged red as they began to grow hot, making you curl up in his touch. you gently pushed at his chest and broke free from his grasp. “i’m gonna get a drink. you want anything?”
steve was right. he literally couldn’t take his eyes off of you. they didn’t even know where the focus. they were trailing down from your face, to your chest, all the way down to your shoes, and back up to repeat the cycle in a scrambled order. “just, uhm…” his voice trailed off, licking his lips as he admired how beautifully this dress fit. “beer. just a beer please, honey.”
he looked like a sad puppy for entirety of your walk to his fridge. he couldn't breathe. he actually couldn't breathe. the fact that everyone could see you in that pretty dress while he had to watch from afar, irked him in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.
and the moment you returned, he was cracking open the bottle cap with his teeth and pulling you into him, your chest flush to his with his big hand splayed over your back. “you look like a fucking dream, you know that?”
steve was already one or two beers deep from the casual sips while setting up, the alcohol stripping away his usual composure and replacing it with a desperate, starving hunger. he didn't just want you; he was fucking obsessed.
he had spent the last hour practically glued to your side, his body pressing into yours every chance he got. he wasn't subtle either. his hand was permanently anchored to you, his fingers digging into the soft, plush curve of your tummy, kneading the skin through the fabric of the dress. he loved how you felt—how soft and yielding you were. he kept sliding his hand down, pawing at the fat of your hips, squeezing your flesh with a needy intensity. and the moment he pressed himself tight up against your side, you could feel exactly how hard he was under his jeans.
"god, you're so beautiful," he groaned, his voice thick and hazy. he leaned in, his breath smelling of beer and smoke, pressing wet, sloppy kisses all over your cheeks, your jawline, and the sensitive skin of your neck. he was practically vibrating against you. "you have no idea, honey... i can't even think. i can't even fucking look at anyone else."
he shifted closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a filthy, guttural whisper. "i want you so bad. i want to feel every inch of you. please, baby... just let me take you upstairs. i’ll be so quick, i promise. no one’ll even notice we’re gone... just me and you. i need to get you out of this dress. i need to taste you."
you chuckled and lightly pushed at his chest to create some space between the two of you. “steve, we can’t just leave. it’s my brother’s party,” you reasoned, pecking his lips to help soften the rejection. “what if someone find us hiding up there?”
he towered back over your, lazily mouthing at your neck. “we can go to the car,” he suggested, completely intoxicated by you. he couldn’t help but suck a deep purple bruise just below the neckline of your dress. one wrong move and everyone would see it. “no one will come looking for us out there.”
when you finally nodded, a small, breathless smile on your lips, steve let out a sound that was half-moan, half-sob. he didn't just walk you out— he practically steered you, his hands unable to stay still for a single second.
as you led him toward the door, you couldn’t help but anxiously glance around for any eyes watching. steve followed close behind you, his large palms gripping your ass, squeezing the soft cheeks through the dress, pulling you back against his hardness with every step. he was extremely bold and clingy from the beer and the desperation, his hands wandering upward, reaching around to paw at your breasts. he kneaded them firmly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the cloth, his breath hot and ragged against your shoulder.
"so big," he whimpered, his voice trembling. "so fucking soft. i’m going to devour you the second we hit that seat."
your felt another flicker of anxiety, glancing back at the house where the party was still roaring. "steve, stop," you whispered, your voice a mix of a plea and a command. "slow down. someone’s going to see us. we’re in the middle of the street—what if someone walks by?"
steve didn't even flinch. he stopped for a second, pulling you flush against his hard chest, his eyes dark and clouded with lust. a smirk played on his lips, arrogant and completely smitten.
"let them," he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, possessive growl. "i don't give a fuck. i want them to see. i want everyone to know exactly how crazy my gorgeous girl makes me. i want them to see how much I need you."
you stopped dead in your tracks and turned to face him. you tried to keep your face stern, masking the smile that was tugging at the corners of your mouth. You put your hands on his chest, pushing him back just an inch, your eyes narrowing.
"no," you said firmly, your voice taking on a sharp, assertive edge. "you are going to behave. you will wait two minutes until we get to the car, and then you can do whatever you want. do you understand?"
the effect on steve was instantaneous. he didn't fight you. instead, he practically melted. the sight of you taking charge, putting him in his place with that stern look, sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to his groin. he looked at you with wide, dilated pupils, his chest heaving.
he nodded submissively, his head bobbing almost like a little puppy, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he fought the urge to just pin you against the nearest fence. he loved it. he absolutely loved being told what to do by you. he was exactly where he wanted to be—completely at your fingertips and utterly desperate for the moment you finally let him lose control.
"yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice shaking with anticipation. "whatever you want. just... please, can we hurry?"
by the time you reached the van at the end of the street, steve was barely holding it together. he damn near ripped the back doors off the hinges, lifted you you inside, and practically tackled you onto the bench seat, his eyes wide and glazed with a primal, unfiltered hunger for every single curve of your body.
the moment the van doors slammed shut, the silence of the street was replaced by the frantic, desperate sounds of steve’s breathing. he didn't just want you, he was literally starving for you. he descended on you like a man possessed, his hands shaking as he gripped the fabric of your dress. “fuck, honey. need you so bad.” he loved how you looked in it, but the need to feel your bare skin was overriding everything. he practically ripped the fabric down, the dress sliding over your hips to reveal the lush, soft curves he had been dreaming about all night.
when your breasts finally spilled out, free and heavy, steve let out a choked, guttural sound. he didn't even wait. he collapsed on top of you, his heavy weight pinning you into the bench seat, and dove straight for your chest.
"god, look at them... look at you," he whimpered, his voice broken. he began nursing on your breast with a primal intensity, his lips sealing around one large, soft nipple as he sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. he was a complete fucking mess, his face flushed, his eyes glazed over with pure adoration. “jesus christ, baby. you’re gonna fucking kill me in this pretty thing.” he moved from one breast to the other, licking, biting, and sucking on the pale skin, leaving a trail of wet, hot marks across your chest. he was completely enamored by the size and softness of them, his hands palming your breasts, squeezing them together to push them closer to his mouth.
"so perfect... fuck, you're so fucking perfect," he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick and needy.
while he was devouring your breasts, his hips were grinding relentlessly into you, his hard length pressing against your center. he could feel your cunt soaking straight through the thin fabric of your underwear. he fumbled with his belt, the metallic clinking of the buckle sounding frantic in the small space. he didn't take his eyes off you for a second, his gaze hungry and devoted. with a desperate grunt, he freed his huge, pulsing cock and guided himself to your opening.
he slid into you slowly, a long, deep stretch that filled you completely. steve let out a loud, melodic moan, his head falling back against the seat as he felt the crushing tightness of your cunt. he was shaking, his entire body trembling from the sheer sensation of being inside you.
“oh god... you're so tight... so fucking warm," he gasped, his voice straining. he began to rut into you, his hips moving in slow, heavy thrusts that drove him deeper and deeper. he wasn't just fucking you; it’s like he was trying to merge into one with you, wanting to be as close as humanly possible.
every time he pushed forward, his hands stayed glued to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, lifting them up so he could watch them bounce with every thrust. the mix of hushed whispers, of praise and desperation and moans, in your ear was enough to make you want to scream.
it doesn’t take long until his hot mouth is back on your breasts, sucking hard and licking at your peaked nipples. it was all too much. “oh! stevie, mmph! please— need to slow down,” you whined, blinking back the thick tears pooling in your eyes. “i can’t— fuck, i can’t mess up my makeup.”
he released your skin with a wet pop and pressed a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “we’ll get you fixed up later, honey. oh, fuck. i promise,” he gasped out. "i can't... i can't even think when i’m looking at your tits," he groaned, his pace picking up, becoming more frantic. "i love them so much. i love every fucking inch of you. shit, i’m not gonna last... baby, i’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that... fuck, i need you... i need all of you."
he was a shipwreck of a man, completely undone by your body, his moans filling the van as he drove himself into your warmth, obsessed with the way you felt and the way you looked beneath him.
with a sudden, powerful surge of strength, steve gripped your hips and rolled you both over in one fluid motion. he sat up against the back of the van seats, his back against the cool leather and your legs situated on either side of his thighs, seating you firmly on top of him.
the change in position was electric. now, you were the one in control, bouncing slowly on his huge cock, and the view for steve was nothing short of heavenly. your heavy breasts were perfectly positioned right in his face, swaying and jiggling with every downward press. he looked up at you with eyes that were completely blown out, his expression one of pure, unfiltered worship.
as you sank down, the small patch of coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed perfectly against your clit, creating a friction that had you gasping and arching your back into him. steve let out a strangled noise, his hands immediately flying to your body. one hand stayed anchored to your clit, his fingers dancing over the sensitive nub in a rhythmic, driving motion that pushed you closer to the edge, while the other hand gripped your breast, pulling it firmly into his mouth.
he began to suck on you again, his tongue swirling around your nipple while he looked up at you through his lashes. he wasn't just focused on the sex; he was obsessed with your entire body. he reached down, his large hand sliding over the soft, pillowy curve of your tummy, his fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs. he loved the way your skin felt—soft, warm, and abundant. he was a complete sucker for every single curve, every fold of your beautiful body.
"you’re so perfect," he whispered, his voice a ragged, shaking mess. "god, i’m the luckiest man in the fucking world. looking at you, feeling you... you're an angel, baby. you’re fucking unreal."
he started to thrust upward with a sudden, violent intensity, his hips snapping up to meet your descent. he wanted to feel the impact, wanted to see the way your tits bounced and jiggled harder with every heavy hit. he was practically whimpering now, the sound of his desperation filling the cramped space of the van.
"look at them, honey. look at how pretty they bounce for me," he groaned, his eyes locked on your chest as he hammered upward into you. "i can't fucking get enough. i’m never getting enough of you. please, baby— hmph. just keep riding me. just keep taking all of it."
This is a perfect encapsulation of why I believe Steve LOVES big beautiful curvy girlies. He loves the jiggle lol and those big gorgeous hands can handle our bodies perfectly 👌
Summary: You and Steve finally get some well deserved alone time.
Warnings: Smut MDNI, p in v (they're married, u better wrap it up!) oral (F recieving), body worship, nothing too crazy!
Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for a while now, just needed to clean it up!
The final bell at Hawkins Elementary School rings at 3:15 sharp on the warm spring afternoon in 2000, unleashing a flood of sneakers, slamming lockers, and weekend shouts down the hallways.
You stay behind in your classroom a little longer - red pen gliding across the last batch of marking, the familiar chalk-and-old-books smell wrapping around you like a hug.
Suddenly the classroom door bursts open with a bang.
Your four sons - Steven, ten, leading the charge, followed closely by Connor, eight, Dylan, seven, and little Jackson, six - come tumbling in panting and flushed from sprinting through the halls, with Billy, Max and Lucas’s energetic son, born the same week as Jackson, right in the thick of them.
All five boys share their dad’s signature wild locks and your bright eyes, faces lit up with pure weekend excitement as they crowd your desk.
“Mom! Mom! Can we go watch Billy’s football match now please? Aunt Max said it’s fine! Pleaseee!” Steven asks.
A chorus of eager “Pleeease Mom!” rings out from Steven, Connor, Dylan, and Jackson, every single one of them bouncing on their toes and giving you those big irresistible pleading eyes.
“We’re going to go get ice cream after, my mom said she’s cool with it,” Billy adds, grinning hopefully.
You look at their sweet, hopeful faces and can’t help but smile warmly. You lift your purse from your drawer, pull out a crisp twenty-dollar note, and press it into Billy’s hand.
“Give this to your mom for me for the ice creams and tell her I said thanks, okay sweetie?”
The boys erupt in a whirlwind of cheers - “Thank you Mom!” - before racing back out the door almost as fast as they arrived, already chattering loudly about touchdowns and chocolate sundaes, the door swinging shut behind their happy chaos.
You shake your head with a soft laugh, the quiet settling back in. That takes care of the afternoon perfectly - leaving you a peaceful stretch to finish grading before Mrs Henderson brings the two-year-old twins Jane and Edward, who she gleefully agreed to babysit when you went back to work, at six.
Your door creaks open.
Steve Harrington fills the frame - gym bag over one shoulder, polo shirt clinging from afternoon practice, hair wind-tousled from the field. At thirty-four he’s broader, steadier, the lines around his eyes deeper from years of laughing with six kids and one wife who still makes his chest ache every time she smiles.
But that smirk? Still the same one he gave you in the hallway back when you were both twenty-something and you were pretending you weren’t already falling for that charm.
“Still working, Mrs. Harrington?” His voice is low, teasing, just for you.
You turn back to your work, smiling. “Some of us have work to finish before the weekend starts.”
He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel, already crossing the room like he’s got nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
“Missed you all day,” he murmurs, bending to kiss the side of your neck. His lips are warm, a little rough from shouting plays into the wind.
You exhale a soft laugh that turns into a gasp when his hand squeezes. “Steve. We’re at work.”
“Door’s shut.” He nips your earlobe. “No one’s walking in on Coach Harrington losing his mind over his wife’s body... again.”
He drops the gym bag with a thud and rounds your desk, pulling you up from your chair into his arms, mouth already finding the sensitive spot on your neck.
“Steve - ” you try to scold him, half-stern, half-laughing as you set the red pen down, but the word melts into nothing the second his hands begin to roam - greedy, reverent.
One hand slides down to grip your ass firmly, squeezing the soft, full curve possessively, fingers digging in like he can’t get enough, while the other moves to your breasts, kneading hungrily.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes hot against your skin. His thumb circles your nipple slowly through the fabric until it pebbles tight. “Still can’t believe they’re all mine.”
Your breath quickens, heart racing as his touch scatters every thought. “The-the kids have gone to watch Billy’s game… Max is taking them-”
“I heard,” he murmurs against your skin in that knowing, sexy tone that always undoes you, lips dragging along your jaw.
“The twins are with Mrs. Henderson,” you manage, voice breathy, your hand flying up to bury it in his hair
“I know,” he says, smiling into your neck now, the curve of his lips wicked and warm at the same time.
You pull back just enough to look at him - cheeks flushed, eyes dark with want - and curl your fingers into the front of his polo shirt.
“Take me home, Coach. We don’t have long.”
His eyes darken with pure hunger. “Then we better move fast, baby.”
The drive home is brutal. Steve’s right hand never leaves your thigh - fingers tracing slow, maddening circles, creeping higher until you’re shifting in the seat. Every red light he leans over to kiss you, hand slipping under your skirt to cup you through your panties.
“Soaked already,” he mutters against your lips.
You bite his lower lip. “Behave.”
He chuckles, dark and hungry. “Haven’t behaved since the day I put that ring on your finger, honey.”
When you finally reach home, the front door barely closes before he’s on you.
He backs you against the entryway wall, hands shoving your skirt down to pool at your feet, palming your ass like he’s staking claim. Your blouse hits the floor, your bra follows. The second your breasts spill free he groans - low, wrecked.
“God, look at these.” He cups them, lifts them, thumbs brushing the soft undersides.
He drops to his knees in the hallway.
“Steve-”
No answer. Just his nose pressing against the damp cotton of your panties, inhaling deep. “Smells so fucking good.”
He hooks his fingers in the waistband, drags them down slow - kissing the soft roll of your belly, the dip of your hips, the crease of thigh. When the fabric hits the floor he spreads you with both hands, lifting one leg over his shoulder as he thumbs parting your lips so he can see how glistening you are.
“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he rasps. “Still gets this wet for me after six kids.”
His mouth descends - hot, open, tongue flat and broad, licking one long stripe from entrance to clit. You cry out, hands flying to his hair. He moans into you like your taste is oxygen, chin slick, nose bumping your clit with every pass.
One hand grips your ass, squeezing; the other reaches up to palm your breast, rolling the nipple in time with his tongue.
“Come on my face, honey” he growls. “Want to taste my wife.”
You shatter fast - thighs clamping his ears, back arching off the wall, moaning his name. He licks you through it, slow and thorough, until you’re trembling and tugging him up.
He rises, mouth shiny, eyes feral. Kisses you deep so you taste yourself on him.
“Bedroom, baby. Now.”
His clothes trail the hall and stairs - his polo, jeans, boxers, your heels are kicked off too somewhere inbetween. By the time you hit the mattress he’s naked, cock thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. He pushes you down gently but firmly, climbs over you, hands already everywhere.
He starts at your breasts - sucking one nipple deep while his hand kneads the other. Switches sides, leaving wet marks, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
“Love these tits,” he mutters. “Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how full they got when you were pregnant. Still get hard thinking about it.”
He moves lower now, kissing your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, nipping the soft curve above your pubic bone. “Love this,” he says, voice thick. “Love every inch of you. Makes me so fucking hard knowing I get to worship it all.”
He spreads your thighs wide, settles between them. Rubs the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself.
He pushes in slow - inch by thick inch - until he’s seated deep. The stretch is exquisite, that familiar burn of him filling every inch of you until you feel so full you can barely breathe. He’s so hot inside you, thick and pulsing, the heavy throb of his cock pressing right against that perfect spot that makes your toes curl instantly.
“Oh my god, Steve,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good… so deep… fuck”
He stays still a moment, forehead to yours, breathing ragged.
“Feel that?” he whispers. “How perfectly you take me?”
You nod, breathless, rolling your hips up to take him even deeper. “Yes… god, you’re perfect inside me. Don’t stop.”
Then he moves - long, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive wall, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. The drag of him is mind-melting, every ridge and vein stroking you just right, the wet sound of him sliding in and out only making it hotter.
“Yes - yes Steve. Oh - fuck, you’re so good,” you gasp, legs wrapping tight around his waist. “Harder - please, I need more.”
“Fuck, look at you,” he pants. “Taking me so well. So tight. So wet. This pussy was made for my cock, hmm?”
You can only nod, as you let out another loud moan.
He speeds up - harder, deeper. The headboard thumps. Your breasts bounce as he watches, mesmerized, one hand braced beside your head, the other palming your tit.
“Love watching these move,” he growls. “Love how they feel slapping against me when I take you from behind.”
He pulls out, flips you onto your stomach and yanks your hips up. You arch and he groans at the sight - your thighs thick and spread, pussy glistening and swollen.
“Goddamn.” He spreads your cheeks, thumbs holding you open so he can watch himself slide back in. “This view, jesus - baby.”
The new angle has him hitting even deeper, the thick head of his cock dragging right over that sweet spot with every punishing thrust. You feel every inch of him stretching you open and making your whole body tremble with how insanely good it feels.
“Fuck, right there!” you cry out, pushing back against him desperately. “Steve - oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
He thrusts hard, bottoming out with a slap of skin. You cry out as he curses, hands bruising your hips.
“Take it,” he pants. “Take every inch, baby. Let me feel how much you love being fucked by your husband.”
He’s relentless now, pushing deep, punishing strokes that jolt your whole body. One hand slides around to rub your clit in tight circles as the other reaches under to cup your breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.
“Come for me again,” he demands. “Come on my cock, baby.”
You shatter again - walls fluttering and clenching around his thick length, the pleasure crashing through you so hard your vision whites out. “Steve - fuck, I’m coming - !”
He fucks you through it, pace faltering.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill you up - fuck - I’m gonna - ”
He slams deep, grinding as he spills - hot, pulsing, seeming endless. The feel of him throbbing and flooding you pushes you even higher, the warmth of his release making you moan softly into the pillow.
He stays buried, softening slowly, arms wrapping around you from behind. One hand finds your breast again - gentle now, just holding, thumb brushing lazy circles.
“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck.
You hum, boneless. “More than okay.”
He nuzzles closer. “Good. Because I’m not done touching you.”
You laugh softly. “You never are.”
“Never will be.”
Later - after a joint shower where he soaped every inch of you with slow, reverent hands, murmuring how beautiful and how his you still are against your wet skin, after he dried you off with the same careful devotion - you both retrace your steps through the house, laughing softly as you scoop up the discarded clothes and hide them away in the hamper.
You slip into something more comfortable than your work attire, choosing soft cotton shorts and a t-shirt before climbing back onto the bed with him. Steve lies there relaxed, chest bare and still slightly damp from the shower, hair tousled, looking ridiculously handsome and content.
He immediately reaches for you, pulling you close. His palm rests warmly over the soft swell of your stomach even through your shirt, fingers tracing idle, loving patterns.
“Love you,” he whispers, half-asleep, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You lace your fingers with his. “Love you too.”
The doorbell rings - Claudia dropping off Jane and Edward.
Steve groans, burying his face in your neck, but he’s already smiling.
“Guess playtime’s over.”
You kiss his shoulder softly. “Until tonight.”
He grins against your skin, voice low and full of promise. “Count on it, Mrs. Harrington.”
You both pad downstairs, still flushed and laughing quietly. Steve’s arm stays slung around your waist the whole way.
The moment you open the door, a chorus of tiny voices rings out.
“Mama! Dada!”
Jane and Edward toddle forward on chubby legs, arms up, faces bright with that pure two-year-old joy. Steve scoops Jane up instantly, her giggles bubbling out like sunshine as she beams up at her dad with those big sparkling eyes.
He’s been wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born - he wanted a girl so badly, and he’s doted on her every single day since. Now he’s kissing her cheeks and spinning her around like she hung the moon.
You lift Edward into your arms. The quieter, more reserved of the duo instantly tightens his fists into your soft T-shirt and tucks his head shyly into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you’re his whole safe world.
“Thank you so much, Claudia,” you say, shifting Edward’s weight gently.
Claudia just smiles that warm, all-too-knowing smile - the one that says she definitely noticed the red sensitive marks peeking above your collar and Steve’s still-damp hair - and gives you both a little wink before turning to head back across the road to her house.
You and Steve both feel the heat rush to your cheeks, exchanging a quick, sheepish glance that only makes you grin wider.
Then Max’s van pulls up with a dramatic skid, tires squealing just enough to announce the arrival of pure chaos. The side door flies open and your four boys spill out in a sticky, sweaty, ice-cream-smeared rush - all talking at once about football and sundaes and how Billy almost scored the winning touchdown.
Steve leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand giving your waist one last secret squeeze.
And just like that, the house explodes into noise and laughter and sticky hugs and “Mom, can we order pizza?” and “Dad, you should have seen the game!”
The beautiful, loud, perfect kind of crazy you wouldn’t trade for anything.
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