can i get a Chicago deep dish with pepperoni, wings on the side (they can’t fuck you like I can ) and a Pepsi please Xx
nobody does it better
pairing: steve harrington x reader
w/c: 2431
warnings/tags: smutty smut, dom! steve harrington, drunk sex, rough sex
masterlist // pizza party
The Harrington house was a riot of orange lights, fake cobwebs, and too many bodies. Music thumped through the walls- something heavy on bass and attitude- and the air reeked of cheap beer, cigarette smoke, and that sweet lingering smell of candy. Steve had thrown the party because he needed the noise. Needed the distraction. Nancy was done, really done this time, and the house felt too fucking quiet when it was just him and his thoughts.
Then you walked in wearing that witch costume.
Short black dress. Deep V that showed off the soft swell of your tits every time you moved. Fishnets. The pointy hat had already been ditched somewhere, and your hair was a little messy from dancing. You looked like trouble. The kind Steve had been trying not to stare at for weeks.
He’d had his eye on you since the summer. Since before Nancy officially ended it. You weren’t like the other girls who giggled at everything he said. You actually talked to him. Teased him. Made him feel like maybe he wasn’t just King Steve, the washed-up pretty boy with a big house and nothing else. He’d been working up the nerve to do something about it tonight. Buy you a drink. Get you laughing. Maybe finally see if that mouth tasted as good as it looked.
But then some guy in a pirate costume pulled you onto the dance floor, and Steve’s plans went to shit.
You were drunk. Not sloppy- buzzed enough that your smile was wider, your movements looser, your head tipping back when the pirate said something in your ear. The guy had his hands on your waist, then lower, fingers splaying over the curve of your ass as he pulled you back against him. You didn’t push him away. You laughed and rolled your hips with the music, letting him grind into you like it was nothing. Like Steve wasn’t standing twenty feet away watching the whole thing with his jaw locked so tight it hurt.
She’s not yours, he told himself. You don’t get to be pissed.
He said it again when the guy’s hand slid up your stomach, possessive, holding you flush to his chest while you moved together. Your dress had ridden up just enough to show the tops of your fishnets and a flash of bare thigh. Steve’s cock twitched in his jeans like a fucking traitor.
He turned away, stalked into the kitchen, and poured himself a shot of whatever was on the counter. Whiskey. It burned going down. He poured another. The alcohol hit his bloodstream fast- warmth spreading through his chest, loosening his limbs- but it didn’t blur you out of his head. If anything, it made everything sharper. The memory of your laugh. The way your body looked pressed against someone else’s. The ugly, possessive twist in his gut that had no right to exist.
You have no claim on her. She can dance with whoever the fuck she wants.
He knew that. Didn’t stop the images from flashing behind his eyes anyway- his hands on your hips instead, his thigh between yours, your back arching into him while the bass rattled the windows. He imagined dragging you upstairs, kicking his bedroom door shut, shoving that dress up around your waist and finding out if you were already wet from all that grinding. Would you moan for him? Would you let him mark you up, bite down on that pretty throat while he fucked the memory of that pirate out of your system?
Steve poured another shot and knocked it back, hissing at the burn. His dick was half-hard now, pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He adjusted with a rough palm, face hot with shame and want. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. Getting jealous over a girl who wasn’t even his, then getting turned on by it like some kind of masochist.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the tab, and leaned against the counter where he could still see the living room. You were still dancing. Still smiling. The pirate’s hands had gotten bolder- one resting low on your belly, fingers brushing the hem of your dress like he was thinking about sliding underneath. You didn’t stop him. You just kept moving, drunk and glowing and so fucking beautiful it made Steve’s chest ache.
He took a long pull of beer and tried to look anywhere else. Tried to focus on the loud music, the shouting, the girl in the corner dressed as a devil who kept shooting him looks. But his eyes kept dragging back to you like you had a fucking leash on him.
Another shot. The room was getting softer around the edges, but you stayed crystal clear. Every sway of your hips. Every time your head fell back against the guy’s shoulder. Every little giggle that carried over the music and went straight to Steve’s cock.
He was so fucked.
The jealousy wasn’t fading. It was growing, hot and mean, mixing with the alcohol until Steve felt dangerous. Like if he didn’t do something soon- walk over there, yank you away, kiss you hard enough to make you forget that asshole’s name- he was going to lose his goddamn mind.
He downed the rest of the beer in three long swallows and set the can down harder than necessary.
She’s not yours.
But watching you dance like that, drunk and happy and letting some other guy touch you?
It sure as hell felt like you should be.
Steve’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His heart was hammering. His jeans were too tight. And the alcohol still wasn’t doing a single fucking thing to get you off his mind.
If anything, it was making him want you worse.
He pushed off the counter, eyes locked on you across the crowded room, and started moving before he could talk himself out of it.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air shifted. The music kept pounding, the pirate guy’s hands were still on your hips, but suddenly none of it mattered. Steve Harrington cut through the crowd like the party belonged to him- because it did- and stopped right in front of you. His dark eyes were locked on yours, jaw tight, those stupid plastic devil horns crooked on his head. He didn’t even glance at the guy behind you.
He just reached out, took your wrist, and pulled.
You went.
No hesitation. You slipped out of the pirate’s grip like he’d never existed and let Steve draw you into his space instead. The second your body pressed against his, everything else blurred. His hands landed on your waist, firm, possessive, and you started moving with him like you’d been waiting for this all night.
It wasn’t dancing anymore. It was foreplay with clothes on.
Your hips rolled against his thigh. His fingers dug into your sides, dragging you closer until you could feel how hard he already was through his jeans. The bass vibrated through both of you. Steve’s breath was hot against your temple, his chest rising and falling faster than the beat.
Then his mouth brushed your ear.
Low. Rough. Drunk on whiskey and cocky as hell.
“He can’t fuck you like I can.”
Your stomach dropped. Heat flooded between your legs so fast your knees almost buckled. You gasped, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt. The words went straight to your cunt like he’d touched you there.
You turned your head just enough for your lips to graze his jaw.
“Then prove it, Harrington.”
That was all it took.
Steve made a low, filthy sound and grabbed your hand, cutting straight through the party toward the stairs. He didn’t care who saw. Didn’t slow down. By the time his bedroom door slammed shut behind you, he was already on you- drunk, no inhibitions, and done holding back.
He shoved you back against the door so hard the wood rattled. His mouth crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth and weeks of pent-up hunger. One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite at your throat. The other shoved your dress up around your waist like it was in his way.
“Fucking finally,” he growled against your skin. His voice was slurred from the alcohol but sharp with need. “Been watching you all night. Letting that asshole put his hands on you while I stood there like a fucking idiot. You knew what you were doing to me, didn’t you?”
You didn’t get a chance to answer.
Steve spun you around, bent you over the edge of his dresser, and dropped to his knees behind you. Your panties and fishnets were ripped down in one rough tug. Then his mouth was on you — hot, messy, and relentless. He licked a long, filthy stripe through your folds and groaned like he’d been starving for it.
“Steve- fuck-”
“Shut up and take it,” he muttered against your pussy, drunk and mean and so fucking hot. One hand gripped your hip, holding you down against the dresser while he ate you like he owned you. His tongue fucked into you, then dragged up to suck hard on your clit. Two thick fingers pushed inside without warning, curling deep and rough.
You moaned loud. He didn’t slow down.
“Been jerking off thinking about this cunt every night,” he slurred between licks, fingers pumping hard. “Every time I saw you at school I’d go home and stroke my cock imagining bending you over and ruining you. And tonight you were grinding on some loser like you didn’t know I was watching.”
He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue again, messy and loud. You were shaking, close already.
“Don’t you fucking come yet,” he ordered, voice dark. “Not until I say.”
You whimpered, trying to hold it back, but he was relentless- licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until tears pricked your eyes from how badly you needed to come. Only when your legs were trembling so hard you could barely stand did he finally pull back.
He stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and manhandled you toward the bed.
“On your back. Now. Spread your legs.”
You scrambled to obey. Steve stripped off his shirt and kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, cock thick and flushed and leaking. The devil horns thrown aside tangled in his shirt. He looked wrecked and dangerous.
He climbed onto the bed, grabbed your thighs, and shoved them wide apart, holding you open like he wanted to see every inch of you. Then he dropped down and buried his face between your legs again.
This time he didn’t stop.
He ate you through your first orgasm- fingers fucking into you hard while he sucked your clit, holding you down when you tried to squirm away from how intense it was. You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head. Steve didn’t let up. He kept going, overstimulating you until you were sobbing his name and trying to push at his shoulders.
“Too much- Steve, please-”
“Take it,” he growled, drunk and merciless. “You’re gonna come again before I even fuck you. Been waiting too long for this.”
He forced a second orgasm out of you with his mouth and fingers, not stopping until you were a shaking, wet mess beneath him. Only then did he crawl up your body, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
His cock dragged through your slick folds, teasing your oversensitive clit.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You did. His eyes were glassy from alcohol but burning with possession.
“You’re mine now,” he said, voice low and rough. “That guy downstairs? He doesn’t get to touch you again. No one does. This pussy? It’s mine. Been mine. I’m gonna fuck you so deep you feel me tomorrow.”
He lined up and thrust in hard- one long, brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt. You both groaned. Steve gave you a second to adjust before he started fucking you like he was punishing you for every second you’d spent with someone else.
Deep. Rough. Possessive.
The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. His free hand gripped your thigh, pushing it higher so he could get even deeper. He was heavy on top of you, pinning you down completely, using his body weight to keep you exactly where he wanted you.
“Fuck- so tight,” he slurred, hips snapping hard. “Taking my cock so good. You were made for this. Made for me.”
He let go of your wrists just long enough to flip you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. He shoved back inside in one thrust and started pounding into you from behind- harder, deeper, meaner. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back. The other came down on your ass in a sharp slap that made you clench around him.
“Say it,” he demanded, drunk and demanding. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You- fuck- Steve, it’s yours-”
“Damn right it is.” Another slap. Another deep thrust. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna come so deep inside you you’ll be leaking me for days. Want that? Want me to ruin this pretty cunt so you remember who fucked you stupid?”
“Yes- please-”
He reached around and rubbed your clit in rough circles while he fucked you, not letting up even when you started shaking again.
“Come on my cock,” he ordered. “Now.”
You came hard, sobbing into the pillow, clenching around him so tight he cursed. Steve fucked you through it, pace turning sloppy and desperate.
“Gonna come- fuck- you fuckin’- ”
He buried himself deep and came with a low, broken groan, pulsing hot inside you. He stayed there for a long moment, grinding through the aftershocks, making sure every drop stayed buried in you.
When he finally pulled out, he flipped you onto your back again and kissed you- slower, but still sloppy. His hand stayed wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse like he couldn’t stop touching you.
He was still half-hard against your thigh.
“Not done with you yet,” he muttered against your mouth, drunk and honest. “Been wanting this too long. Gonna keep you in this bed until I’ve fucked you every way I’ve thought about.”
His thumb brushed your bottom lip.
“Open.”
You did.
He slid two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself and him.
“Good girl.”