a.k.a the one where coach!Steve makes you grade papers while he fucks you from behind.
PAIRING - coach!Steve Harrington x teacher!Reader
WARNINGS - 18+; mdni. Smut with a whisper of a plot: unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fem!reader orgasm. Reader is wearing a dress. No use of y/n.
WORD COUNT - 1.3K
A/N - I’m running on three hours of sleep, all because I couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. Send help.
The classroom was unusually peaceful for a weekday. No scraping chairs or half-whispered gossip. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the soft scratch of red pen against paper as you scribbled notes in the margins and circled misspelled words.
Midday sunlight slanted across the empty desks, dust particles floating lazily through the air.
It was the kind of quiet that made you forget you were still at school—right up until the soft creak of the door caught your attention.
With your ballpoint pen nipped between your teeth you raised your gaze, an amused smile replacing your curiosity as you saw him slipping into the classroom.
It looked good on him. The light blue jacket and a blue cap. The khakis, and the way his eyes darkened slightly as his gaze met yours.
"Have I ever told you how good you look like this?" His voice was a breathless chuckle as he leaned against the door, casual as ever.
You raised an amused brow. "Grading papers?"
"Alone in your classroom," he grinned.
"Steve," you shook your head with your laughter, yet as you spoke, you knew your voice was everything but convincing. "I can't."
"Because you're busy grading papers." His voice was warm with his laughter.
"I have to finish before the next glass."
"What do you think I'm here for?"
You scoffed out a laugh, and yet you knew he knew. The way you were already squeezing your thighs together under your desk. It was obvious, wasn't it? From the way that you nipped your bottom lip between your teeth just to stop the breathless call for his name from escaping your lips.
You needed him.
Fuck, you needed him.
And yet—the gesture taking everything you had in you—you shook your head with a soft chuckle. "I have to finish these, Harrington."
It was then that he pushed off the wall to walk to you, his steps slow. Then, that he spoke, his voice growing deeper. "So don't stop grading."
"Don't stop—?"
"You're gonna keep grading your papers," he wet his lips. "While you take my cock, bent over your desk like I know you're craving to be."
Fuck.
"Steve," your laughter was breathless, and yet in his eyes you saw it.
He was dead serious as he towered over you, his thumb finding your bottom lip to slide along it.
Teasing.
Borderline bullying, and you both knew it was all it would take for you to give in: all it did take for you to give in.
His lips, warm and soft, were nothing short of possessive as they found yours as soon as you stood up from your seat; his hands greedy as he spun you around and guided you to bend over the desk.
The wood against your hips felt bruising, yet as you felt Steve's hands running on the backs of your thighs, already managing to coax a moan from your lips, you knew you'd love to see the marks your quickie would leave behind.
"Fuck, sweetheart." His voice was low as his hands pulled the hem of your dress over your behind, his movements slow, the man savouring the reveal. "Could never get tired of seeing you like this."
"Steve—"
Under his burning gaze you felt exposed, and from it, your walls clenched around nothing.
Desperate.
So goddamn needy for the man who'd made you glow so many times during the past three months that you had spent doing this.
Sneaking around the school, fucking against this surface and that in your ravenous desire for each other.
Fuck, it was wrong. It was so wrong, but as Steve's fingers hooked around the fabric of your panties to yank them aside…
Nothing had ever felt as right.
"Jesus Christ, honey," his chuckle was breathless. "So fucking ready for me."
"I need you," was all you managed.
"So then pick up your pen—," he hummed, his grin audible in his voice. "And keep grading."
Fuck.
Your hands shaking from pure adrenaline and desire, you wrapped your fingers around the ballpoint pen. Your eyes scanning the paper you tried to remember where you'd left off, yet as Steve's cock, goddamn throbbing, brushed against your entrance the scribbles on the page might as well have been Chinese.
The feeling was heaven, and from the way he eased into you, you found the death of a single thought that had ever existed in your mind.
"Fuck, darling. There you go—" His hands were gentle on your hips, his thumbs drawing circles through the fabric of your dress as he pulled out, only to slide back into your slick folds. "So fucking good. Taking it all so well—"
You were, your body opening up around him in nothing but excitement to welcome him back.
And yet, you knew.
With a desperate shake of your head you tried your best to clear up your mind enough to focus on the paper in front of you.
The words were English once more, and with a relieved breath passing your lips you managed to make sense of the sentences.
And that is when Steve picked up his pace.
"Fucking—," you clamped your hand across your mouth, knowing that the walls of the classroom were surely not thick enough to conseal the amount of pleasure Steve's cock in you was suddenly drowning you in.
"C'mon, honey, I know you can focus for me," Steve's chuckle was deep, thick with amusement. "You've got ten minutes."
Your laughter was a breathless sound as you shook your head, a knit between your brows. "Fuck you, Harrington—"
"You are, baby, but that's not what you can focus on right now."
Asshole.
Drawing in a deep breath, you focused your gaze back on the assignment, but the pleasure of him brushing his cock against the spot that he knew made you come undone in the matter of minutes—
No.
No, no, no.
You could do this.
Your heart racing in your chest and your thighs quivering, you nodded your head. You drew a circle around a misspelled word, and though the lines were a little shaky, it was good enough.
"There you go, baby. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
"Steve, if you don't shut up right now—," you managed, yet the touch of amusement in your voice was audible.
Just as your surprise was, as his finger slid under you and found your clit.
"Fuck, Steve—"
"Look at you, you're so close," he chuckled.
You were, in both meanings of the words. Only a few more sentences left on the paper. Only a few more strokes of Steve's cock in you: a few more lazy circles drawn around your clit and you knew, you knew you would be coming undone.
"C'mon, baby. Finish for me—"
Fuck.
Your hands shaking, you scribbled down a letter and a few words at the top right corner of the paper.
Your lips parting in a desperate call for his name, you came around Steve's cock. Moaning, gasping, and nothing short of glowing as he made your orgasm last and last, bumping into you, his thrusts slow and gentle.
"See," he then chuckled as he slipped out of you, reaching over for something on your desk. "Told you you'd finish in time."
Your star stickers.
"Steve, those are—"
"For your star students," he uttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he smacked a golden star on his forehead. "And you're the one who just graded me A+."
Confusion written on your features you followed his gaze down to the paper on your desk, to its corner that now read: A+. Good job, Steve!
"You know, I hope you’ve got some correction fluid," he then grinned, "or poor Derek? He's gonna be real confused."
[CW: this is a hunger kink story, contains painful hunger that is eventually sated, missing meals for kink purposes, and semi-explicit sex]
Alé knew once she admitted it, Jaimie was going to torture her. She shifted in her seat, trying not to turn herself on just thinking about it.
Her girlfriend was in the bus seat next to her, placidly reading. She’d come to pick her up from the airport, and Alé’s luggage was safely sandwiched between them.
It had been a long week, a long work trip, but she was glad to be back home. She’d missed Jaimie a lot despite their facetimes.
Alé also happened to be in that section of her cycle that made her insatiable, and Jaimie knew it. It was why she was reading quietly instead of paying attention to her girlfriend she hadn’t seen in a week, specifically to drive Alé crazy.
As such, Alé had engineered a situation she knew Jaimie wouldn’t be able to resist. She’d had a small breakfast around 9, then nothing during her three hours at the airport and her four hour flight. It was nearing 6pm by this point, and Alé was starving.
Her stomach had been aching on and off for the last couple hours, but she could feel it twisting now and knew it would make itself known soon.
She kept her hands tucked under her legs, resisting the urge to rub her empty belly. It was strategically exposed too, her black crop top revealing the slight pudge of it when she sat.
It only took a couple more minutes before a hunger pang began building under her ribs, sounding off after a second with a sharp gurgle.
Alé watched Jaimie freeze, her eyes no longer moving across the page. Alé’s stomach followed up with a louder growl, making its displeasure known.
Jaimie turned to her, predatory smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Hungry?” She asked.
Alé shrugged. “I didn’t have lunch.”
Jaimie’s smile grew. “Mm. I see. Clever girl.”
Alé blinked innocently at her. “Who me?”
Jaimie wasn’t going to say more on public transit, but the way she watched Alé’s stomach protest its neglect for the last half hour of the bus ride… well, the look in her eyes almost matched the hunger Alé felt.
When they got off, Jaimie pushed Alé’s suitcases towards her.
“You’re not gonna help?” Alé asked. It was only a five minute walk to their apartment, but lugging both her bags was going to make it feel longer.
Jaimie shook her head. “I’m going to start on dinner when we get in,” she said. “I think you should work up an appetite.”
Alé grinned. She could feel the arousal hitting her already, and she tried to ignore it. “If you say so,” she said.
Her body did not enjoy the trip, and her hollow stomach spoke up no less than three times to remind her she was running on empty.
By the time they got to the house, her arms were shaky.
Jaimie helped her inside, then sat her down on the couch and kissed her.
Alé leaned in, licking into her mouth. Her stomach rumbled between them, and she moaned.
Jaimie pulled back, and Alé tried to chase her with a whimper.
“Not so fast,” she said. “Don’t you want me to start on dinner?”
Jaimie reached out and massaged the slight dip between Alé’s ribs. Her shriveled stomach whined obligingly, and Jaimie raised an eyebrow. “Someone certainly does.”
Alé squeezed her thighs together, squirming. “Probably smart,” she said.
Jaimie emerged from the kitchen twenty minutes later. “I’ve put the pasta in the oven, it’s that baked kind you like,” she said.
Alé was torn between desperation and joy. “That takes twenty minutes in the oven,” she pointed out. It had been nearly an hour since her stomach had started growling, and nearly ten since she’d eaten.
“And you’ll be able to smell it the whole time,” Jaimie agreed, pulling Alé to her feet. “I think it can be trusted not to burn the house down though. How about we take this to the bedroom?”
Alé nearly ran to the bed, the hunger and arousal making her mind foggy and leaving room for nothing else.
Jaimie took her clothes off slowly enough that the smell of the pasta had begun permeating the room by the time she was in her underwear.
Alé whimpered as her stomach contracted, desperately searching for the food she could smell but not yet have.
Jaimie got her out of her jeans, then pushed her onto the bed and started massaging her stomach forcefully.
It gurgled and whined, worked up even more by her girlfriend’s ministrations.
“Ow,” Alé sighed, pleasure-pain hitting her in waves as her aching belly seemed to try to eat itself.
“Does it hurt?” Jaimie asked, voice rough.
“I’ve barely eaten all day, of course it hurts,” Alé complained. “It’s gnawing at me, right here.”
She lifted Jaimie’s hand and pressed it to the place the pangs were sharpest. Jaimie pushed, rubbing in small, hard circles, and Alé’s tummy roared.
She tilted her head back, gasping. “Touch me,” she whined, trying to grind against Jaimie’s thigh. She was practically dripping already, just from how her empty stomach was writhing inside her. “Please.”
Jaimie did, abandoning her stomach to lower her head between Alé’s legs.
The first swipe of Jaimie’s tongue had her seeing stars, and Alé massaged her belly while Jaimie took care of her other needs.
“Yes,” she gasped as her stomach clenched in time with Jaimie’s movements. “Please, please.”
Her stomach assisted, letting out a monstrous growl. She threw her head back, finishing with a moan.
“My turn,” Jaimie said, climbing on top of her. “Not sure you have the energy for this, so your stomach will help me out.”
She straddled Alé’s belly and began to grind against it, gasping as the grumbles vibrated through her.
Alé held her waist and kept her steady until she was done, then Jaimie flopped onto the bed next to her.
Alé felt exhausted and empty, but fantastic.
Jaimie helped her back into clothes, then scooped her up. Alé yelped, and she grinned. “I see how your legs are trembling, I’m not having you falling over because you tried to walk by yourself.
Alé smiled, feeling a wave of affection. Jaimie took good care of her, when she wasn’t torturing her poor belly. “I missed you,” she said, and Jaimie kissed the top of her head.
The smell of the cooking pasta got stronger as they headed back into the kitchen, and Alé felt it go straight to her aching stomach, which felt like it was expanding to hold the food it knew was coming, stretching its painful emptiness across her whole abdomen. It let out a long, low growl as Jaimie deposited her in a chair.
“Just a few more minutes,” she said soothingly, giving Alé’s tummy a final rub as she went to grab plates.
Alé held her starving stomach, cupping it as it contracted and grumbled in her hands, until Jaimie finally placed a plate of steaming food in front of her.
“Eat up love,” Jaimie said, sitting across from her.
Alé lifted her fork to her mouth, hands shaking. She moaned as it touched her tongue, and chewed as fast as possible, her stomach screaming at her.
She inhaled the food in five minutes flat, went back for seconds, did it again, then sat back and rubbed her full belly, now gurgling contentedly. It was good to be home.
1110 words || a D&D character fic in the Curse of Strahd setting
Wrote this as a quick exercise in gore and horror and figuring out how Beau’s werewolf transformation would work :3
Beauregard Deverell knew everything there was to know about werewolves. She had spent the better part of her younger years reading every book and tome that she could get her hands on, and listening to the stories of the elder Dawnstriders as they told tale of their most dangerous hunts. She had put her knowledge into practice and honed it further when she herself finally began to face the beasts. She knew that they transformed on the full moon, but that some had some ability to shift at will–while others could become monstrous if one simply knew how to push their emotions just the right way. She knew how they hunted, how they fought, how they died. She knew that the affliction was a curse, one that ate at the minds of its victims, turning them into nothing more than animals. It was a curse that turned your nicest neighbor into a predator that cared for nothing more than her next meal. Most of all, she knew that she had to be extremely careful every time set out to hunt her quarry, because that monstrous curse could be spread by nothing more than the meeting of fangs and flesh. One bite was all it took.
But she had slipped up. The werewolf she had been sent to eliminate was quicker, slippier than Beau had expected, and in the fray, she was bitten and the monster got away.
The law of the Dawnstriders dictated that a hunter turned was to strike themselves down, to fall upon their own blade before they could truly become monsters themselves. In this, Beauregard had failed. In this, she had broken her Oath. But with the picture of her beautiful wife and her beloved son burning in her mind, she could not pierce the dagger through her own heart.
Now, as the full moon hung in the sky like some mockery, she wished more than anything that she had been able to follow through.
The fever was the worst part. A heat like hellfire burned through every fiber of her being, every nerve electric with pain that pulsed in waves from the ugly gaping bite mark ripped into her shoulder. The hard packed basement floor was utterly soaked in the sweat that continued to run in rivulets down her oversensitive skin. She curled in on herself, shivering despite the warmth that flooded her body. Deliriously, she wished that she would simply fizzle out, if only for the godsforsaken fever to end. For hours she quivered through delirium with not a second of reprieve.
Pain lanced suddenly white hot through the bite, forcing Beau’s muscles to tense to stony rigidity in response. Something half a cry and half a growl choked itself out of lips curled into a pained snarl, reverberating through the cobweb and dust encrusted room like an earthquake. Bile burned at the back of her throat as it felt like the werewolf’s rabid fangs were rending her flesh once again. She twisted, yanking at the linen fabric of her shirt and ripping it off and away from the inflamed and oozing punctures. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to gather enough wherewithal to inspect the wound, but her sight turned blurry as her whole body arched against a new wave of pain.
Beau’s skin felt horribly tight and maddeningly itchy. She could feel every bone begin to ache and shift and stretch in agonizing ways, stretching her skin far further than it was ever meant to stretch. Her jaws fell open in a blood-curdling wail as her nails dug into her own skin, drawing blood and then digging deeper still. She felt suddenly as if she needed to escape, somehow, and the itch and burn across her body quickly outweighed all sense. She barely noticed the rapid curling of nails into claws as she viciously tore into herself, pulling at her own flesh and sinew as if it were nothing more than paper. Blood spattered across the floor in a sickening squelch as deep gashes tore across her body–but it was not muscle and fat that hid underneath. No, with each excruciating rip of Beau’s skin, each layer discarded upon the ground, bloodstained fur broke free beneath the shreds. Even before she could reach her back, her spine swelled upward in an unnatural and violent curve, splitting the flesh until her new form could break free with a stomach-churning crack. It was impossible to breathe through the overpoweringly thick scent of rot and iron hung in the air.
Desperately clinging to consciousness, Beauregard tried to stand, tried to curl away from the mind-numbing pain, but the ground had become slick with her own sweat and blood, and her body was no longer listening to rational thought–or really much at all. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, watching in mingled awe and horror as her fingers began to stretch and curl into something larger and more beastly. Fully formed, wicked claws gleamed in the low lantern light, stained crimson in her own blood. She watched as her flesh began to sizzle and burn, the silver of her wedding ring melting her flesh like acid. A garbled cry tore its way free of her chest as she scratched at her hand—her paw—to rip the ring free of its home. Faintly, she recalled promising Brandi that it would never leave her finger, and her chest ached as though with the pain of a dagger driven through her still-beating heart.
The ring fell with a soft clink against the cellar floor, settling in the gory mess of shredded flesh and sticky scarlet blood. She barely had time to process the sight before she was collapsing once again into the dirt, her limbs contorting and stretching to better fit the monster that was rapidly fighting its way free of her broken form. Her eyes rolled back into her head, mottled oaken brown shifting into a sharp and unsettling gold that gleamed in the darkness like torchlight.
A mind-splitting headache hit her like the swing of a hammer as even her skull began to mold itself into something beastly, bursting through her face as her jaw warped into a massive maw. Sickly pink foam frothed at her lips, dripping onto the ground. Her gums ached as her teeth too began to change, filing into dagger sharp fangs that ached to sink into something, anything. Tears fell freely now, a result of her pain, but also of her regret, of her agonizing shame. She felt utterly, nauseated with agony and fever and guilt and shame and hunger—
And then everything faded into a vast, comforting expanse of nothing.
Chapters: 1/6
Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Bant Eerin/Siri Tachi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody, Ahsoka Tano, Bant Eerin, Siri Tachi, Quinlan Vos, CT-6116 | Kix, Mace Windu
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Single Parent Obi-Wan Kenobi, other tags to be added as i think of them, othr characters and relationships to be added as they become relevant
Summary:
The worst part is explaining that he is no longer Anakin’s brother.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Yes hello this fic is still alive pls enjoy~
“It’s really not that funny,” Camie pouts.
Bakugou looks at her with so much fondness that Camie wonders if she can contain it. She wonders for how long he has been storing it. If it really fits in the folds of his chest, and how many times he has wrapped it and for how long she has been peeling away at the wrapper.
And then he opens his mouth to say, “You’re right, it’s fucking hilarious. This is what you get for staring at my back for almost an hour.”
There’s something about this girl - scratch that, this woman - that makes him want to move closer. She’s still looking down at here phone, smiling at the screen like there’s nothing wrong with the fact that they’re currently trapped in a freaking metal cage, and Jughead would wonder what is wrong with her if only that was the real question.
But the real question is: what is right with her?
(Or - Betty and Jughead meet in an elevator on February the 14th.)
DESCRIPTION - You accidentally let it slip that your boyfriend hasn’t fucked you in months, so what can Steve do but make you feel good?
WARNINGS - 18+; MDNI. Smut with a plot: cheating with big dick Steve, sex in semi-public, oral sex (both receiving), praising, fingering, kissing after oral, unprotected piv, cum swallowing !! Mutual pining. No less than 34 "fuck"s. No use of y/n.
WORD COUNT - 3K
A/N - I’ve officially fallen down the Steve Harrington rabbit hole, so naturally I had to go and try my hand at writing some smut for him. If you enjoy this please let me know. ♡
Rain streaked down the windows of Family Video, blurring the parking lot into a smear of reflected streetlights. The metal gate was halfway down, the “closed” sign flipped, and the world outside felt miles away.
Inside it was you, Steve with a broomstick in hand, and the faint smell of popcorn that never quite went away.
With a yawn passing your lips, you shook your head in a desperate attempt to clear your thoughts. You were exhausted, and hard as you tried, you couldn't help your eyes from crossing as you tried to focus on counting the tills.
Hopeless.
Somewhere behind you, the broom swept in lazy, uneven strokes—Steve clearly as tired as you were.
"Wanna swap?" You hummed over your shoulder.
"What?"
"Wanna count the tills while I sweep?"
"Not really, no." The words passed Steve's lips as a chuckle, and you rolled your eyes with one of your own.
"Come on, Harrington. I've been staring at these numbers for ten minutes, and if they don't stop dancing on the page, neither one of us is going home any time soon."
"Sounds like we'll spend the night here, then," he flashed you a sheepish smile as he continued to sweep up popcorn kernels and crunched up receipts.
"You're telling me you have literally nothing better to do?"
"Better than spending time with you?" He huffed a laugh. "Hardly."
"Seriously?" Your voice dipped with curiosity as you paused your counting. "Harrington. Not even a steamy date?"
"First of all, I’m spent. Secondly, I've come to realize that dating—?" He sent a pointed look your way. "Overrated."
“Since when?”
“Since two days ago. C'mon, keep up.”
“Since your date with what’s-her-name? And here I was, thinking you had a great time getting it going with her in your backseat,” you grinned, brows rising and falling with your amusement.
“Nothing wrong with the sex. It’s just—everything else that’s lacking.”
“Well, at least you’re having sex.“
The broom stopped moving.
Steve blinked, a joke already on his lips before it faded into something else. “Wait,” he said, straightening slowly. His tone shifted, confused. “You’re not?”
Fuck.
"I—" Your lips parted and closed in your desperation to find something to say. Anything to say: to fix the way you'd taken the conversation to an area neither of you had planned to go.
Yet there was no fixing it, was there?
No. He knew.
He obviously knew.
"How long since—"
"I don't—," you let out a breath. "It's not like I've been keeping count. A few weeks. Maybe a—," you wet your lips. "A couple of months."
"A couple of—Jesus fuck. But you see your boyfriend almost every day." Steve's brows remained furrowed, his eyes studying your frame with intensity that made it clear he was trying to solve the equation in his head.
Just like you had, for months.
"Wait. Does he not—"
"Want me anymore?" Your chuckle was dry, the bitterness in it audible.
"You know that's not how I meant it."
"But it's the truth, isn't it?" Intentional or not, it was the first time you had ever admitted to being in a sexless relationship, and suddenly it dawned on you. The depth to which the insecurities it had woken up within you reached. The damage it had done to your self-esteem.
"No," Steve shook his head as he took slow steps towards you, his broomstick now long forgotten, leaning against the counter. "No, this has nothing to do with you."
"Steve, it's me he doesn't—"
"No."
"No?" You shook your head, a touch of careful amusement in the knit of your brows. "What do you mean, no?"
"I'm not gonna listen to you talk yourself down when you're obviously not the problem here." He shook his head, a touch of concern in his eyes. And then, with a chuckle he said, ever so slightly rushed: "Jesus Christ, if you were mine, I'd make you cum every day."
You blinked.
"Steve—"
"I probably shouldn't say it, but fuck it. I mean it. If you were mine—," he shook his head. "All the time."
The words traveled down your touch-starved body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It had been so goddamn long since you had felt good.
Satisfied.
Wanted, and craved, and yearned for, and in the darkened eyes of Steve you could see it all.
He meant what he had said.
It was that desperation that you blamed for the insanity that took over you, for the words you spoke next were ones you normally never would have said out loud.
"So why don't you?"
It was Steve's time to blink, his lips parting and his brows furrowing. "Are you saying what I think you're—"
"I did keep count and it's been three months, Steve." Your voice cracked ever so slightly. "Three months, and I can't keep begging for it. I can't do this anymore. I can't—"
His lips on yours.
Never in your life had you answered a kiss as fast as you answered Steve's: your hand sliding to the side of his neck, as his snaked to the back of your head to guide you closer to him.
But closer wasn't close enough, was it?
No, it turned out that the kiss—his tongue brushing against yours—was only deepening the burn you felt within you.
Your desperation.
Your starvation.
"Steve—" You breathed out against his lips, chuckling as he stole a kiss and another from you. "Are you sure this is—? I don't want to use you."
"You're not using me," he hummed, his eyes full of raw honesty as he looked at you. "You don't have a clue of how long I've wanted this. You."
"You have—?"
"For months."
Fuck.
"Don't say that—"
"I'm only saying it because it's the truth," he chuckled. "Do you have any idea how bad it's sucked to go on a date after a date after a date when you've been right here? But you're taken, and I thought you were happy, so—"
"I'm not," you admitted.
"Then let me make you feel good, yeah? Let me make you happy, even if it's just for a moment."
You nodded your head once and thrice, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as his lips found their way back to yours.
His hands on your body were everything you had craved for months. His fingers warm as they found their way to your hips, sliding under your shirt. Not groping, just feeling your skin against his.
Enjoying every breath, every moan that passed your lips like it was all he had ever wanted.
All he had ever needed.
You had almost forgotten how it felt like to be craved like Steve craved you.
Deep and raw.
So goddamn good as he deepened the kiss, one hand on your cheek, caressing, and the other moving to the fastenings of your jeans.
"I need to taste you so bad—"
"Steve, please."
"Fuck, you sound so good when you beg," he chuckled against your lips as your fingers, impatient, replaced his in getting your jeans off you. "Such a needy girl. Gonna cum for me so good, yeah?"
"Yeah," you beamed as he helped you up on the counter, your legs spread for him.
It was all you needed.
To feel Steve's mouth on you, his fingers in you, working on guiding you closer and closer and only ever closer to your orgasm.
Yet even in your desperate need, you had not anticipated how good he'd feel: how right as his fingers moved to slide along your slit.
"Fuck, baby, you're dripping—"
You were, your pussy now clenching around thin air from the mere whisper of his fingers on you.
"All for you," you managed a chuckle, enjoying the way Steve's eyes darkened at that.
"You have no idea how bad I want that to be true," he breathed out, his voice low. "How bad I want to make you mine."
"So do," you hummed, eyes sparkling; lips parting as his mouth found its way to your glistening folds.
Fuck.
Your fingers tangled around his hair, desperate to find something to hold onto—for something to ground you.
Steve breathed in your scent, his tongue sliding between your lips from your clit to your entrance and to your clit again.
Flicking and sucking, goddamn devouring.
And you lost it.
Head tilting back, your eyes fluttered shut as you submitted to his licks and caresses: his kisses and his curses.
His praises, as the sweetest of moans and gasps: of cries and pleas passed your lips.
"That's it, darling—" He chuckled against your heat: the warmth of his breath sending the deepest shivers to run down your spine.
From his tongue, you found the death of a single thought that had ever existed in your mind. From his fingers moving to circle and tease your entrance, you found heaven.
"Fuck, sweetheart—," Steve grinned, his lips moving to kiss your thighs. "You're clenching around nothing. That desperate for more, hm?"
"Steve, please—"
"Good girl."
Two of his digits slid into you. First knuckle, second knuckle.
By the time the third knuckle was pressing against your opening, his mouth had found contact with your clit once more.
You could hear just how drenched you were: your arousal surely dripping down his fingers and coating his hand, too, as he curled his digits inside you.
Knowing exactly how to touch you.
How to kiss you.
How to get your thighs to begin to shake on each side of his head, as his tongue continued its steady pace on your clit. Its movements were exactly what you needed from him: the pressure and pace pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm by each flick, lick and circle drawn around it.
You were so close, so fucking close that all you needed was to glance down at him to see the look in his eyes as he kept his eyes locked on you.
The burn there.
Come for me, his eyes told you. Come for me, baby. I got you. I got you.
And that reminder—that promise was all you needed.
With a desperate call for his name, you stumbled over the edge: your thoughts clouding and your body trembling as you came shaking on his fingers and tongue, the man glowing from the sight.
From the sounds.
From the feeling of you clenching around his fingers as he made your orgasm last and last, until you were squirming away from his touch, breathless yet glowing.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful—"
"Steve," you laughed with a shake of your head.
"I mean it. Jesus Christ, you're perfect."
"Yours."
"It sure sounded like it," he chuckled, nipping his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked at you. "You do know that this is what you deserve, right? To be devoured. To be touched like—like they can't keep their hands off you."
"I do now," you offered, smiling as Steve closed his distance to you once more.
To have him between your legs was one thing. To have Steve draw you into the deepest kiss—to taste yourself on his lips and tongue—was a whole other kind of divine.
"You did so good." His words were chuckled against your lips between kisses, his fingers caressing your cheek. "Think you can handle a little more? Don't wanna hurt you—"
"You never could."
"Ah," he cringed. "Don't say that yet."
"How would you—"
The sound of him undoing his zipper caught your attention, and with your bottom lip nipped between your teeth you allowed your gaze to travel down his body.
Down and down, until you were met with the sight of him in all his glory. He was twitching, the tip of his cock glistening with precum, and the size—
F u c k.
Steve's fingers landing on your bottom jaw, he closed your gaping mouth.
"Like I said—," he cocked a brow.
"We'll just—"
"Take it slow?" He offered.
"Yeah."
"Yeah," he chuckled as his thumb brushed against your lower lip, teasing. "I know you can take it all like the good girl you are though, can't you?"
"Steve—," your whine was breathless, and the way you slid closer to him on the counter was an answer enough. And yet, the words just had to slip from your lips, didn't they? "Fuck me. Please."
"My girl's so impatient, isn't she?"
The feeling of him aligning himself with your dripping wet opening clouded your thoughts, and as he eased into you an inch at a time—his lips on yours muffling your moans—it was all you had ever wanted.
Steve's cock in you, stretching you open, was all you had ever needed.
Breathing out each other's names like prayers, he rested his forehead against yours.
"Fuck, baby—"
"Y'feel so good—"
"Not there yet," he chuckled, his voice low and raspy with his need for you. "No pain?"
"No, Steve. Need—need more."
"That's my girl."
That you were.
"Take a deep breath for me, yeah?"
You did, your chest rising as he continued sliding into you.
"Fucking hell, sweetheart—" Steve cursed. "There you go. That's it. Taking it so fucking good—"
Fuck, you were, weren't you? Your body was opening up for him, your wetness making it so easy for him to slide in and bottom out—both of you cursing as his crotch ground against yours.
"Fuck, Steve—"
"There you go. That's it, baby. Making me so damn proud—"
It's like you were made for each other. His length, his girth, the way he seemed to fill you up in a way no one else ever had. In a way no one else ever would, you were sure as he slid out of you almost completely before sliding back in.
"Tell me you want this, baby. Tell me you want me to fuck you—"
"Need it, Steve," you breathed out. "Need you to fuck me so bad."
"Good girl," he chuckled, and with that he picked up his pace.
Each thrust of his cock, hot and heavy and fucking pulsating inside you coaxed moans and breaths and whimpers only more desperate than the previous from your lips.
"You're so beautiful like this—" His lips pressed sloppy kisses onto your skin as he fucked into you. "Knew you would be such a good girl for me. Fuck, sweetheart. Been thinking about you like this for months—"
"Fuck, Steve—"
"Wondering how you'd feel wrapped around me. The amount of times I touched myself before our shifts together, praying that by whatever miracle you'd be mine—" He cursed under his breath as he bottomed out once more. "And now you are, aren't you? My good fucking girl—"
His words were traveling straight down your body, the familiar heat starting to build up at the pit of your stomach.
"Yours, Steve—"
"Tell me again."
His movements inside you were ruthless: his cock hitting the exact right spot to make you cry out his name again and again, so fucking fast and deep—
"'M yours," you cried out against his lips. "All yours—"
"Yeah, you are," he chuckled. "That's it, sweetheart—"
"Steve—"
"Don't hold back," he kissed you, sloppy. "Don't hold back, baby. Wanna see you cum around my cock."
"Fuck, yes—"
"That's it—"
You were so close.
So goddamn close, that all it took was Steve's chuckle against your cheek. "Wanna hear you scream my name so goddamn loud there's not a single doubt who it is that you belong to, alright?"
And you came undone.
"Fuck, Steve!"
Your orgasm washed over you, your thoughts clouded and your walls milking him as you came undone around him.
So fucking good.
"There you go. Fuck, baby—"
He was close, wasn't he?
The way his fingers tightened around your hips was nothing but an unneeded confirmation: in his eyes you could see it all.
His need for you.
His desperation for you.
"Come here," you chuckled against his lips. "Gonna suck you off, alright?"
"Fuck—"
"I'll take that as a yes," you purred as you jumped off the counter and got on your knees for him.
Up close, his cock was only ever bigger, and for the briefest of moments you nearly regretted your decision.
Only nearly.
No, for you were his champ and his champ was made for taking him down your throat.
He was glistening with your juices, and as you closed your mouth around the tip you could taste both yourself and his precum on your tongue.
It was so dirty.
In it, so fucking good.
"Look at me, baby—"
You did, your pretty eyes sparkling as they found Steve's.
"Holy fuck—"
You twirled your tongue around his girth, enjoying the weight of him on your tongue. Enjoying the way his fingers moved to caress your cheek.
His touches so adoring, weren't they?
"Fuck, that's it—"
He was getting close: twitching against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose, you relaxed your throat and took him only ever deeper.
"Jesus Christ—"
Fuck, he was perfect, and suddenly it dawned upon you. It wasn't only the depraved, desperate, touch-starved part of you that wanted to be his.
You wanted him.
You wanted to be his.
Actually his.
In your eyes he must have seen it all, for with the deepest of curses for your name he came for you, thick ropes of his cum shooting down your throat.
"God—"
He was glowing, his hands moving to run through his hair as the deepest of chuckles pushed past his lips.
"You're fucking incredible—"
"You're only saying that—," you grinned as you popped him out of your mouth, "because you just came down my throat, Harrington."
"Maybe," he stretched the Ms. "Or maybe it just took me this damn long to realize that I—," he wet his lips with a shake of his head. And then, crouching on the ground next to you, he spoke, his voice deep with—with raw honesty. "Leave him."
"What?"
"Leave your boyfriend."
"Steve—"
"Leave him for me." His eyes twinkled as they found yours. "Leave him and I promise—"
Your lips on his shut him up, and as his fingers slid to the side of your neck to deepen the kiss it was—different, wasn't it?
Gentle.
Adoring.
Your voice was a breathless chuckle as you nodded your head once and thrice. "Alright."
