“SLUT!”
loosely inspired by the taylor swift song.
steve harrington x fem!reader
a/n: tried to get the word count but I fear I lost track at 3k and that was maybe only the halfway point 😭 also sorry for the potentially shit formatting, I’ve never done this before and I typed the whole thing in the tumblr app. hope it doesn’t ruin the reading experience 😅 all credit for dividers goes to @strangergraphics!
angst, hurt/comfort, fluff(ish), no use of y/n, second person, office gossip, way past upside down but hawkins is still that same small town, very 80s/90s attitude toward sex, slutshaming, sort of miscommunication trope (more like meddling jackass trope and highly unrealistic and overdramatic plot) minor injury (no blood), reader is mentioned as having meat in her freezer and consumes dairy once, only kinda beta’d because every time I try I just end up ADDING THINGS, smut 18+ MDNI, filthier tags below.
contains: porn with an unreasonable amount of delusional and unhinged plot, protected piv fucking (y’all STDs are real and so is unplanned pregnancy, wrap it before you tap it), soft pleasure dom!Steve, needy Steve who may or may not be real big on talking you through it, oral (m+f), fingering, some ball sucking, intimacy, love confessions (i’m sorry😭), eye contact, hickies like a motherfucker, no body type mentioned, no hair type or length mentioned, y’all prolly know most of the drill.
hope you enjoy! 🩵
Steve swore he felt his soul leave this side of heaven when he felt a fist slam against the front desk of the Family Video, right next to where his head so happened to be resting, wrapped up in his own arms. Whoever just did that was about to hear a piece of his mind.
“Hey man, what the hell- oh. Hey,” He relaxes for a moment when he sees that it’s you, but only for just that moment.
Because then he sees your face.
Hot, angry tears are streaming stoically down your face from a pair of red, puffy eyes. He panics at the expression that paints the face he so adores.
His immediate instinct is to fix it.
“Baby, what’s wro—”
“Don’t you fucking call me baby right now,” you cut him off. Your voice is cold, almost devoid of emotion. It worries Steve. “Why would you say those things about me, why would you lie?”
Steve’s head is spinning now. Lies? Talking about you? Was he still asleep, dreaming? Had he accidentally shifted into another dimension? Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, slow down—”
You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second. I believed you when you said you’d changed, that you weren’t that same douchebag we all knew back in high school,” you pause, throat catching on the lump nestled deep within it. “But I was wrong about that. I won’t make that mistake twice.”
Steve felt his heart shattering, and he didn’t even know why, didn’t understand what on earth was going on.
“Wait, no, I’m serious, I don’t know what we’re talking about here, please!” He’s desperate now, needs to know what he did, what transgression he forgot that he must now atone for.
“You expect me to believe you don’t know what your good friend Tommy got up to this morning?”
Tommy? Tommy Hagan? Steve hadn’t so much as spoken to that toxic jackass in years, what could he possibly have to do with anything-
“Because I walked into work today and was greeted by him, in front of all my coworkers, announcing that he had a gift for the new town whore,” you choke out, voice no longer cold, but bitter. Angry. Sad. “And he handed me what must have been the deadest, most rotten bouquet of flowers left from the supermarket, with a card. ‘To the SLUT, courtesy of King Steve,’” you say, voice raised enough to catch the attention of several now-nosy movie perusers.
Steve stands slack-jawed, floored at the mere thought. He wasn’t even sure how Tommy knew he was seeing you, let alone what he could have done to give him the impression that you had slept with him.
Unfortunately for Steve, you don’t take his silence for the shock that it is.
“Nothing to say for yourself? My reputation is in shreds, my boss won’t look me in the eye and my coworkers haven’t stopped whispering since 9 a.m., yet you have nothing to say for yourself?” you spit, incredulous.
Steve’s brain finally gets with the program and makes his mouth move.
“Honey, I didn’t know anything about this,” he pauses when you roll your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “I haven’t talked to Tommy since high school. I have changed, I’m not the person that I used to be, and even if I was still friends with Hagan’s sorry ass, I would never, ever lie about you like that. I like you. I care about you. I would never put that in jeopardy.”
Steve’s eyes are pleading, which you might notice if you could even bring yourself to meet them.
“God, Steve, please don’t treat me like I’m stupid-”
“I’m not, I’m not!,” he cuts you off. “I swear, I don’t know how he got that idea into his head, but I would never do that to you!” Steve is fighting the urge to raise his voice. You deserve his gentleness, even during a fight, he thinks. That gentleness is clearly not mutual, though, at least not right now.
“Is it because I said I wasn’t ready?” you say, voice at a low volume.
Steve feels his heart thud restlessly in his chest, hurt and pain lashing at the muscle.
“Wh… What?” He’s giving you an opportunity to back out, clarify, say you don’t mean what he thinks you mean. But you double down.
“Is Tommy doing this out of some weird bro-code respect for you because I said I wasn’t ready to have sex with you.” You ask it like it’s a statement, a sure thing, no real questioning to your tone.
He’s hit with a wave of this sick feeling in his stomach, this inescapable dread at the thought that you might believe even for a second that he would stoop that low. He swallows, a thick feeling as a lump in his own throat starts to make itself known.
“You really think that poorly of me?” he mutters out, pained.
You shake your head, tears falling faster now.
“I didn’t Steve. All my friends told me I was being stupid, too trusting of you, giving you too much benefit of the doubt, and I…” you prick your finger into your own chest, bone meeting bone as the digit presses into your sternum. “I told them they were crazy. That they were stuck in the past and that you were so different now. I defended you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle. “And look where that got me. Do you know what half the town will think by this time tomorrow? They’re gonna that I spread my legs for the first man to show interest in me, for the man who has a well-documented history of taking what he wants and leaving, and they’re going to think I’m pathetic and easy for it.” He’s never seen you like this. It’s agony.
“In a way… the truth is almost worse. Because I was stupid enough to let ‘King Steve’ come and pretend to be all sweet and gentlemanly and brand-spanking-new. I guess the punishment fits the crime, right? I believed you, and now nobody is gonna believe me.” You start to turn on your heel, halfway ready to walk out the door.
“Wait, wait!” Steve is frantic now. “I don’t know how this happened, but please, give me a chance, let me fix this for you,” he begs.
You squeeze your eyes shut, hands finally coming up to wipe away some tears so you can at least leave with some dignity.
“I don’t think this is something you can fix.”
And with that, the best thing in Steve’s life walks out the door.
Hurt doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels. But it’s quickly replaced by rage, blinding anger that someone would do this to you. More anger yet that Tommy-fucking-Hagan of all people would crawl out of whatever hole he’s been living in to, to what? Ruin his chance at happiness with you since Carol dumped him the second she went away for college? Hurt you just for being associated with Steve and a better future, not his past? What the hell is this?
He’s dialing Robin’s number before he can even think straight, asking if she can do him a favor and stay the last hour at the store, close up. He mindlessly agrees to whatever condition it is she sets; he’s hardly paying attention, because now? Now he has business to attend to.
The night is young, and Steve knew he’d luck out eventually by just going from filthy dive bar to filthy dive bar. After all, there were only so many places in Hawkins where a burnout could go to delude himself into thinking he’s not there to drown his sorrows.
It’s at the fifth one that he lays eyes on Tommy, looking worse for wear. He’s surrounded by a couple other guys that walk and talk and dress like Steve used to in high school, Tommy’s obvious attempt at replacing him. He almost wonders if he’ll find a pseudo-Carol somewhere in the crowd, waiting to dote on him.
Steve overhears Tommy talking, who clearly does not know he’s even been found and is being watched.
“I mean, you guys should have seen the look on her face. Harrington’s girl was basically a puddle, I guess she knew she got caught. You know what they say, though boys—”
“Yeah? What is it they say, Tommy?” Steve’s sudden interruption brings a mix of shock and satisfied jeers among the little crowd. Tommy turns whistles, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
“Well look what the cat dragged in! Big King Steve back from his latest conquest. What’s wrong, your girl can’t handle the consequences of her own actions?”
Steve’s jaw gets tight at that; he’s trying damn hard to maintain some semblance of control. All he can think about is how bad he wants to punch that smirk off Tommy’s face.
“And just what do you think you know about her, huh Hagan? Or did that half semester of college give you time to get into shitty creative writing?” Steve grits out.
“Oh, please Harrington, don’t act like half the town didn’t see you two heading into your place this weekend. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together,” Tommy says, cocky as ever.
A moment of realization hits Steve then. He had brought you to his house, at night, and you two were alone. He’d let you sleep in the guest room when it got too late. It never even occurred to him that someone was watching, let alone would assume something went down between the two of you and spread that assumption around.
He feels like such a fucking idiot.
He knows this town, knows these people. They love nothing more than a scandal. Something to gossip about. He should have been more careful with you. His own anger with himself turns into rage at the sorry excuse for a man now standing before him.
“You’re such goddamn dumbass, Hagan. She’s not a whore, a slut, an anything. She slept in the guest bedroom, and she only spent the night in the first place because I said it was too late to drive her home.”
Tommy and his gaggle of trust fund babies, one of whom surely paid for the flattening beer he takes a swig from, all elbow each other, exchanging knowing glances.
But they don’t know shit, Steve thinks.
“Listen, Harrington, it’s cute that you want to ‘defend her honor,’” Tommy mocks, “But at the end of the day, nobody in this town was born yesterday. I’m sorry her feelings got hurt just because people noticed how easy she is, but that’s how it i- what the fuck dude??”
Tommy is cut off quickly and finds the edge of the bar jamming into his spine, with Steve Harrington having rushed in and wrapped his fists into Tommy’s shirt collars.
“She is anything but easy, you son of a bitch,” Steve seethes, pushing Tommy back again for emphasis. “Six months we’ve been dating, and I haven’t touched her. You know why that is? Because I actually give two shits about her, I have respect for her, something you’re not capable of doing or having for anybody.”
Tommy is thrown off guard, but quickly recovers, slapping that smirk right back on his face. Steve decides then and there that he hates that smirk.
“Listen buddy. We all remember your track record when it comes to anything that involves fists,” Tommy sneers. “Unless you wanna get your ass handed to you, I suggest letting me go. It’s not like anyone would believe she’s the choir girl you want us to think she is.”
Steve laughs, the sound dark. He laughs, and that confuses the hell out of Tommy and his crew.
“Maybe you peaked in high school and forgot that other people grow past who they were at 18, but the rest of us didn’t. So if I were you? I’d get to work fixing this shit, unless you want to have to fix your goddamn teeth, buddy,” Steve says, his threat only cushioned slightly by his sarcastic remark.
“Like hell I will,” Tommy yells before shoving Steve off. He swings, and color quickly blooms across the apple of Steve’s left cheek. “Now get the fuck out of h-”
Tommy doesn’t get to finish. Or do much of anything, really.
With one solid, square hit to the chin, Steve lays Tommy out, leaving him with nothing more than a sure concussion and a nice sticky spot on the bar floor to come to on.
Tommy’s herd of friends stand in stunned silence, a strong juxtaposition from their earlier mindless chittering. It’s satisfying, if Steve is honest with himself.
Steve steps closer to them, causing a few of them to back off, clearly not wanting to be next.
“When he wakes up, you tell your little friend here to fix the mess he made, and that if I so much as have to hear someone utter his name again for the rest of my life, I’m coming back and beating his ass, and next time I won’t stop once he’s on the ground. Oh, and make sure he leaves me and my girl alone, yeah?”
Something about Steve’s energy is enough to have them nodding, no questions asked.
Steve storms out of the bar, only one mission left for the day.
You’re home in your apartment, taking your feelings out on a bowl of ice cream and watching Pretty in Pink for what must be the ninth time, when you hear knocking at your door.
You find yourself wondering who the hell would be knocking at this hour, only irked at the possibilities running through your head.
You’re already yelling through to the person on the other side as you make your way to the door.
“I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling and I already know Jesu- Oh.”
You swing open the door to find none other than Steve Harrington, looking a lot more bruised than the last time you saw him.
Both of his eyes look apologetic, pitiful, and the quickly forming mark beneath his left one certainly isn’t helping your resolve.
You have the urge to kick him to the curb, but find that, in spite of what you believe he did, you didn’t leave your feelings for him at the doors of the Family Video when your hightailed it out of there earlier that day.
So that’s how you get here, with Steve sitting on your kitchen counter, right fist squishing into a bag of frozen peas, left hand pressing a freezer-burnt steak into the respective cheek. Your movie is forgotten, frozen in time, and what remained of the ice cream has been left to melt.
You’re silent, plaid pajama pants and your softest T-shirt hanging on to your form, only shielded somewhat by the fuzzy robe that sits open, mostly just draped around your shoulders. As you lean against your fridge, you take a long sip from your mug, warm liquid soothing as you fight to break the silence, the tension that seems to suffocate the room.
You don’t ask where those bruises came from. Curious as you are, you find you’re not sure if you really want to know. However, you’re not left to wonder for long.
“I’m pretty sure I put Tommy Hagan in the emergency room tonight.”
Your eyes nearly fall out of your head with how wide they get, head snapping up when he says that.
“I, um, got real pissed when you told me what he did to you, and I went from bar to bar until I found him. I told him to fix it, and he acted like it was some big joke, and I was just seeing red, but in my defense, he hit me first,” he rambles, gesturing vaguely to the slowly thawing slab of meat currently taking up half the real estate on his face.
You continue to stare at him, bug-eyed and unmoving. Steve finds himself unable to stop talking under your gaze.
“He said he or, someone, I guess, saw you come into my house the other night and never leave and so they like? Assumed the rest, and I’m sorry, because I definitely should have thought about how it might look before offering you the guest bed, or I should have taken you home, or I should have slept on the goddamn sidewalk so it was incredibly clear nothing was going on but I didn’t so I told him, or I guess I told his friends to pass along the message, to fix it and he was just out cold on the floor of the bar and I-”
“Steve.”
He finally stops, looking at you. He sees tears welling up in your eyes and immediately assumes it was something he said. He starts to apologize, but you hold up a hand, shaking your head.
“I just can’t believe you would do that for me,” you mutter, at a loss for words.
Steve, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, says, “I mean, of course. You’re my girl and someone was mean to you. I’m crazy about you, why would I let anyone hurt you just to take you away from me?” He cocks his head when he asks, eyes innocent. “And I mean, it doesn’t hurt that Tommy is the biggest jackass in all of Indiana and has been earning that knockout since we were like, 16,” he laughs out.
For a moment, the cognitive dissonance is winning out. You’d fought with yourself all day about the kind of person Steve Harrington is. Who, until very recently, he always was. All day, you’d let the voices of high school friends permeate your head, losing trust in your gut, in your own instincts, in what you thought and believed. You had yourself convinced that you’d allowed yourself to be blinded, had just wanted the attention, the affection, and that Steve had never ever changed, just got better at hiding it. But maybe the truth wasn’t so simple.
A tear falls. In assuming he had broken your trust, had you broken his?
You know it’s not your fault. Not really. That blame belongs squarely on the shoulders of a loser who’s going to have to explain to a less-than-nice nurse just why he came through the doors of the emergency room with a concussed head and a dislocated jaw.
But you fell for it. A few mean looks, some workplace gossips whispering in the break room, and you fell right into Tommy’s trap. Hook, line, sinker.
What was it that made you so easily believe the worst of the man who has, throughout your relationship, shown you nothing but affection and kindness?
Guilt gnaws at you, because you think you know.
“I’m so sorry for not believing you. And for all the things I said earlier. I was… I was cruel. I was mean and defensive and let some pseudo-high school drama put me right back in that place mentally, put you right back to who you were in my mind, and that was unfair. I was punishing you for your past, and you didn’t deserve that,” you say, looking over at Steve now.
But Steve is having none of it.
“I spent years being the worst version of myself to everyone around me whose pants I wasn’t trying to get into. I was vindictive and, sometimes? Flat out evil toward people who weren’t high enough up on the social ladder for me. If I had been in your position, I would have thought the same thing, because I have thoroughly earned that reputation. I don’t expect you to get rid of that past version of me in your head. I know you can’t just forget. You’re only human.”
He slides off the counter, frozen goods abandoned as he crosses over to you where you lean and looks you in your eyes.
“It’s my job to make up for it. To prove I’ve changed. That’s not trust that forms easily, it’s hard earned, and I intend to do everything I can to win it fair and square. To earn the right to be yours.”
You feel heat burn behind your cheeks at his sweet words. “So does that mean you forgive me for being a real bitch to you in front of customers today?”
Steve laughs, the sound jovial and refreshing after the day you’ve had.
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to forgive, but how ‘bout I say all is forgiven if you can forgive me for being a huge dumbass?” His lopsided grin and the way he’s looking at you, all heart eyes and pure adoration… all of it is too much, too good, and all you can do is nod, a small, hopeful smile on your face.
“Good. Now, would’ya c’mere and let me comfort you? Let me take care of my girl after the shitty day she had?” He holds his arms open to you, hands waving you in.
You roll your eyes just a bit before giving in, immediately accepting the familiarity and warmth of your boyfriend’s arms. You’re so glad he’s still your boyfriend.
He kisses the top of your head and lets your face press into his chest, allowing his own heartbeat to soothe you as he holds one arm firmly around your waist, letting the other rub a flat palm up and down your back.
“Sweet girl, you didn’t deserve how they treated you today…” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear. “Only deserve good things… gonna give you all the good things to make up for it, yeah?”
The sheer relief you feel being here, with him uttering sweet nothings into your ear and treating you like the you’re the only thing that matters in the whole wide world, it makes up for it all, you think. Maybe tomorrow will be hard, maybe people at work will still suck, but you won’t be facing it alone. You’ll have Steve. That feels like enough.
You let yourself peek out from where you’d tucked yourself in so you can look up at this wonderful man who did so much today to prove that he’s not who everyone thinks he is. He looks back down at you and just smiles, staring into your eyes.
It may have been less than a day.
But, God, you had missed him.
So you indulge yourself, removing one of the arms from around his body and placing a hand far back on his neck, just enough to be able to run your fingers softly through the short pieces at the base, brushing your thumb along his jawline.
His smile falters for just half a second, replaced by the shivers you give him.
Encouraged by his reaction, you don’t hold back, using your hand as leverage to drag his face into yours for a sweet kiss. Your lips lock, and neither one of you moves away or lets go until the need for oxygen wins out. It’s stupid and sappy and exactly what you needed.
When you do finally have to let go, you’re both breathing hard, but Steve still finds it in him to make a suggestion.
“I think I left some sweats and a T-shirt here back when I helped you move in that new couch,” he gestures to the spot where you had just been wallowing, “How ‘bout I change and we get comfortable on the couch and you tell me every thought on that pretty little mind?”
You two do exactly that. He’s pleasantly surprised to find you’d laundered the very clothes he’d left over, something you shyly justified with the possibility that he might get stuck and need to spend the night, a concept which clearly flustered you to no end.
So there you are, curled up in Steve’s arms, same paused movie frame still on the TV, and you just rant about your day.
“…And if all of that wasn’t enough, she had the nerve to whisper one last snickering ‘whore’ to me on my way out! I don’t know where she gets off, especially since it was just last month that everyone heard she got caught sneaking out of the supply closet with the assistant manager!” Steve chuckles at that, “But it just sucked! I don’t mind being the center of attention, but good grief, not like this! These people are like vultures! It made me sad and mad and just a bunch of other things and it was ridiculous because it was all for something I didn’t even do!” you finish, Steve pressing comforting kisses into your temple.
“That’s just not right, honey. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.
You lean into his chaste kisses, hands playing with his fingers where they sit clasped in your lap.
“I just… it’s ridiculous. I mean, half the reason I told you I wasn’t ready for sex was because I was so anxious, so terrified that somehow people would know and then they would judge me for it,” you shake your head. “And I know, that’s like bullshit, but it’s where my head was at. Today though? All I could think to myself all day was, I wish I would have just done it. I didn’t do anything and they still talked all their shit. If I’m going to be called a slut, a whore, easy, I should at least have gotten something out of it. Give ‘em something real to talk about, make the their bullshit worthwhile,” you muse. “Maybe I still should.”
You’re so lost in those musings that you barely notice the way Steve is staring at you, wondering if he’s had a stroke.
“What do you mean?” he says, certain he’s misheard.
He definitely knows what you mean. Being called on it, however, has you almost backtracking, your face so hot now he would surely get burned if he touched it.
You don’t look him in the eye, instead appearing very focused on each individual finger on his hands as they sit in your lap. You’re unfortunately noticing that he takes very good care of his nails, keeping them short and clean, perfect for— Stop that, you chide yourself, finally responding to your boyfriend, who is maybe having an aneurism behind you.
“I mean, just… it’s so stupid, the only reason I didn’t do something that I really wanted to do was because I was worried what people would say about me. That all seems pretty moot now so, I dunno… maybe we should… do it… sometime,” you mumble out, not sure if you’re embarrassed more by your seriously weird concerns about the opinions of others or the fact that you’re all but asking Steve to have sex with you.
Steve is not thinking about either option, though, being ever the opportunist.
“I would take you right now.”
Maybe you’re the one having that stroke?
You whip your head around and look at him, that same hungry look, the one he always gets when the two of you make out for just a liiiiiiittle bit too long, now gracing his face.
You whisper out, “Are you serious?”
He nearly scoffs at that. “I don’t play games when it comes to you,” a phrase that has a more than one meaning after his bar-side activities this evening, “I’ll always wait for your yes, and I’ll always stop at your no but… for that time in between? I’m making love to you like it’s my last day on earth.”
Your breath hitches, something deep within you warming and stirring at his words.
“Can I tell you something, Steve?”
“Always, gorgeous.”
You gulp.
“You’ve got my yes.”
Suddenly, you’ve been moved. You’re laying on your back on your couch and your very gorgeous boyfriend has one leg between your thighs, holding your face between both hands as his spine arches over your body and leans his face toward your face so he can kiss the air right out of your lungs.
You two had made out before but compared to this? Jesus H.
You hear the sound of your own soft whine as he readjusts and the movement presses his strong thigh firmly against your core. You watch as he breaks the kiss just to groan, already so satisfied, so intoxicated by you.
“That’s right pretty girl, just let yourself feel good, I’m gonna take care of everything, gonna take real good care of you,” he rambles, eyes squeezed shut as he nods at nobody in particular.
“You want that, baby? You gonna let me make you feel like you deserve?” He forces his eyes open to stare at you. Good God. You nod, another desperate sound that could maybe pass for a “Yes” pressing its way out of your chest.
“Atta girl,” he says before tearing his own shirt off, the garment landing somewhere on your living room floor.
He pushes his fingers beneath the fabric of the robe you’re still wearing, slowly slipping it off of you, saying, “Now anything you don’t want me to do, anything you want me to stop, you let me know, yeah? Let me hear you, baby.”
The robe is quickly abandoned beneath you as you all but blubber out a “Yeah, yes, Steve, I will.”
He stands up, leaving you confused for a moment.
“I’m not doing this with you for the first time on your couch. C’mon, sweet thing, up,” he says, reaching for your hands.
You take his and let him lead you to your own bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of you despite your living alone. In a way, it’s perfect, isolated in a way that makes you feel like it’s just you and him.
He turns to you, walking up to your form and kissing you again, his hands reclaiming their space on the sides of your face. You’re sure you’ll never get tired of that feeling.
His kisses last long, but almost not enough, his lips moving down to your jaw, your neck, searching for that spot that makes you—
“Oh, fuck, Steve.”
Found it.
He hones in on the spot, kissing and licking at it gently. His aim isn’t to leave a mark — not here, anyway — but just to make you feel good.
By the way you’re panting in his ear? He’s pretty sure he’s succeeding.
He walks you backwards, careful, only detaching himself from your neck to help lay you down gently. He crawls over top of you, his body caging yours.
Your shirt has ridden up, revealing a touch of midriff to Steve. It only makes him more feral.
He plays with the hem of your shirt, warm fingers brushing against the skin below.
“Can I take this off for you?” he asks.
You’re nodding, already moving to help him strip the fabric from your form. You weren’t wearing a bra because, truly, why would you be wearing one in your own home, so his eyes are free to land right on your chest and watch the soft jiggling as you breathe in and out.
You had worried that he might pick out spots on your body that made you insecure, but that worry flies out the window when you see that same hungry look back in his eyes.
Frankly, he looks so desperate, you almost feel bad.
“It’s okay, Steve, do what you want. I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it,” you say, encouraging him.
You truly do not have to tell him twice.
First he’s kissing that spot on your neck again, earning a breathy sigh and a pleased smile from your lips. Then he travels, lips attaching to your collarbone, and you feel it as he kisses his way down to your breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth, thumb rubbing over the other one as his tongue works at this one.
That earns a good bit more than a sigh.
“Holy shit, Steve… that feels so, ah,” your voice grows pitchy as you bite back your moans. Your refusal to let him hear you doesn’t bother him one bit. It just means he has to work harder to pull those pretty sounds from you.
He switches his lips to your other breast, mouth laving messily over this nipple as his other thumb slips and slides across the one he just left.
You already feel so good, but you know he’s just getting started. The thought makes you shiver.
Once he’s satisfied with the attention he’s given to your nipples, he expands his journey across the map of your skin and starts sucking at the underside of your breasts, leaving marks only you and he will ever get to see. Whichever breast he’s not busy leaving darkening splotches on is being squeezed and squished, only adding to the feelings that all seem to be directed right at your quickly-soaking cunt.
Having left you littered with marks, some even landing on your torso and the soft skin of your belly, Steve looks up at you, lips swollen and wet from his hard work.
“Please say I can go down on you,” he sighs out, sounding like he’s in another world.
You balk at that for a moment, worried.
“You don’t have to Steve, I know guys don’t really like-”
“I want to. So, so fucking bad. I want to make you feel good and I need to taste you or I might actually explode. I don’t care how you keep it or what it looks like, I just, fuck!” His voice is pleading, his desire bleeding through every syllable.
He takes his kisses down to your hips, pushing your sweatpants and panties down just a touch to reveal more of your entirely-too-kissable body. He’s sucking at the thin skin there, leaving his mark on yet another inch of you.
“Please baby, if you want it, please let me,” he whines out, an incredibly sweet and needy sound.
Well shit. Who are you to say no to that?
“Okay, yeah, yes, you can, Steve,” you rush out, turned on beyond belief.
“God, yes, that’s my girl,” he mutters out, not even pausing to consider the effect those words are having on you.
You’d find it inconsiderate if it didn’t make you want him so much more.
His fingers are quick to hook back into both your bottoms, tapping the side of your hip so you’ll lift them as he all but tears the clothing from your legs. He easily spreads your now-bare limbs, eyes laser-focused on the absolutely sopping wet pussy that he unveils.
“Holy shit… is this all because of me?” he questions, experimentally sliding a finger through your folds, gathering your slick.
You laugh, breathless. “Have we been in the same room this whole time? I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life.”
His dick has been hard for a hot minute now, so that confession earns an almost painful twitch.
He can’t find it in himself to ask any more questions, just sliding your pretty thighs over his shoulder, kissing them as he makes his way down to where you need him most.
The first lick is thorough, but gentle. A trembling whimper leaves your lips, then the sound of his name.
He finds himself moaning at your taste, desperation to drink you in winning out.
He presses his tongue right into your waiting hole, occasional moans against you earning him yet another flood of your juices to taste, a tantalizing squeeze of your walls around him only complimenting the flavor.
He moves to lap at your folds, greedy, head only coming to a stop once he’s got the flat of his tongue rubbing circles over your clit. You finally lose the battle you’d been fighting, letting out a moan that makes you thankful your last next door neighbor just moved out last week.
Steve, cheeky as ever, smiles at this, hot breath from a laugh billowing past his tongue and onto you. He’s almost too good at this.
He gives thick, teasing licks to your clit, each one serving as punctuation as he talks to you.
“Best fucking pussy… Fuck… could eat this pretty pussy… mm… for the rest of my life… so good,” he murmurs, absolutely drunk on you.
“Steve…” you whine out, needing him so badly it nearly hurts.
“Oh, darlin’, I know,” Lick. “I know, pretty girl,” Lick. “Just need’ya,” Lick. “To be patient for me,” Lick. “Doing so good,” Lick. “Making me so proud.”
He picks right then to properly dive in, licking and sucking on you until you can hear your own heartbeat, feel it in your throat. The sounds you make for him are downright debauched, curses and expletives floating in between the sound of his name. He couldn’t be happier.
You’ve been clenching around nothing for some time now as been pleasuring you, though, and that doesn’t sit right with him.
So, before you know it, Steve is working one, then two fingers into your dripping heat, reaching farther inside of you than you ever could. Your hands quickly seat themselves among the roots of his hair, holding his head exactly where you want him.
Your cries ring out freely through the air, a weak, “I’m so close,” the only interruption. Your thighs have begun to squeeze around Steve’s head. He’s not sure if you’re trying to keep him there forever or shut him out but, it’s all the same to him. He’d happily wear you like a pair of earmuffs for the rest of the night. Best damn pair he ever owned, if he did say so himself.
He holds steady with his actions, moving his fingers just so inside you, repeating the same motion of his tongue against your clit until it hurts, but he’s well rewarded for his efforts.
“Oh, fuck, Steve, I think I’m… fuck, I’m gonna—” you’re forced to cut yourself off as an orgasm overtakes your body, pouring pounds of pleasure over you all at once like one of those giant buckets at a water park. It’s electric, overwhelming, and so, so good. Your moans lilt out, high pitched and shaped something like Steve’s name.
He works you through it; he doesn’t stop until you peel his head from between your legs, pulling him up for a kiss that leaves you both lightheaded, exchanging moans between each others mouths as your bodies press together. You can taste yourself on him, something you didn’t expect to make you as feral as it does.
Steve breaks the kiss, sitting back on his knees to admire his handiwork. Gorgeous, angry little hickies have already begun to bloom beneath your satin skin. He’s excited for the day they fade so he can go back and replace them.
You watch him, laying breathless while he ogles you with a smirk, scanning your body up and down to appreciate the beautiful mess he’s made of it.
It makes you decide that payback may be due.
Steve stands, ridding himself of his bottoms, hard cock swinging free. You can’t help but think to yourself how pretty he is, how unfair it is that he’s so pretty everywhere.
You move to get up on your knees in front of Steve where he stands next to the bed, kissing his face, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his—
“Wait, wait, baby, wait,” he stops you mid-descent. “As hot as it is that you want to return the favor, I don’t think I’ll last and I really, really need to be inside you.”
It’s your turn to smirk now, but before you do, you turn those same pleading eyes he weaponized against you right back at him.
“Please, Stevie? I’ll be gentle, I’ll go real slow,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes up at him.
He presses his palms into his eyes, losing the fight for control going on in his head.
“…Fuck, just please be careful, no funny business, yeah?” he sighs out, looking down at you.
You let on that smirk now, and finish kissing your way down his body, laying on your stomach. Your tongue just barely teases the tip, a small kitten lick that grants you a drop of precum. He tenses at the feeling, sheer pleasure already making him regret his own weakness toward you. It’s all he can do not to blow his load at just the idea of what’s going on right now.
Gently, you place a hand beneath his dick, feeling the weight of it, your mouth watering. You wrap your fingers around it, careful not to use too much pressure. You look him in the eye as you pull just the head into your mouth, moaning around him.
“You’re gonna kill me, holy shit,” Steve says.
You giggle a bit, moving your mouth up and down just a bit, cautious of any sudden movements that might prove too overwhelming.
“Feels too good baby, won’t be able to keep going like this,” he pants, sensitive and whining.
You pull off of him with a soft pop. “Compromise, then?”
He’s not sure what you mean until-
“Jesus fucking Christ baby, holy shit, shit, shit!” Steve is fighting for his life at the sight of you softly stroking his cock with one of his balls pulled securely into your mouth.
You can tell by that reaction and by the purely distraught look on his face that he won’t let you stay down here for much longer, so you make the most of it.
You suck gently, continuing to stroke. You switch to the other side, but not without licking a fat stripe from his base to his tip, earning a strangled noise of pleasure.
“God, you’re cruel,” he whimpers out, unable to contain his own soft moans and sighs as you work.
Steve feels himself getting a little closer than he’d like. “Alright, that’s enough of that for you, missy,” he says as he pulls away from your touch, laughing at the noise of protest you make as he does.
“Don’t worry darlin’, just lay back for me,” he says, walking over to the jeans he had discarded earlier.
You do as he says with only a slight grumble, but can’t help yourself as you watch Steve walk. Even his ass is pretty, you think as you watch him bend over and pull out his wallet, plucking a foil packet from its confines.
He turns around then, and you’ve been caught staring.
Steve smirks when you rush to meet his eyes, feigning nonchalance. “Perv,” he teases before getting back into the bed with you.
You’d protest, but then his hands, those hands, are working deftly to unwrap a condom and roll it on, and suddenly you find yourself entirely uninterested in your status as a pervert.
He crawls back on top of you, moving to kiss you softly, a sharp contrast to the intensity of the moments you two just shared.
He breaks it only to say three words: “I love you.”
Forehead pressed into his, you know you should be shocked, but you aren’t. It feels right. You tell him, too.
“I love you, Steve.”
He smiles at you dopily, and you’re sure a matching smile adorns your face.
“Are you ready, baby?” He asks, interlocking one of his hands with yours, nothing but adoration and loving concern in his eyes.
You nod. “I want this, I want you,” you tell him honestly.
Steve presses one last sweet kiss to your lips, selfishly savoring the taste of them for just a little too long. He breaks it with a sigh. “I’ll go slow at first, sweetheart. You let me know if you need me to stop.”
You hum in agreement, focus resting between the two of you where he’s got your legs spread, kneeling in between them as he guides his cock to your entrance.
Slowly, almost too slowly, he pushes himself in, both of you groaning in relief when the head is in. He presses forward, meeting little resistance from your slippery heat. He sighs happily once he’s seated in you fully, just enjoying being enveloped in your warmth.
He probably would have stayed there if it wasn’t for the wiggle of your hips and the sudden clench he felt from inside of you.
“You can move, Stevie. Need it,” you sigh.
He takes the instruction, and both of you are wrecked as he works into a rhythm.
Your eyes flutter shut as you moan, but that won’t do for Steve.
“Nuh uh,” he says, dropping the hand he’s holding and getting down, shifting his weight to his elbows so he can hold your face in his hands. “Eyes on me. I don’t want to miss a thing.” His tone urges your compliance, so you give it to him, looking into his eyes.
Fuck.
The way your eyes bore into each others is nearly too much, the feeling of his hands splayed across your cheeks, your jaw, your temple… your senses are being flooded, and all your brain can compute is Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.
He can see every reaction you give him, every hitch of your breath, adjusting until he’s in the perfect position for you, the squeezes of your fluttering cunt driving him wild.
You’re helpless, being held captive by your own pleasure, and Steve is only adding to it, talking to you in ramblings of his own pleasure.
“God, you know what you’re fucking doing to me?”
“Feels so good, sweet girl. Never wanna fuck another pussy again, only yours.”
“That’s it, baby, take it, take it. Doing so well for me, my gorgeous girl.”
“You like that? That feel good? Oh, I bet it does, huh?”
“Taking me like a champ, always knew you’d be good for me.”
You want to respond, you really do, but the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s pounding into you just right, the way he’s looking you right in your eyes as he speaks this utter filth, has left you wordless, only moaning and whining out little ah, ah, ah, fuck’s that only spur him on.
You feel your undoing start to form and begin to reach down, needing some attention on your clit to cross there.
“Don’t do that baby, let me. You close?” he says as he shifts all of his weight now to the one elbow, keeping your face in that hand as the other snakes down to rub circles just where you need them, making you whimper, fighting to keep your eyes open.
You nod at his question. “So close… gonna make me cum again, Stevie,” you manage to get out, snaking your arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately.
His eyes never leave yours. “Tell me what you need. Wanna feel you when you cum, feel you soak my cock.”
“F-faster.”
You barely get the word out before he starts to nearly double his speed, desperate to get you there, sharp, shallow, fast thrusts leaving you to just wail.
“Oh, fuck, Steve, please, please, fuck, please,” you ramble out, unsure what you’re begging for.
“C’mon, give it to me, you’re right there, cum for me.”
The perfect circles on your clit, the pistoning of his hips, the way he stares at you so intensely, egging you on? It all proves to be too much, and you feel yourself thrown off that cliff and into pure, sweet pleasure as your release rolls through you, Steve’s name on your tongue.
Steve cants into you desperately, rhythm breaking as he chases his own high, which is coming on much faster largely because of you. Feeling you grip him like a vice, and having watched just how angelic you look when you cum? He wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer.
Overstimulated and desperate, you start to egg him on the same way he had egged you on.
“Please, cum, Steve, I wanna feel it. Need to feel you finish so bad, feels too good, please, baby,” you breathe out. “Do it just for me, yeah?”
That’s a wrap for Steve. His thrusts grow lazy as you feel him twitch inside you, condom filling quickly with his load. He keeps thrusting until it hurts, only then settling down, pressing his forehead into yours, kissing all over your face gently as you both bask in the afterglow.
“You’re so perfect,” he mutters, his desperation for you to hear him, believe him, making his expression look almost pained as he squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s always gonna be you for me, you know that?”
You’re unsure how to respond, really. You find yourself so wrapped up in a warm, buzzy feeling, your adoration for him leaking all over your brain’s wiring, causing it to short circuit. So all you do is nod and close the distance between your mouths, giving him a kiss so gentle and loving that catches him in the moment. He wishes he could stay like this forever.
You both fight to end the kiss several times, but each time either of you pulls back even a little bit, you find yourselves pressing right back in for just one more.
When it finally does break, you look up at him and see the man you always knew, deep down, was here to stay. Your Steve.
“Thank you.”
He cocks his head. “You’re welcome, but what for?” Ever the gentleman.
“Just for being you.”
The two of you lay on your couch, Pretty in Pink over and quickly exchanged for When Harry Met Sally, an appropriately raunchy film for present company and previous activities.
You called out of work for the next day shortly after the two of you finally peeled out of bed. Steve had wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing soft encouraging kisses into your neck, your back, your shoulder as you rang your boss. You didn’t care if they thought you were only calling out because you were embarrassed; you know the truth doesn’t matter to these people, so you won’t waste it on them. All you want to do tomorrow is spend the day with your boyfriend, so you decided that that is what you’re going to do.
So there the you are, curled up in Steve’s arms for the foreseeable future, lips occasionally pressing into his wrists and hands as you held them. He hadn’t bothered with putting his shirt back on, and you let your robe sit where the two of you had ditched it earlier in favor of the warmth radiating from the chest against your back.
Sally fakes her orgasm in the diner, earning a laugh from both of you.
“I’m sure glad that I don’t ever have to question if you actually came,” Steve mutters, prompting you to tease.
“About that…”
“Bullshit!”
You giggle as his arms squeeze you in tighter, his lips attacking the side of your face and neck.
“Alright, alright, I yield, I yield! You are a true man in a sea of boys, you had me coming like a freight train, you win!”
His attack softens, smiley kisses becoming more intentional. He doesn’t let go of his now-tightened hold on you, though. He just likes having you close too much.
Steve mutters into your ear, shaking you gently in his arms to make his point. “I meant what I said earlier, you know. It wasn’t in the heat of the moment, I do love you.”
Somehow you find yourself far more flustered when he says that to you with his clothes on, but you know you feel the same.
“And I love you, Steve. Thank you for everything you did for me today… and I do mean everything,” you say, only a bit cheeky.
He nips at your ear, but still says, “Anytime, pretty girl. Anytime.”
You turn just a bit, hands tracing over his bruised knuckle and face, worry forming behind your eyes, just a small frown playing at your lips.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to try to cover those up for you? A quick run to the pharmacy and I’m sure I could find what I need to color correct,” you muse, but Steve just shakes his head.
“Nah, I kinda dig them. Makes me look a little badass! If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them they should see the other guy,” he pauses, but then says, quietly, “Plus, it’s pretty much like a shining badge of having defended your honor. Why would I ever cover that?” There’s a teasing tone behind his words but you can tell he really means it.
“Alright. You’re sweet. But please defend my honor without fists next time, I don’t want to have to look Hopper in the eye when I bail you out.”
“No promises, sweetheart,” he says, mischievous. You can hear his grin.
You roll your eyes, but you still smile.
You think you could get used to a life like this.
Thank you for reading! 🩵
