SILVER STARS— Steve Harrington
SYNOPSIS— Steve Harrington has a secret… he and you, an outcast with a sharp edge and a mischievous streak, have been sneaking around behind closed doors—your encounters marked with playful silver star stickers. But that secret quickly comes under investigation when none other than Dustin, the self-proclaimed detective, gets his hands on an odd item, pulling Eddie Munson into the mix. One lake party is all it takes to reveal exactly what they’ve been searching for.
CONTENT WARNING— (18+) explicit sexual content including oral sex, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, praise kink, playful humiliation/teasing, ass-slapping, overstimulation, and cum play (creampie). Depictions of orgasm. Overstimulation and edging.Semi-public intimacy.
AUTHORS NOTE— stickers, secrets, smut, and a whole lot of Hawkins chaos. pls don’t sue me, enjoy;)
STARS¿
Steve Harrington’s living room always felt a little too big when it was just the two of them. The couch sat low and wide in front of the TV, with a coffee table that sat between the TV and the Couch. Tonight, though, the table carried the weight of their Friday night tradition: a half-empty pizza box, greasy paper plates, and two cans of Coke dripping condensation onto the wood.
Dustin sat on the floor, demolishing his third slice, while Steve leaned back on the couch, socked feet kicked up. “Harrington,” Dustin mumbled around a mouthful of crust, “you got napkins, or am I supposed to wipe my face on your couch?”
Steve didn’t even open his eyes. He gestured vaguely toward the stairs with the limp end of his pizza slice. “Up in my room. Nightstand drawer.”
That got Dustin’s head to swivel. He squinted at Steve. “Why the hell would you keep your napkins in your nightstand?”
“Just—go, Henderson.” Steve cracked a smirk without looking, voice lazy. “Quit asking questions.”
Grumbling under his breath about Harrington logic being the dumbest logic known to man, Dustin pushed himself up and clomped up the stairs. The house went quiet for a moment except for the muffled thud of his sneakers on each step and the faint sound of music bleeding from someone’s backyard a few houses down.
Steve stretched out across the couch, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It was nice, actually — quiet, normal. Just a kid who wouldn’t shut up and pizza.
But then, inevitably: “Uh… Steve?”
Steve sat up halfway, groaning. “What now?”
Dustin appeared at the top of the stairs, napkins in one hand and something else pinched carefully in the other. His expression was pure suspicion. “You, uh… you know you’ve got a sheet of silver star stickers in your drawer, right?”
For a second, Steve froze. And then, with the smoothest shrug he could muster, he leaned back against the couch again. “Yeah. I know.”
Dustin blinked. “…Why?”
Steve ran his tongue across his teeth, stalling. “They’re nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Dustin descended slowly, the sheet still in his hand, crinkling a little as he bent it back and forth. They weren’t the kind of stickers you found lying around just anywhere — shiny metallic stars, the kind teachers slapped on spelling tests in third grade. And a couple of them were missing. Not enough to look random. Enough to look used.
He narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but like… what are you doing with them?” Steve grabbed his Coke, took a long sip, and said flatly, “Nothing.”
“You’re telling me you just… have sticker sheets lying around?”
“Yup.”
“No reason?”
“Yup.”
Dustin huffed, unconvinced. He slapped the napkins down on the table, shoved the stickers back into Steve’s lap, and plopped onto the rug again. “Weird flex, Harrington. Super weird.”
Steve didn’t answer, just flicked the sheet closed and stuffed it under a magazine on the coffee table. He could feel Dustin’s eyes on him, though, lingering in that way they always did when Henderson smelled a secret. The kid wasn’t going to drop it forever.
Still, Steve tried to act like nothing had happened, picking up another slice of pizza and shoving half of it into his mouth.
But he glanced at the sheet, lips tugging sideways in something between a smile and a grimace.He knew Henderson wasn’t going to let it go.And when Henderson didn’t let things go… well, trouble wasn’t far behind.
Hours before, The sheets were tangled, half-kicked off the bed, sunlight spilling through the blinds in fractured lines across bare skin. Steve was propped on one elbow, hair a mess in that effortlessly annoying way, watching you try to catch your breath.
You were sprawled on your stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow. Steve reached for the sheet on the table. He peeled one star off slowly, deliberately, like he wanted you to watch his fingers.
You shivered when the cool adhesive pressed gently against your hipbone. A reward. His version of a crown.Steve leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good girl.”
The words made your stomach flip, your toes curl, every nerve sing. You hid your burning face in the pillow, but his laugh followed, smug and sweet.
Steve Harrington: hair too perfect, ego too big, and apparently your own personal supplier of reward stickers.
THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
The next day found Dustin Henderson wedged into the passenger seat of Eddie Munson’s van, a bottle of grape Crush sweating in his hand. The van rattled down Main Street like it was being held together by sheer willpower and the faint smell of cigarettes.
Eddie drummed on the steering wheel with his rings, hair whipping in the open window breeze, the latest Metallica tape roaring from the busted speakers. Hawkins, Indiana blurred past in summer colors. “So,” Dustin started, leaning back in his seat like he wasn’t about to drop something that had been chewing at his brain all night, “I found something weird at Harrington’s yesterday.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the road. “Define weird. Like weird weird, or ‘Steve doesn’t know how to use a dishwasher’ weird?”
“I’m serious,” Dustin said, twisting the cap off his soda with a hiss. “I went to get napkins out of his nightstand—don’t ask—and there was this sheet of stickers. Silver stars. Like the kind teachers use.”
That got Eddie’s attention. He glanced over, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Stickers? Harrington?”
“Yeah.” Dustin leaned forward, animated now. “And some were missing. Like, he’s using them. For something.”
Eddie let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re spiraling. It’s stickers. Maybe he’s rewarding himself for not frying his hair every morning.”
Dustin shot him a look. “I’m telling you, it’s not normal. Steve Harrington doesn’t just… collect stickers.”
“Why not?” Eddie flicked his lighter open and shut at the red light, grin easy, unconcerned. “Everyone’s got their thing. I got dice, Sinclair’s got basketball, and maybe Harrington’s got, I don’t know… a deep, dark need to feel validated by shiny little stars.”
“That’s not funny,” Dustin muttered, though his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. “I think it’s, like… personal. He didn’t want to talk about it. Just shrugged it off, but I could tell.”
The van lurched forward as the light turned green. Eddie tapped the steering wheel, humming thoughtfully, then shrugged again. “Look, Henderson, I love a good conspiracy as much as the next guy, but this? This is you overthinking. Harrington’s harmless. Probably just bored one night at the grocery store and thought, ‘Hey, stickers. Cool.’ End of story.”
Dustin slumped back in his seat, taking a loud swig of soda. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe it was nothing. But his brain kept circling like a vulture. Missing stickers. Silver stars. Harrington brushing him off too quickly.
It didn’t feel like nothing.
Eddie, though, had already turned the volume back up, head banging along to the riff, clearly done with the subject. The van rattled down the road toward Forest Hills, dust rising in the summer heat. To him, it was just another one of Henderson’s wild overthinking moments.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, a spark had lit — one that Eddie didn’t even realize would come back to bite him later.
GOODGIRL & STAR PRESSING
Your bedroom mirror was fogged at the edges from the cheap straightener balanced on your dresser. It beeped every few minutes, angry at being overworked, but you ignored it, tugging another section of your bangs flat and sharp. A curtain of hair fell across your eyes, dark and deliberate, the kind of styling that took forever but looked like you’d just rolled out of bed.
You smudged a line of eyeliner across your waterline, added mascara until your lashes curled heavy, then leaned back to squint at the finished product. Sharp eyes, straight hair, your mouth set in its usual lazy curve. Nothing soft. Nothing too polished. Just you.
The outfit had been chosen hours ago, tossed across the bed like it was waiting for you: short black shorts, a spaghetti-strap tank that clung just enough, and your Doc Martens scuffed from years of stomping around Hawkins like you owned it.
You weren’t dressing for Steve Harrington. You weren’t dressing for anyone, really. That was the whole point.Still, when his headlights cut across your driveway, you grabbed your jacket anyway.
Steve always picked you up. If another car that wasn’t his, Eddies, Nancy’s or Jonathan, especially yours, the question would start. You knew how his friends were; nosey. And the whole point of this thing was that nobody knew.
You slid into the passenger seat of his car. The air smelled faintly of cologne and mint gum, the kind of clean-boy scent that clashed with the lazy mess of cassette tapes.
“Hey,” Steve said, eyes flicking over you for half a second before he started backing out of the driveway. His hand found yours casually—not to hold it, but to flip your palm up so he could inspect your nails.
“you did get your nails done,” he said, lips quirking. You raised a brow. “Yeah, I wasn’t ignoring your calls. I just wasn’t home.”
“Sure you weren’t,” he muttered, as he turned onto the road. He tapped your fingers with his own, still looking at the black polish glinting faintly under the dash lights. “ do you always get them done black?”
You snorted, leaning your head back against the seat. “What other color do you think I’d get?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, casual. “Red?”
That earned him a laugh. “You’re hilarious. What am I, a cheerleader?”
Steve shot you a sideways look, that half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just saying. Could work.”
“Please Stick to your hair, Harrington. ” He laughed, shaking his head, fingers drumming the steering wheel in time with the radio.
the conversations still came easy—jokes, sarcasm, the kind of banter that filled the spaces between point A and point B. You weren’t his girlfriend. He wasn’t your boyfriend. But the car rides, the music, the stolen glances under streetlights? They were part of the ritual too.
Steve’s driveway was dark, the house quiet when you followed him inside. He didn’t bother turning on the lights—just tossed his keys on the counter and muttered, “Upstairs. ”
You arched a brow, but didn’t argue. It was part of the routine now, this careful choreography the two of you had fallen into. Keep it quiet. Keep it hidden. Keep it simple.
The stairs creaked under your boots as you climbed, the air cooler up here, tinged with the faint smell of laundry detergent and Steve’s cologne clinging to the walls. You pushed into his room and sat at the center edge of his bed, legs dangling, fingers curling into the blanket as you waited.
For a moment, the silence pressed in. The faint hum of the pool filter outside. The muffled thump of Steve moving around downstairs. And then—footsteps. The door clicking shut behind him.
He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the frame for a second, looking at you like you were something he couldn’t quite believe was real. His hair was a mess from the summer wind, his shirt clinging a little to his chest from the heat.
Your lips tugged into a half-smile. “You’re late.”
Steve didn’t answer right away. He crossed the room slow, deliberate, until he was standing in front of you. His hand tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing just under your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.
“So pretty,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Heat rushed to your cheeks, though you masked it with a smirk. “You say that to all your girls?”
“Don’t have other girls,” he said simply, eyes flicking down to your mouth.
Your breath hitched, but you held his gaze, challenging. Testing. That was part of the game.He leaned closer, not kissing you yet, just hovering—so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You know,” he said softly, “black nails would look good wrapped around my cock.” He bent down, finally pressing his lips to yours.
The kiss was unhurried, but heavy—like he wanted you to feel every ounce of intention behind it. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. When he pulled back, your lipstick smudged faintly on his mouth, he grinned.
Steve’s shoes thudded against the carpet one after the other, his movements unhurried, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He kicked them aside, then straightened, eyes fixed on you in a way that made the room feel smaller, hotter.
Before you could speak, his arm slid around your waist, strong and easy, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You caught a sharp breath as he shifted you higher on the mattress, your legs parting instinctively until he was settled between them.
The position was intimate—too intimate, maybe—but you didn’t look away. His body filled the space between your thighs, his heat sinking into you, the kind of closeness that left no room to think about what this was or wasn’t.
Steve’s hand slid down, catching the curve of your calf, and he lifted one of your legs with casual authority. His fingers worked deftly at the laces of your Doc Marten, tugging them loose before pulling the boot free. It landed on the floor with a heavy thump.
Then the other. Another thud, echoing in the quiet.
Barefoot now, you flexed your toes against the sheets, pulse skittering as his hands didn’t leave you. Instead, they mapped their way back up, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing over the smooth line of your shin, skimming your knee, until both palms framed your thighs.
He gripped, firm but reverent, thumbs pressing into the soft muscle. His touch was exploratory—up and down, squeezing, releasing, as though he was memorizing the shape of you. His eyes followed the path of his hands, gaze darkened with something that felt heavier than simple hunger.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, voice rough with sincerity. His thumbs brushed higher, the edge of his knuckles ghosting near the hem of your shorts before gliding back down again.
Your smirk faltered when his fingers pressed just a little deeper, grounding you, keeping you open around him. The teasing, the games—it all flickered for a moment, replaced by the electric hum of being seen, touched, wanted.
“You think I don’t notice you looking at me like that,” he continued, softer now, almost a whisper. His gaze finally dragged back up to meet yours, chin tilted just slightly, like daring you to deny it.
Your pulse throbbed in your throat, but your words came sharp, defensive: “Like what?”
Steve only smiled, slow and infuriating, his hands sliding down your thighs once more before squeezing them again, firmer this time. Steve’s mouth was on yours before you could come up with a smart reply. It wasn’t soft or tentative this time—it was desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and slightly dizzy. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers knotting into his hair, tugging until he groaned into your mouth. The sound sent heat spiraling low in your stomach, and you bit down lightly on his bottom lip, grinning when he pulled back only to dive in harder.
The kiss deepened until it barely felt like kissing anymore—more like a fight for air, for control. Steve’s mouth moved against yours with messy precision, hungry and unrelenting, until you were both panting through the heat of it.
Your teeth grazed his bottom lip, catching it between yours, and when you bit down, he groaned loud into your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips like he couldn’t help himself. You smirked against his lips, tugging until he slipped free with a wet snap.
“Christ,” he muttered, voice ragged, before crashing his mouth back onto yours.
His tongue swept into your mouth, hot and insistent, tangling with yours until you moaned, the sound spilling out before you could catch it. Steve swallowed it eagerly, angling his head to kiss you deeper, harder.
When his teeth nipped at your top lip, you retaliated by sucking his tongue into your mouth, slow and deliberate. He cursed into the kiss—fuck—the word vibrating against you, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Get on top of me.” his voice rumbled low against your mouth. Steve shifted with you, bodies twisting until his back hit the mattress and you were straddling him, your knees braced against the sheets, his hands immediately finding your waist.
Then lower.
He slid both palms down until they cupped the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide, gripping hard enough to make you jolt. He smirked up at you, eyes half-lidded and gleaming in the dim light.
“Fuck, that’s better,” he muttered, voice gravel and honey. You leaned down and licked into his mouth again, swallowing his chuckle in another bruising kiss. His hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping hard, grounding you as you rolled against him, his moan spilling right into your mouth.
Your hair falling around his face, his teeth grazing your tongue, the two of you moving against each other like you’d forgotten how to stop.
You felt how hard he’d become beneath you through your shorts. His breath hitched, grip on you tightening. Encouraged, you did it again—slower, firmer—earning a sharp groan muffled against your mouth.
His hands flexed, kneading your ass, then one palm came down hard, a quick slap that sent heat sparking across your skin. You broke the kiss with a gasp, your forehead dropping to his shoulder, but Steve only laughed, low and smug, before gripping you again.
“Yeah,” he whispered roughly, lips brushing your ear, “just like that. Keep going.” His hips bucked up in response, the two of you finding a rhythm that was frantic and messy and addicting.
Another slap—sharper this time, followed by the hot glide of his palm smoothing over the sting. His other hand stayed firm, guiding your movements, pulling you down harder against him like he couldn’t get close enough.
You wanted to tease him, to remind him this was supposed to mean nothing, but the words died in your throat when his lips dragged along your jaw, his teeth scraping at the sensitive spot under your ear before latching his lips onto yours again.
Every movement was frantic, desperate—the sound of lips sucking, teeth scraping, tongues sliding together filling the room. His curses bled into your moans, the two of you tangled in a haze of heat and frustration, as if the only way to breathe was through each other.
When he finally tore his mouth away, a thin string of spit connected your lips, breaking only when he licked his own and grinned, smug and breathless.
“Star-worthy,” he whispered, almost taunting, before dragging you down for another.
Your lips were still swollen, your breath still ragged, when Steve’s mouth broke from yours and trailed to your jaw, then down your throat. His voice was low, hoarse, half-breathed against your skin.
“Think it’s time you earned your first star,” he mumbled, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Why don’t you show me how bad you want it? Get down there for me.”
The words sent a shiver through you, heat coiling low in your stomach. You pulled back just enough to look at him, smirking as your eyes locked with his. There was no hesitation in your movements—just a slow, deliberate shift downward, dragging your hands across his chest as you slid toward his hips.
Steve’s pupils blew wide at the sight, but before you could touch his belt, he sat up sharply. In one fluid motion, he yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly across the room. His skin gleamed in the dim light, a faint sheen of sweat highlighting the sharp cut of his collarbone and the golden tan that summer had burned into him.
Steve reached to his back, his hand slipping into the pocket of his jeans. When it emerged, the sheet of silver stars was pinched between his fingers, the edges bent from being shoved into his back pocket earlier. He held it up for you to see, his grin cocky, but his eyes soft with something almost reverent.
The sticker glinted faintly in the low light as he placed it on the nightstand beside him. Waiting. A promise.
Your lips curved into a slow smile as your hands finally reached for his belt, fingers brushing the metal buckle. The tension was suffocating—his chest rising and falling under your gaze, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding back from grabbing you.
“Guess I better make it worth your while then,” you teased, voice low, velvety, as you leaned down just enough for your breath to fan across the waistband of his jeans.
Steve cursed under his breath, his head tipping back against the headboard, knuckles whitening as his hands clenched into the sheets.
“Fuck—yeah,” he rasped. “Earn it, sweetheart.”
Steve was already half-gone just from the way you looked at him, kneeling between his legs with that little smirk tugging at your lips.
Your fingers made quick work of his belt, the metal buckle clinking in the quiet room. You didn’t rush—no, you let it drag, each tug slow enough to make his jaw clench. When the leather finally slipped free, you slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the stillness.
Steve swore under his breath, his hand flying to his face as if covering his eyes could hide how undone he already was. “Shit. You’re actually gonna kill me,” he muttered, peeking through his fingers to watch you tug his jeans lower, his boxers following until they were shoved halfway down his thighs.
You settled between his knees, eyes flicking up to meet his. That smug grin hadn’t left his face, but there was desperation under it now—his breath shallow, his knuckles white where they dug into the sheets.
You lean down until your lips brush against the sharp line of his hipbone. He groaned, hips jerking slightly before he forced them still. You wrapped your hand around his thick and veiny cock, directing his angry, throbbing head towards your mouth.
Finally wrapping your lips around him, Steve’s reaction was instant. A strangled curse spilled from his lips “Fuck—” His grip on your hair tightened, his hips stuttering before he caught himself.
You hummed around him, pleased, and the vibration made him groan loud, his free hand smacking against the mattress like he needed somewhere to put the overflow of energy.
“Jesus Christ,” he panted, cracking his eyes open just long enough to watch you. The sight nearly undid him. “You look—god—you look so fucking good, sucking me off.”
Releasing your hand from his length, you laid it out on his lower abdomen, letting your mouth do the work. Lowering your head on him, you felt him at the back of your throat his hips twitched up making you gag. “oh, fuck—yes, just like that.”
Your other hand dug into his thighs to steady yourself, and he lost it at the sight—your mouth full of him, your eyes locked on his, your smirk breaking around the edges, saliva seeping through the corner of your mouth.
His praise came in broken fragments now, spilling between ragged breaths:
“Good girl—”
“Taking me so fucking well—”
“Shit, don’t stop—“
The silver star sat patiently on the nightstand, waiting, gleaming, as Steve’s voice grew rougher, his grip on your hair desperate, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles.
Your lips slid down slowly, saliva pooling, thickening until every movement left him slick and glistening. You pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit stretching from your mouth to his skin before breaking, your tongue darting out to catch it. His eyes went wide, jaw slack, and then shut tight again as he groaned deep, his head thunking back against the headboard.
“Jesus Christ, you’re—shit—you’re filthy.”
You smirked, leaning back in to lick a long stripe up his length, letting your spit smear and shine. Then, deliberately, you spat—messy, obscene—letting it drip down before spreading it with your tongue. The sound of it was loud in the quiet room, sloppy and unrestrained, and Steve swore so hard it almost came out as a laugh.
“Fuck me,” he panted, hips twitching despite the way his hand held the back of your head. You took him deeper this time, your throat flexing as you swallowed around him, and his response was instant: a strangled moan ripped from his chest, his thighs trembling under your grip. His knuckles whitened against the sheets, the other hand clutching your hair like a lifeline.
“Shit—shit—keep going, don’t stop—”
You didn’t. You set a rhythm, messy and relentless, your lips shining, your chin wet, spit smearing everywhere until it felt obscene. Every time you pulled back, more strings of it clung and stretched, snapping only when you dragged your tongue over him again.
Steve’s breathing turned ragged, sharp curses spilling between moans. You could feel him trying to keep control, his hips jerking up in tiny stutters, his abs flexing hard, his voice breaking when your tongue swirled at the tip before sinking down again.
“Holy fuck—you’re so good—goddamn, you’re—fuck—”
His chest gleamed with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips bitten raw from how hard he was holding himself back. But his eyes—when they cracked open—were glassy, locked on you with a mix of awe and disbelief.
When you moaned around him, low and deliberate, his whole body jolted. He grabbed your hair tighter, groaning like he was in pain. “Don’t—don’t do that—shit—unless you’re trying to make me cum.”
You hummed again, smug, letting your nails dig into his thighs to steady yourself. His hips bucked up hard in response, his voice breaking into a hoarse, “oh fuck yes, just like that.”
You didn’t stop. If anything, the sound of his unraveling spurred you on. Your mouth slid down again, slower this time, wetter, until you had him sinking into the back of your throat. Spit leaked from the corners of your lips, dribbling down your chin and onto his thighs. You pulled back just far enough for the air to hit your wet skin before diving down again.
It was obscene—the mess on your face, the way your nails dug crescent moons into his thighs, the slap of his hips stuttering against your mouth. Steve was gone, wrecked, clinging to what little control he had left, sweat dripping down his temple.
And when you finally pulled back to breathe, lips shining, chin wet, Steve cracked his eyes open just long enough to see you smile before taking him back in with an eager groan.
That was when you felt it: the twitch of his cock against your tongue, subtle at first, then sharper, more urgent. A telltale pulse that made you smirk around him. He was close. So close.
You pulled off with a wet pop, your hand immediately wrapping around him, stroking slow and deliberate as you trailed lower. Steve’s eyes flew open just in time to watch you lean down, your lips pressing against the heavy weight beneath him. His breath caught, his body jerking violently as you took his balls into your mouth, sucking gently, your hand stroking him in rhythm.
“Holy—oh my fucking god—” The words tore from him like he was in pain, his hips bucking helplessly.
For a moment the only sound was his broken breathing and the squelching noise of your hand jerking his saliva covered cock.
You pulled back just enough to let him see it, lips slick, chin wet, your hand stroking him through the last pulses, milking every twitch and shudder. He collapsed back against the headboard, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple, his hair wild and sticking up in every direction.
You pulled back, spit smeared across your lips, and immediately leaned up to wrap your mouth around his tip again. The taste was sharp, heady, and addictive. You sucked hard, tongue swirling, while your hand worked his length in sloppy, relentless strokes.
You pushed him higher, faster, your mouth and hand working together until his thighs shook beneath you, his voice breaking completely.
“Shit—I’m gonna—” His warning died in a strangled cry as his hips jerked, his body stiffening. Your pace didn’t falter, not even when Steve’s whole body tensed.
His groan was ragged, raw, your name torn from his throat like he was breaking apart. And then you felt it—his release spilling hot and thick across your tongue, filling your mouth faster than you expected. It coated your tongue, heavy, salty, the taste so sharp it made your eyes sting as you forced yourself to take it, every last drop.
Steve’s hand flew to your hair, not to push, but to anchor himself, his voice wrecked and urgent.
“Fuck—swallow it for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and swallow it.”
The praise hit harder than anything. You moaned low in your throat, throat flexing as you obeyed, tipping your chin up slightly as you swallowed him down. Every bit.
Steve’s chest heaved, his head thrown back for a moment, before his eyes cracked open, dazed but still locked on you. He swallowed hard himself, voice shaking as he rasped, “Open up. Let me see.”
Your lips curled into a smug smile, but you obeyed, sticking your tongue out, tilting your chin so he could see. Empty. Nothing left.
The sight nearly undid him all over again. His laugh was hoarse, disbelieving, his grin sharp as he dragged a trembling hand over his face.
“Good girl,” he muttered, reverent this time, softer than you’d ever heard him.
Still panting, Steve reached blindly for the nightstand, fingers fumbling with the sheet of silver stars until he peeled one free. He leaned forward, brushing his thumb against your flushed cheek, wiping at the spit-slick shine still clinging to your skin. Then, with slow precision, he pressed the sticker to your cheekbone.
It glimmered faintly under the dim light, a small, shimmering badge of honor. “There,” he said, voice rough, his lips quirking into a lazy grin. “Perfect fucking girl.”
His thumb lingered against the sticker, tracing its edge, his eyes burning into yours like he couldn’t believe what he’d just watched.
Steve was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling hard, sweat cooling at his hairline, when he tilted his head against the headboard to really look at you. The silver star still glittered on your cheekbone, the edges barely clinging to your flushed skin. His eyes traced it like he was memorizing it—then dropped, slow and hungry, over the rest of you.
“Take it off,” he rasped, voice low and rough from everything you’d just done. His lips curved in that familiar cocky grin, but there was a raw edge to it now, something darker. “Strip for me.”
You cocked a brow at him, smirk tugging at your lips, but you didn’t argue. You liked the way his voice cracked on the order, the way his hand was already twitching toward his lap.
So you obeyed.
Fingers hooking into the hem of your black spaghetti-strap shirt, you pulled it slow, deliberately over your head, shaking your hair free so it fell into your face. Steve’s eyes tracked every movement, his jaw going slack as you unclipped your bra in one smooth motion. You didn’t just drop it—you tossed it at him.
He caught it one-handed, laughing breathlessly, before pressing it to his nose for a beat. “ so prett—” He cut himself off with a groan, tossing it onto the nightstand as his other hand slipped down, fingers wrapping around himself.
You kept going, dragging fingers down your stomach as you popped the button of your shorts, peeling the denim low, inch by inch, until you shoved them past your hips and legs. Tossing them, they hit the floor in a careless heap, leaving you in nothing but black lace and a wicked smile.
Steve stroked himself slow, eyes glazed, never leaving you. His knuckles tightened around himself as he groaned, voice wrecked. “Fuck—look at you.”
You bit your lip, letting your fingers toy with the band of your underwear before sliding them down, stepping out and kicking them toward him. He laughed again, hoarse, head tipping back against the headboard like he couldn’t believe his luck.
“C’mere,” he ordered, voice raw.
You crawled moving toward him on all fours until you straddled his lower abdomen. His skin was hot under you, the hard muscle shifting as his breath came heavy. You ground against him just enough to make him curse, his hand flying to grip your hip.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” His voice was low, reverent, like a prayer. His free hand slid down your back, slow and firm, until it landed on your ass. He squeezed hard, spreading you open beneath his touch before laying a sharp smack across your skin.
The sound cracked through the room, echoing, followed instantly by your gasp, the sharp sting blooming into warmth.
Steve groaned at the noise, dragging you down harder against him, making you feel every inch of how ready he was for you again. His lips caught yours in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue, the taste of himself still lingering in your mouth as his grip on you grew rougher.
You moaned into him, nails digging into his shoulders, hips rolling instinctively against his lower abdomen as his hands gripped and spread and smacked again, pulling a louder moan from your throat.
He broke the kiss just long enough to grin up at you, flushed and wrecked, before muttering against your lips, “God, you’re perfect. My perfect girl.”
Steve’s hands slid rough and sure along your body, gripping and shifting until, with one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back. The mattress dipped under his weight as he caged you in, hair falling loose around his face, eyes burning down at you.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand slid south, broad and warm against your stomach until just two fingers remained between your thighs. He pressed lightly, then let his index finger trace slow and deliberate down your folds.
The sound you made was sharp, breathless, as his fingertip circled right where you were throbbing for him.
Steve chuckled, low and smug, but there was no denying the awe in his voice. “Jesus Christ—you’re soaked. You got this worked up just from sucking my cock?”
Your face burned, a moan tumbling out before you could stop it. He dragged his finger lower, teasing your entrance, slipping just enough to feel the slick heat there before pulling back up, smearing it over your clit in tight, slow circles.
You whined, hips bucking, and his grin widened. “Look at you—squirming already. So easy for me. My perfect girl, huh?”
He kept the circles steady, slow but merciless, each pass making your thighs tremble harder. You clutched at his arms, nails biting into his skin, your voice breaking on his name.
“Steve—please—”
He leaned down, kissing you hard, sloppy, swallowing your moans before pulling back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Shh. Be a good girl. Take it. Show me you can be patient for me.”
You whimpered, but obeyed, though your hips rolled helplessly against his hand. He rewarded you with a firmer press of his finger, faster circles that had your breath hitching.
And then—he let go.
Your whine cracked through the air, desperate, but Steve only smirked as his other hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly, deliberately, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet. He brought his tip down to press against your entrance, rubbing up and down, coating himself in your slickness without ever pushing in.
Your back arched, your hands flying to his shoulders. “Steve—fuck—please, don’t tease—”
He groaned at your begging, dragging himself against you again, the head of him nudging your clit just enough to make you gasp.
“God, you feel insane already,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse with restraint. He rubbed against you again, harder this time, the motion slick and messy. “So wet, so ready, and I haven’t even given it to you yet.”
You were whimpering now, desperate, nails leaving crescents in his skin. Every tease, every stroke made you tighter, needier, trembling with want.
“Please,” you gasped, almost sobbing it.
Steve breathing just as ragged, though he still wore that cocky little grin. “Good girl. Begging so sweet for me.” He pulled his hips back, circling his tip around your entrance, dragging another loud whimper from your lips.
“Show me you can be a good girl,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the effort of holding himself back.
The noise was obscene.
Slippery. Sticky. Wet. Loud enough to echo in the quiet.
Steve’s grin was smug,his voice dropped low, gravelly. “Goddamn, sweetheart—listen to you. You’re fucking dripping. All this—” he circled tighter, harder, making your thighs clamp around him, “—and I haven’t even given you anything yet.”
You bucked up against him, a choked moan breaking out as your hands fisted his hair. “Steve, please—”
He shushed you softly, but there was no kindness in it—just control. “Be a good girl. Don’t rush me.”
The blunt head of his length dragged slowly through the slickness between your lips. Steve groaned at it, hips jerking like he couldn’t help himself.
“Fuck me,” he hissed, eyes screwing shut for a second. “You’re so wet, it’s—Jesus Christ, it’s everywhere.”
He rubbed himself up and down, teasing your entrance, nudging against it but never pushing in, then sliding up over your clit until you gasped and squirmed. The motion left him coated, glistening, the wet sound of it loud every time he rocked his hips forward.
“Steve, I can’t—please, just—” He cut you off with a rough kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing your desperate little cries. When he pulled back, his lips were wet, his grin dangerous.
He pressed his tip right against your entrance and held it there, pushing just enough to make you stretch before sliding away again. You whimpered so loudly he cursed under his breath.
“God, you’re so fucking puffy down here,” he groaned, dragging himself slow through your folds again. “I can feel how swollen you are. All for me, huh? You’re a mess, sweetheart.”
Your answer was another broken moan, hips rolling, chasing every drag of his cock against you. You didn’t care how messy it sounded, how every thrust left the sheets beneath you damp. You just wanted him inside.
But Steve wasn’t ready to give it yet.
“Not yet,” he growled, circling his tip against your clit again, harder, watching your mouth fall open as the shockwave ripped through you. “Gotta prove you’re my good girl. Hold it. Take it. Let me play with you a little longer.”
You whimpered, nearly sobbing, the sounds of your slickness getting louder, wetter, dirtier with every rub. Steve cursed again, his jaw clenching, his own self-control fraying as he rocked against you.
“Fuck, you’re making me lose it,” he panted, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he slid himself up and down again. “So wet, so fucking tight already—I swear I could come just from teasing you like this.”
Steve groaned low in his chest, the sound rough and desperate, his tip pressed hard against you as if his body couldn’t take the restraint any longer. Your whimpers were getting louder, messier, your hips rolling helplessly, and finally—finally—his control snapped.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he rasped, kissing your jaw, then your cheek, his voice trembling with need. “You’ve been good. You’ve begged so sweet. You deserve it.”
He shifted suddenly, He draped one leg over his shoulder, kissing the inside of it with a groan, then pulled the other up to match, locking you in place beneath him.
The position had you trembling, wide and exposed, he kissed down your shin, then biting gently at your calf while his cock slid into place. “Look at that,” he panted, his eyes glued between your bodies as he pushed. “God, your lips are just—fuck—swallowing me whole.”
He eased himself in, not all at once—just the tip, then a little more, then stopping to groan into the muscle of your thigh. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and yet your body clenched greedily around him, pulling him deeper.
Steve’s jaw locked, his forehead pressing to your calf as he groaned, “Jesus Christ, you’re so tight—I can barely get in.” He kissed along your leg, trying to ground himself, his cock twitching inside you as he forced himself to hold back.
“Fuck—Steve—it’s so—”
He cut you off with a sharp thrust, only an inch deeper, pulling a loud cry from your lips. His hand left your thigh long enough to stroke your hair back from your sweaty forehead, his eyes soft but blazing.
“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your leg again, voice breaking as he stared down at the sight of your body clinging to him. “Good girl. Take it. You’re doing so fucking good for me. So goddamn perfect.”
He didn’t slam into you. Not yet. He rocked shallowly, halfway, dragging his length against you with every slow thrust, letting you feel every ridge, every inch of the stretch without ever burying himself completely.
The wet sounds of him sliding in and out echoed through the room, each thrust louder, filthier, slicker than the last. Steve’s eyes never left where your bodies met, his lips brushing your calf as he groaned, “God, I can’t look away. You’re swallowing me like you were made for this. My good girl—fuck—you’re taking me so well.”
Your whimper was high-pitched, desperate, your whole body trembling from the tease of it. “Steve—please—” It came out half sob, half plea. “I can’t—need it, please—”
That was all it took. His jaw tightened, and he growled low, almost like it hurt him to resist you. “Alright, sweetheart. You want it? You’re gonna get all of it.”
He shifted, bracing his hands against the mattress, his shoulders flexing as he pushed his hips forward. Slowly. Deliberately. He slid deeper, stretching you wide, filling every part of you until you felt split open around him.
The sound that ripped from your throat was raw and unrestrained. A curse. A moan. A desperate cry .Steve groaned right along with you, head tipping back as he felt your walls flutter around him. “Holy—fuck—you feel insane. Taking me so deep, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”
He bottomed out, hips flush with yours, and for a moment he just stayed there, buried to the hilt, savoring the way your body clung to him.
Your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into the sheets, and Steve reached down, grabbing your wrists to peel them away. He pressed them to the mattress above your head, pinning you there as he pulled back just an inch before sliding in again, slow, dragging.
“Feel that?” he murmured, voice low and rough in your ear. “That’s me—every inch—inside you. You’re stretched so tight around me, fuck, I can barely move.”
Your moan broke into a cry as he pressed in deeper again, grinding his hips to make sure you felt all of him.
Then he moved.
Long, slow thrusts at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before sinking back in, forcing you to feel the stretch over and over. The sound of it—wet, filthy, unrelenting—filled the room, mixing with his curses and your cries.
“God, listen to you,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “You’re so fucking wet for me”
Your body arched, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming fullness, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. He groaned at the sight, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, whispering against your lips, “Good girl. You’re doing so good.”
Then, with one sharp motion, he hooked both of your legs up higher, pressing them until your knees were bent over your head. The angle had you gasping, body open wide for him as he pushed in deeper than before, hitting places that made your vision go white.
You screamed his name, the sound broken and raw, and Steve’s answering groan was just as wrecked. “Fuck, sweetheart—so deep—so good—” His voice cracked as he buried himself again, harder, grinding against you until the bed shook beneath you both.
The room was full of it—the slap of his hips against yours, the wet, sticky sounds of your bodies colliding, your cries and his low curses tangled together. Each thrust Every thrust was wetter, louder, filthier, slick noises echoing through the room as his pace built. You could barely breathe, every drag of him inside making you tremble, curse, cry out for more, your head tipping back as you moaned his name like a prayer.
And through it all, Steve’s voice poured over you—praise, filth, worship, all tangled together.
Steve had you folded up tight, your legs bent over you, his broad chest pressing against your legs had you into the mattress. He groaned into your calf, kissing it sloppily as he rocked deeper. He pulled back slow, dragging himself out inch by inch until only his tip pressed against your entrance, then slammed forward again, burying himself with a wet smack that had you gasping.
“Fuck—yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, sweat dripping from his temple onto you. His hands clamped down on your thighs, holding them in place as his pace grew rougher, sharper.
Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing tight, and he cursed, forehead dropping against your leg as if he might lose control. “Shit—“
The angle had him grinding deep, hitting spots that made you cry out, tears stinging your eyes. Steve ate up every sound, his hips stuttering as if your desperation was his favorite drug.
He released one of your thighs, dragging his hand down to grip your hip, thumb pressing bruises into your skin as he pounded harder. The bedframe creaked, the mattress groaning under the rhythm, the entire room filled with the wet slap of his thrusts.
You choked on his name, voice wrecked, and he groaned right back, eyes burning into yours.
“Yeah, that’s it—say my name. Louder.” He snapped his hips forward, grinding deep before pulling back just enough to do it again. Your nails raked down his back, your voice spilling raw, and he rewarded you with another sharp thrust, then another, sweat flying from his hair as he lost himself in the rhythm.
Steve’s thrusts grew rougher, harder, his body glistening with sweat as he held you pinned. Your legs were trembling from being folded up so tightly against your chest, your muscles burning, your cries breaking into raw little whimpers.
He felt it, heard it, and finally pulled back, loosening his hold, your calves fell against the sheets with a heavy thump. You gasped at the release, chest heaving, the sudden freedom making your whole body tremble. But he wasn’t done. Not even close.
“Spread ’em for me,” he ordered, voice low, ragged with lust. His hands pushed at your knees, forcing them wider, wider, until you were laid bare in front of him.
His hips never stopped moving, his cock still sliding in and out of you, wet and messy. And now, from this angle, he could see everything—your swollen lips parting around him, the slick sheen covering you both, every obscene detail glistening under the dim light.
“Holy fuck,” Steve groaned, eyes glued between your legs. “Look at that.”
The sound of him moving inside you was obscene, slick and sloppy, each thrust pulling a chorus of wet squelches that made your face burn. But you couldn’t stop the way your body responded—you moaned louder, curses spilling from your lips without control.
“Steve—fuck—oh my God—” Your head tipped back, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good.”
He growled at your words, hips slamming harder as he leaned forward, one hand pressing against your stomach while the other held your thigh wide. “Yeah, sweetheart? That’s it—say my name like that. Louder. Let me hear it.”
Your moans rose into sharp cries, his name tearing from your throat as he fucked into you.
The sight had him unraveling—your body open wide, his cock disappearing into you over and over, the way you clenched and pulled him deeper. His pace faltered for a second, hips stuttering as his voice broke.
“Jesus Christ—you’re gonna kill me. Look at you—my good girl, taking it all, making such a mess on me.”
Steve’s rhythm was brutal, each thrust heavy enough to rock the bed, your cries spilling out of you without restraint. He was gone in it—hair plastered to his forehead, chest slick with sweat, his voice raw from the way he kept growling your name.
And then, mid-thrust, he pulled back just enough to reach for something on the nightstand. You barely had time to process the loss before he drove back into you, deeper, harder, making you scream.
The sound of the drawer sliding open, paper crinkling—your hazy brain barely registered it until he held it up.
The stars.
He smirked down at you, hips still rolling into yours, the sight of him towering over you with the sticker sheet in one hand and his cock buried deep making your stomach flip.
“Yeah,” he panted, thrusting harder, “you’re such a good girl—you deserve all of these.”
You moaned, the praise wrecking you almost as much as his body. He peeled one of the stars off with shaking fingers, his pace faltering just a second as he stuck it low on your hipbone.
“Good girl,” he groaned, slamming into you harder, your body jolting with the force. Another sticker, slapped onto your thigh this time, his hand smoothing it down before gripping the flesh tight. “My perfect girl—look at you, earning every single one.”
The sight was obscene—your thighs spread wide, his cock sliding in and out of you slick and wet, and those childish silver stars decorating your flushed skin.
You whimpered his name, eyes glassy, voice broken.
Steve leaned down, his breath hot against your neck as he murmured, “Say it again. Say my name while I mark you up.”
“Steve—fuck—Steve—” you cried, your nails raking down his back as another star pressed onto your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you were stretched around him.
He cursed loud, the sight nearly undoing him. “Jesus Christ. My messy, gorgeous girl. Taking it so deep, still begging for more. You’re killing me.” Another sticker, this one on your other thigh.
The sheet crinkled again, a few stars missing now, your body decorated and glowing under the dim light. And all the while, his hips never stopped moving, driving into you harder and harder, his voice raw with every word:
“Good girl. My good girl. Fuck—“
You whimpered, back arching, nails clawing the sheets as he ground in deep, rolling his hips just to watch you twitch and curse beneath him. The slick sounds grew louder, filthier, like your body was begging for more with every thrust.
Steve’s jaw locked, his breath shuddering as he tilted your hips up with one hand, angling himself deeper. He groaned, loud and guttural, his voice cracking.
Steve’s thrusts were relentless, your body bouncing against the mattress with every deep grind of his hips. Stickers clung to your thighs and hip, glimmering faintly in the dim light, and he looked down at them like a man possessed.
His hand pressed another onto your skin—crooked, half-sticking because of the sweat beading down your body—but he didn’t care. He smoothed it down roughly, groaning as he bottomed out inside you again.
“Fuck, look at you.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you almost harder than his thrusts.Steve’s hand slid up your torso His eyes darkened, hungry, and he caught your chin in his hand, tilting your face to meet his.
“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, voice low and strained. His hips rolled slow, deep, dragging his cock through you. “Show me how bad you want it. Play with those pretty tits for me, baby.”
Your shaky hands obeyed, cupping your breasts, thumbs circling over sensitive skin. Steve’s eyes went glassy watching you, his rhythm stuttering for a beat before he forced himself to keep thrusting.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Good giiirl. Pinch ’em. Make yourself moan for me.”
You did, whining as your fingers twisted your nipples, the sting blending with the relentless drag of his cock inside you. Your head tipped back, mouth open, chest heaving, and he couldn’t help himself.
Another sticker, slapped right above your breast, then another on the curve of the other. His eyes blazed as he watched you squeeze your chest together, the stars glinting faintly on your flushed skin.
“Christ—” he groaned, his thrusts faltering as he pressed the heel of his palm against your sternum, watching your tits bounce with every slam of his hips. “You look so fucking good—my star girl, all decorated for me.”
Your moans grew louder, curses spilling out between them, your voice breaking on his name.
Steve reached up, grabbing your wrists, dragging your hands higher until your nipples brushed your lips. “Suck ‘em,” he muttered, thrusting rougher. “Suck ’em. Show me how sweet you taste.”
Your tongue darted out, wetting the sensitive skin before your lips closed around it, sucking hard. A sharp cry ripped out of your throat at the combined sensation, muffled against your own chest.
Steve nearly lost it, groaning hoarse as he slapped another star sticker onto your breastbone. His hips drove into you harder, faster, like he couldn’t keep it together.
“Fuck, that’s it. Good girl—God, you’re perfect. My messy little star girl.”
And then—his hand was on your face, dragging your hair back, tilting your head toward him. He peeled another sticker from the sheet with shaking fingers and pressed it against your cheekbone, opposite the first one. The silver gleamed against your flushed skin.
He kissed right over it, teeth grazing your cheek before pulling back just enough to growl against your mouth:
“My good girl. All mine. Look at you—fuck—you’re everything.”
The words melted into the filthy slap of skin, the wet drag of him pounding into you, his body shaking as he kept you right there—marked up, spread wide, riding the edge of breaking.
Steve knew the second it started happening—your body trembling harder, your walls tightening in sharp pulses around him with every thrust. The sound of it grew wetter, slicker, obscene, your cunt clinging to him like it didn’t want to let go.
“Fuck—shit—” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hips faltered for just a second before he slammed back into you. His eyes snapped to yours, burning. “You gonna cum? Hmm?”
You nodded frantically, a desperate whimper muffled by your own breast still caught between your lips. Steve growled, the sight of it wrecking him completely.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. Letting your boobs fall with a pop, he kept thrusting rough and deep.
“Yea?” he teased again, his tone half-mocking, half-groaning. He kissed you sloppily, dragging his tongue across your lips before pulling back, panting. “Say it. Tell me.”
“Gonna—gonna cum,” you gasped, voice broken, needy.
He held you there, eyes locked on yours, not letting you tip over just yet. His hips slowed, grinding deep, making you squeal.
“Not yet,” he rasped, teeth gritted. His thumb slid down, pressing against your clit, rubbing slow circles that had you thrashing. “Be a good girl. Wait for me.”
You sobbed out a moan, thighs shaking, your body clamping down on him so hard he cursed.
“Jesus—fuck—you’re so tight, I can feel you trying to drag it out of me.” He groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, his voice breaking into filth. “Alright, sweetheart. Let it go. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”
The command tore through you like fire. His thrusts picked up, relentless, his thumb grinding into your clit with perfect pressure. Your body seized, arching hard off the mattress as your orgasm slammed into you. The noise that ripped from your throat was raw, broken, your cries spilling into the room as your body milked him, pulsing so tight around him you could feel every vein, every twitch.
Steve was transfixed, his eyes glued to where you were stretched around him. His cock disappeared into the mess of you over and over, his length glistening with your slick. And then he saw it—white cream clinging to his shaft, coating him every time he pulled back.
“ fuck—” he groaned, almost choking on it. His hips stuttered, his pace faltering as he growled, “Look at that—look at the mess you’re making on me. Cream on my cock, baby. Let it all out. That’s it. Good fucking girl.”
You couldn’t even speak—your body convulsed with every pulse of your climax, your hands clawing the sheets, your mouth falling open around the wet skin of your breast as you cried and whimpered.
Steve’s thumb didn’t let up, circling your clit mercilessly as he fucked you through it, groaning loud and guttural.
“fuck—you’re mine.”
You were still shaking, legs trembling, the stars on your thighs half peeling from sweat. Steve didn’t slow, not really—his hips ground deep, dragging the aftershocks out of you while his thumb kept lazy, teasing circles on your clit, just enough to make you twitch and whimper.
“Look at you,” he groaned, staring down at the creamy mess between your legs, his cock glistening every time he pulled back. “God, you fucking ruined me. Creamed all over my dick like a good girl.”
You whimpered his name, voice hoarse, your body still clenching around him in fluttering pulses that had his jaw locking, his hips stuttering.
And then it hit him. That twitch low in his gut, the sharp ache pulling tight, the warning he couldn’t fight.
“Shit—oh fuck—I’m gonna cum.” His voice cracked, desperate. He grabbed your thighs, pushing them wider, grinding into you harder, his cock throbbing inside you. “You feel that, sweetheart? Feel me twitching in your tight little cunt?”
Your nails dug into the sheets, your voice breaking on a whimper, “Yes—yes, Steve—”
That was all it took. His hips slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt as he groaned deep and raw into your neck. Heat spilled inside you, thick and hot, filling you in sharp pulses that made your back arch and your eyes roll.
“Fuck—take it—all of it—” he rasped, thrusting shallow, grinding every drop deeper. “My good girl”
The mess between you grew wetter, filthier, his cum mixing with yours, slicking his cock as he dragged it out and shoved it back in. He looked down, eyes dark and glazed, groaning at the sight of you leaking around him.
“Jesus Christ, look at that—dripping everywhere. You’re stuffed full.” He kissed your calf, sloppy and rough, still rocking into you as if he couldn’t stop.
One hand fumbled for the sticker sheet again, half-crumpled now from sweat. He peeled one off, pressed it onto the curve of your belly just above where he was buried inside. Another, on the soft swell of your breast.
And then, as he pulled back just enough to see your wrecked face, he smoothed one last star onto your skin, right between your collarbones.
“There,” he rasped, pressing his thumb over it. His lips followed, kissing the sticker, then your damp skin beneath it. You whimpered, your body twitching with every tiny aftershock, still holding him so tight inside. His hips slowed, his forehead pressing against your chest as he groaned through the last waves of release, his voice raw and reverent.
The room was a haze of heat and sweat, the air thick with the sharp mix of sex and something softer—something you’d never admit out loud. Your chest rose and fell fast, your skin damp, the silver stars sticking half-crooked to your thighs, hips, breasts.
Steve was still buried inside you, his hips flush to yours, not willing to pull away yet. He groaned low, the sound more like relief than lust, his forehead pressed against your sternum where another star sticker clung to your skin.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice raw, almost hoarse. “You trying to kill me?”
You let out a shaky laugh, breathless, your body twitching every time his cock shifted inside you. “I should be asking you that. Felt like you were—trying to split me in half.”
He smirked against your chest, pressing a kiss over the sticker there. “Yeah? And you loved it.” His voice turned into a purr, smug but low, sending heat crawling back through your belly. “Such a good girl.”
Your eyes rolled. “Stop calling me that.”
“Nope,” he replied instantly, grinning as he lifted his head to look at you. His hair was wild, sweat-slicked and falling into his eyes, but the way he was looking at you—soft and proud—made your stomach twist. “You earned it.”
He reached for the crumpled sticker sheet again, chuckling when it stuck to his sweaty palm. He peeled another one off lazily and slapped it right above your navel, smoothing it down with his thumb while still staying buried inside you.
“There,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. “Another one. ’Cause you swallowed me so good earlier.”
You groaned, hiding your face in your arm. “You’re insane.”
Steve laughed, thrusting shallow just to make you gasp, then groaned at the wet squelch that followed. “Fuck, listen to you. Still dripping all over me. Wrecked.” His hand came down to your hip, squeezing, his voice going soft again. “God, you’re perfect.”
You shivered at the warmth in his tone, your chest tightening even though you refused to let yourself feel it. So instead, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “You’re gonna run out of stickers.”
He smirked, leaning down to kiss your cheek, right over the star sticker already clinging there. “Then I’ll buy more. A whole pack if I have to. Gotta keep rewarding my good girl.”
You laughed, shoving at his shoulder weakly, but he didn’t move. He stayed pressed to you, still inside, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. His lips brushed your jaw, his words coming softer, almost tender, though they were still laced with that cocky edge.
“Best fuck of my life, hands down. And I’m not even embarrassed to say it.”
Your cheeks heated, and you quickly looked away, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Shut up, Harrington.”
He chuckled, lazy and satisfied, before kissing the corner of your mouth. “Make me.”
Steve finally groaned and pulled out, slow and sticky, both of you wincing at the wet sound. You flopped back onto his pillows, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a marathon, while he sat back on his heels, glancing down at the mess between your legs with a low whistle.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I should frame this. Put it on my wall.”
You chucked a pillow at him, groaning. “You’re disgusting.”
He caught it easily, smirking. “Disgustingly good, maybe. You creamed all over me” Your face burned, “I hate you.”
Steve laughed, standing and stretching, his bare chest glowing faintly in the lamplight. He grabbed a ragged old towel from a chair in the corner and tossed it over to you. “Nah, you don’t.”
You caught it weakly, glaring as you sat up. “You don’t know that.” He grinned, “Yeah, I do.”
You tried to look annoyed, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you, tugging into a smile. He noticed, of course, and his smug expression only grew as he dug around in his drawer for another clean towel.
“Seriously, though,” he said, tossing the second towel over his shoulder as he walked back. “I’m gonna have to buy stock in those stickers.”
You snorted, rolling your eyes as you wiped yourself off. “Bet the cashier at the drugstore thinks you’ve got some weird arts-and-crafts hobby.”
He barked a laugh, handing you the second towel before sliding back onto the bed beside you. “Yeah, well, if they ask, I’ll just tell ’em it’s for a good girl.”
You groaned, burying your face in the towel. He easily grinned as he leaned back against the headboard. “You’re branded. You got, what, like seven stickers on you right now?”
You glanced down at your body—hip, thighs, chest, cheekbones—and groaned again. “You’re insane.”
“Insanely into you, maybe,” he shot back, smirking as he wiped sweat off his forehead. You threw the towel at his face this time. “You’re lucky you’re good in bed, Harrington, or I’d kill you.”
He peeled the towel off with a grin, hair sticking up even worse than before. “Good in bed? Babe, I’m great in bed. Crying out for me .” His smirk widened. “‘Please, Steve!’” he mimicked in a breathy whine, smirking when your face flushed. “you beg so pretty.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding off the bed to hunt for your clothes. “God, your ego is unbearable.”
“Hey,” he called, leaning over to snag your bra before you could grab it. He twirled it around his finger, smirking. “You keep coming back, don’t you?”
You snatched it from him with a glare, but your smile cracked through again, betraying you. “Shut up.”
Steve laughed, watching you tug your clothes back on as he sprawled out lazily across the mattress. And even though his body was drained and he was covered in sweat, his eyes still sparkled with that boyish glint—cocky, soft, and a little too proud of himself.
“You’ll be back,” he teased, tucking his arms behind his head. “You’re a good girl, you listen.”
POOLSIDE SCHEMING & GUESSING
The sun was high, blazing down over Steve’s backyard in that way that made the air shimmer above the pavement. The pool was alive with splashes and shouts, the smell of chlorine mixing with sunscreen and the faint charcoal scent drifting from a grill Steve had abandoned after cooking the hot dogs.
Eddie Munson sat sprawled in one of Steve’s old plastic lounge chairs, his combat boots kicked off beside him, toes dangling lazy just shy of the hot concrete. A beer bottle sweated in his hand, his hair frizzing in the sticky humidity. Every so often he leaned forward to shout something ridiculous at the pool—usually to taunt Mike and Lucas mid-splash war. Steve himself was already chest-deep in the pool, hair plastered flat and dripping in his eyes as he playfully shoved Lucas off an inflatable raft. Mike’s cackle carried across the yard, sharp and bratty, while Will tried to defend himself from the tidal wave Lucas was planning in retaliation.
The vibe was pure summer—lazy, warm, carefree. Bottles clinked against one another at the side table, condensation dripping into uneven circles. Someone’s music played low from a boombox, muffled by laughter and splashing, the easy rhythm of boys being boys with no monsters to fight, no secrets to keep.
Well—almost no secrets.
Dustin had been lounging on a chair earlier, sunglasses sliding down his nose, soaking in the sun like he was trying to tan what little skin wasn’t pale. But somewhere between Steve dunking Mike under the water and Eddie starting another story about the glory days of Corroded Coffin, Dustin had stood up with a little too much purpose.
“Gonna use the bathroom,” he called casually, towel draped around his shoulders.
Nobody thought twice. Mike lobbed a wet sponge ball at him, which he dodged with a flip of his curls, and then he slipped into the house.
Inside, the air was cooler, quieter—the faint hum of the A/C making the house feel empty compared to the rowdy backyard. Dustin padded toward the living room, shoes squeaking faintly on the tile. He’d been thinking about those stickers for days. The silver stars, half-torn from their sheet, shoved under a magazine like Steve didn’t want him to notice. He hadn’t let it go. He couldn’t.
So, he knelt in front of the coffee table, lifting the same dog-eared Sports Illustrated Steve had hidden them under last time. His heart thumped with a weird excitement, expecting to see the shimmering sheet waiting just where he remembered.
But it wasn’t there.
The space was empty.
He froze for a second, then scrambled, flipping the magazine over, checking between pages, even ducking his head under the table like the stickers might’ve slipped onto the carpet. Nothing. Not a single silver star left.
His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. What the hell, Harrington?
Disappointed but more curious than ever, Dustin stood and marched back outside, squinting as the sun hit him again. The laughter and noise carried on, none of the boys noticing his absence. He scanned for Eddie immediately, because if anyone would help him figure out this weird sticker mystery, it was him.
Eddie was still sprawled in his chair, tapping his long fingers against his beer bottle to some rhythm only he heard. Dustin plopped down on the chair right beside him—way too close.
Eddie side-eyed him, brows raising under his messy curls. “Uh, Henderson,” he drawled, leaning back a little. “Why are you all up in my personal space? This isn’t that kind of pool party.”
Dustin waved him off impatiently, leaning closer, lowering his voice until only Eddie could hear. “The stickers are gone.”
Eddie blinked, confused. “…What stickers?”
“You know,” Dustin hissed, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead like it would make Eddie listen better. “The silver stars! The ones Harrington had hidden under his magazine in the living room. I told you about them. I just checked—they’re gone.”
Eddie tilted his head, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? And…?”
Dustin’s frustration spiked. “And doesn’t that strike you as weird? They were there before, now they’re not. Why would Steve need a whole sheet of silver star stickers, huh?”
Eddie snorted, leaning back in his chair again. “Kid, you’re wound up tighter than a guitar string. Maybe he just… used them? Maybe he’s secretly into scrapbooking.”
Dustin glared, shoving his elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m serious. Something’s going on, and I’m gonna figure out what.”
Eddie chuckled, shaking his head, lifting his beer lazily in salute. “Well, good luck with your top-secret sticker investigation, Sherlock. Let me know when you crack the case.”
Dustin huffed, crossing his arms, but the determination in his eyes said he wasn’t about to let this go. Not by a long shot.
Eddie let Dustin’s words hang in the hot summer air, the younger boy still buzzing beside him, arms crossed in righteous frustration. But Eddie only took another slow sip of his beer, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.
The truth was, the kid had planted a seed.
Eddie tilted his chair back a little, squinting against the sun as his gaze drifted lazily toward the pool. Steve Harrington was right there—shirtless, hair plastered to his forehead, water catching on his tan shoulders like diamonds. He was in his element, laughing too loud, But Eddie’s focus wasn’t on the golden-boy shine of Harrington. Not really.
He kept replaying Dustin’s whisper: the stickers are gone.
Silver stars. Whole sheet of them. Hidden under a magazine, like contraband. And now? Vanished.
Eddie twirled the beer bottle in his hand, condensation dripping down his wrist, eyes narrowing as he studied Steve again. What the hell would he need silver star stickers for?
Steve wasn’t the type. Eddie knew guys like him—straightforward, basketball, parties, girls. He didn’t strike Eddie as someone with arts-and-crafts stashes lying around, or even the patience to peel and stick shiny little stars onto anything. Homework? No chance. Chores? Please. Steve Harrington wouldn’t touch a sticker unless it made him look cooler. And shiny stars? Not exactly his vibe.
So why hide them?
Eddie tapped his bootless foot against the chair leg, thinking. He didn’t bring it up—he wasn’t about to give Henderson the satisfaction of knowing he was even slightly intrigued—but his curiosity had begun to itch, nagging at the back of his skull.
He watched as Steve floated onto his back in the pool, water lapping at his chest, the sunlight gleaming on his skin. His friends shouted around him, waves slapping the sides of the pool, but Harrington just smiled, lazy and smug like he owned the whole damn season.
Eddie tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. What secrets are you hiding, Harrington?
The thought lingered, sticky as the sweat dripping down Eddie’s temple. He shook it off with a huff, muttering under his breath before Dustin could hear him.
But he kept staring, eyes following Steve a little too long, and for the first time since Dustin had started blabbing about the stickers, Eddie began to think the kid might actually be onto something.
The late afternoon sun had begun to soften, the harsh glare of midday giving way to a warmer, golden haze that reflected off the pool like liquid fire. The water rippled gently as the boys all eased in, their laughter echoing across Steve’s backyard, blending with the distant hum of cicadas.
The late afternoon sun had begun to soften, the harsh glare of midday giving way to a warmer, golden haze that reflected off the pool like liquid fire. The water rippled gently as the boys all eased in, their laughter echoing across Steve’s backyard, blending with the distant hum of cicadas and the faint smell of sunscreen and chlorine.
Everyone was in now. Mike, Will, Lucas, Jonathan, Dustin, Eddie, and even Steve had finally joined, the heat of the day making the water feel perfect against their skin. The pool was chaotic but easygoing—splashes, the occasional shove, half-hearted competitions over who could tread water the longest. Only Eddie and Steve held beer cans, cold condensation dripping down their hands, the amber liquid sweating against the side of the pool.
After a few minutes of shouting over each other, the conversation dwindled to a warm, comfortable quiet. Ripples lapped lazily against the edges, sunlight catching droplets on arms and hair. Eddie shifted in the water, swirling the beer can in his hand, the faint glint of gold reflecting off the label.
He cleared his throat, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So… uh… Steve,” he said, tilting his head, voice casual like he wasn’t about to drop a bomb. “Those… silver stars. Still got a stash of those, or did someone finally use ‘em all?”
The pause was instant. Heads turned—some amused, some curious. Steve’s eyes narrowed in mock horror as he sputtered, “Dude! Seriously? ” He splashed water lightly at Dustin, his tone somewhere between defensive and embarrassed.
Dustin grinned, clearly thrilled. “See? Got to you!” Steve groaned, hands flying to his hair. “Jesus!”
Mike’s eyebrows scrunched, tilting his head like he was genuinely trying to figure it out. “Wait… silver star stickers? What, are you a freak or something?” His voice was teasing, but the question lingered in the water with a half-serious edge.
Jonathan chuckled at Mike, shaking his head. “Eh… maybe he is,” he said softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I mean… isn’t that, like… some kind of… rewarding kink?”
Will snorted quietly, barely suppressing a laugh. Lucas raised an eyebrow, splashing water at Mike in response to his shocked expression, while Dustin leaned in, whispering to Eddie with wide eyes, “a kink!”
Steve flailed his arms, rolling his eyes dramatically, trying to laugh it off. “I—I—no! It’s not me with the kink, alright? Don’t even start!” His face flushed pink, the sun hitting his wet hair just right, making him look both ridiculous and impossibly charming.
Eddie let out a low chuckle, beer clinking against his hand as the bubbles ran down his forearm. He leaned back against the pool edge, letting the water carry his weight while eyes glinting with mischief.
“Hey,” he said, voice casual but teasing, “it’s fine. Everyone’s got some kind of kink, right? I mean, I got my cuffs,” he added with a half-smirk, gesturing vaguely, “Jonathan’s probably secretly into exhibition, and you…” He jabbed a finger toward Steve, smirking wide, “you got yourself some stickers shaped like stars.”
The pool erupted instantly. Lucas and Will doubled over in laughter, Mike slapped at the water in front of him, and even Jonathan let out a soft chuckle at Eddie’s ridiculous delivery.
“Ha, ha—very funny, Munson,” Steve shot back, mock-annoyed, flailing one hand and knocking water in Eddie’s direction, making him sputter and cough.
Eddie just smirked, taking a slow sip, unbothered. The teasing glint in his eyes told Steve that this wasn’t going to die down anytime soon.
“So…” Dustin began, voice hesitant but sly, “then… you’re, like, sleeping with someone, right? Who is it?”
The question hit the pool like a cannonball. The boys froze mid-banter. Splashing slowed. Heads tilted. Mike’s eyebrows shot up. Will blinked rapidly. Lucas stared straight at Steve. Even Jonathan, ever the calm observer, leaned slightly forward, lips pressing together in anticipation.
All eyes were on Steve.
Steve’s initial reaction was the perfect combination of shock and horror. His wet hair plastered to his forehead, chest rising and falling with the sudden awareness that every single friend was now silently demanding an answer. He flailed his hands helplessly, eyes wide. “What—no! I mean… if it’s been kept from you guys—what makes you think I’m saying anything now?”
Dustin’s eyes twinkled with mischief, leaning just slightly closer, clearly not letting this go. “Come on, Steve.Thats not fair” Steve groaned, swatting the water in frustration, sending small waves lapping at the others. “Fair? I’ve done nothing but live my life in peace until now!” He splashed Eddie gently, who just laughed, unimpressed. “And for the record,” Steve added, voice dropping to a playful growl, “I don’t even know why we’re still talking about stars. ”
Lucas, lounging nearby, folding his arms in the water. “Stars.Silver stickers. Yeah, Steve… I think we’ve all got an idea now.”
Steve’s face went a deeper shade of red, the sun catching on the water droplets running down his chest, making him look both utterly mortified and infuriatingly attractive. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “I swear, you guys are impossible.”
Eddie just leaned back, smirk still in place, taking another long sip of his beer. “Impossible?” he echoed lazily. “Nah. Just fun to watch you squirm, Harrington. Real fun.”
The rest of the boys snickered again, the water rippling lazily around them as the tension dissolved into laughter—but Dustin, of course, didn’t drop it. His mind was already plotting, already connecting dots.
Steve, meanwhile, sat back, shaking his head, wet hair plastered to his forehead, secretly exhilarated by the chaos he’d inadvertently caused.
Eddie and Dustin had drifted toward a quieter corner of the pool, their shoulders barely touching as they leaned against the edge, whispering under their breaths. Both had their eyes subtly on Steve, who was still trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly.
“So,” Dustin began, leaning closer, voice barely audible over the splashing. Eddie smirked, taking a long sip of his beer, eyes narrowing as he studied Steve’s back from across the pool. “Yeah. I don’t think Steve’s gonna tell us. Not willingly, anyway. So we’re gonna have to… investigate.”
Dustin nodded, biting his lip in excitement. “Exactly.
Meanwhile, the rest of the boys had not been idle. Lucas, Will, and Mike were now half-floating toward the middle of the pool, tossing out guesses like confetti.
“C’mon, Harrington—give us a hint! Is it, like… Nancy?” Lucas called, smirking.
“Nah,” Steve muttered, splashing water in Lucas’s direction, shaking his head. “I’m not telling you guys. Not happening.”
“Carol?!” Will shouted from across the pool, eyebrows raised.
“Gross!” Steve groaned, pushing himself up, water dripping from his shoulders, chest heaving as he tried to regain dignity.
“Oh c’mon!” Mike threw his arms up dramatically, exasperated. “It’s not like you’re in witness protection! Just tell us!”
Steve’s lips pressed into a line as he shook his head furiously. “No. Absolutely not. End of discussion.” He climbed out of the pool, water sliding down his body, glaring at the boys with mock frustration. “Seriously, stop asking!”
Dustin and Eddie, in their corner, shared a quiet, conspiratorial glance, eyes alight with mischief and curiosity. While the other boys threw names around, oblivious to what was really going on, the two of them were already mapping possibilities, thinking three steps ahead.
Eddie whispered low, a smirk tugging at his lips, “See? This is perfect. The guy won’t even flinch at us, but now we know there’s someone. Someone special. Stars and all.”
Dustin nodded eagerly, leaning in closer, speaking just above the waterline. “Now we just have to figure out who star girl .Something has to slip.”
The tension was light but palpable, the quiet scheming contrasting perfectly with the chaos of the other boys still shouting names and laughing, splashing, and trying to get Steve to crack. Jonathan, floating calmly on his back, arms crossed behind his head, watched it all unfold with a small, knowing smirk, the only one who seemed to fully understand the absurdity of it all.
Eddie and Dustin exchanged another look, eyes gleaming. This was going to be fun.
LUNCH WITH THE GIRLS
The mall food court was buzzing with the lazy energy of a summer afternoon. The smell of frying oil, burgers, and overly sweet sodas mingled with the faint tang of sunscreen from passing shoppers. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering ever so slightly, casting a glow on the sea of tables filled with families, teenagers, and the occasional wandering toddler.
Steve’s group had claimed a long, rectangular table, trays piled high with burgers, fries, and soda cups sweating with condensation. Laughter and the occasional splash of spilled ketchup punctuated the chatter, a soundtrack of carefree chaos.
Eddie slouched against the edge of the table, tapping his fingers on his beer can, half-watching Steve flounder in the middle of the group while pretending to eat his fries. Dustin leaned forward, excitement practically radiating off him as he began regaling the girls with the latest “scandal.”
“Alright, so,” Dustin began, eyes twinkling, voice pitched low like he was letting them in on a massive secret, “Steve here has… a thing. A kink, basically. And he’s—uh, sleeping with someone, but he’s not telling anyone who it is.”
Mike nodded eagerly, “Yeah! And it’s weird—like, he’s hiding stuff under his sheets, stars, all this stuff. It’s wild!”
Steve groaned, leaning back in his chair, eyes half-rolling. The girls—Nancy, Max, Robin—listened with varying degrees of curiosity. Max cut the boys off mid-rant, arms crossed and eyes rolling so hard it was almost audible. “Do we really have to hear about Steve’s… kink?” she asked, voice sharp but playful.
The table fell into a brief, awkward silence. Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, while Dustin fidgeted, cheeks pink, clearly not expecting to be shut down.
Max leaned back slightly, smirking. “I’m pretty sure Nancy already knows enough. I don’t think she wants to hear about it all over again.”
Eddie snorted softly under his breath, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Dustin mumbled something about ‘fine, fine, we’ll let it go…’, clearly defeated.
Robin, however, wasn’t ready to let it go. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, eyes glinting with mischief. “So, who is it, Steve,”
Steve shook his head emphatically, signaling no names were coming out today. “Come on, seriously,” Robin pressed, smirk tugging at her lips. “Give us a hint.”
“Robin, come on… I’m not saying a word. Not happening.”
“Not even a hint?” she pressed, tilting her head like she was studying a particularly stubborn puzzle. “Just one clue… style, personality, something!”
Eddie, still quietly smirking, nudged Dustin with his elbow, whispering, “Oh, this is perfect. She’s going to make him crack.” Dustin’s eyes twitched with barely-contained excitement. “I—uh—I think she might…” he started, then caught himself, lowering his voice so only Eddie could hear.
Meanwhile, the girls at the table exchanged amused glances. Nancy raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, clearly entertained by Robin’s persistence, while Max sipped her soda.
Steve was trying to appear calm while his heart rate betrayed him. “Robin, really… you don’t want to know.”
Robin’s grin widened. “Oh, I trust you’ll give me a hint eventually,” she teased. “I just want to know who you’re hiding from us.”
Her gaze flicked to the group, then back to Steve. “What? Is it… like… that rocker girl? You know, the one with all the black clothes, kind of… a girl-version of Eddie?
Steve’s let out a casual chuckle, leaning back slightly. “She’s… uh, she’s pretty,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, voice light and teasing. “But—absolutely not.”
He set his burger down a little too deliberately, forcing a relaxed smile, while Robin’s smirk widened just enough to show she suspected she’d hit close to something—but she didn’t press further, leaving Steve to bask in the small victory of keeping his secret intact… for now.
Eddie and Dustin exchanged subtle, knowing looks across the table, both of them quietly logging the clue Robin had just dropped, while the rest of the group carried on with their food, oblivious to the tiny tremor of intrigue that had just passed through the table.
LEATHER SEATS
The sun was bright, painting the streets of Hawkins in golden and pink streaks, the warm afternoon air carrying the faint smell of asphalt and nearby sprinklers. Steve’s car was parked in the quiet cul-de-sac near your house, tires brushing the edge of the curb, the engine off
“You sure no one’s around?” Steve asked, glancing out the windshield, voice low. “Positive,” you said, voice teasing, eyes glinting.
“Ive got an hour and a half before meeting with the guys.” Steve exhaled, leaning back against his seat, one hand reaching to rest on yours. His fingers brushed yours casually, but the touch sent that familiar spark through both of them, that tiny electric charge only they knew about. “I gotta say… you always know how to pick the perfect spot.”
Your lips curved into a mischievous smile. “What can I say, I’m a fun girl.”
The car felt suddenly smaller, the heat of the late sun mixing with the warmth radiating from both of you. Steve’s hand slid slowly up your arm, resting on your shoulder, squeezing gently as his thumb brushed in slow circles.
Steve’s eyes lingered on you for a beat, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into a grin that was equal parts boyish charm and pure trouble. His hand squeezed your shoulder once more before he leaned back against his seat, tilting his head as though weighing an idea.
“Backseat,” he murmured, his voice low but commanding, carrying the kind of tone that didn’t leave much room for argument. “C’mon.”
you pushed yourself up on your hands, shifting sideways in your seat. The leather squeaked under your palms as you maneuvered toward the center console. Crawling through felt clumsy and deliberate all at once—your hips twisting, knees pressing against the edge of his seat, hair falling forward as you balanced yourself.
Steve didn’t move to help. He just sat there, watching with lazy interest, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. As you leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of his seat for balance, he reached out suddenly, palm landing firmly on your ass with a sharp smack.
You gasped, the sound half-laugh, half-moan, glancing back at him over your shoulder with mock offense. “Seriously?”
His hand lingered for a second, fingers squeezing the curve of you before retreating. “Couldn’t resist,” he said, unapologetic, his grin widening as though he was proud of himself.
You rolled your eyes again but didn’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips as you crawled the rest of the way into the back. The car’s interior smelled faintly of leather and Steve’s cologne, the backseat warm from the day’s sun, shadows pooling in the corners as the light outside shifted gold.
Settling into the middle of the seat, you leaned back, propping your arms along the top, giving him a look equal parts challenge and invitation. “Well? You gonna sit up there all day, or are you joining me?”
Steve finally pushed himself out of the driver’s seat, moving with that lazy confidence he carried everywhere. Steve slid into the back beside you, his knee brushing yours as he leaned in, one hand braced on the seat behind your head, the other skimming the curve of your thigh. The car creaked under the shift of weight, shadows stretching across the leather as the last bits of sunlight poured in through the windows.
He kissed you before you could make another teasing comment—slow at first, deliberate, lips parting against yours with practiced ease. The kind of kiss that left you dizzy. You tilted your chin up, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer until his chest pressed flush against yours.
The air between you grew hotter, sticky with summer and the friction of bodies moving closer, your breaths coming quicker with every shift. His hand on your thigh slid higher, thumb brushing small, taunting circles into your skin, while his other hand tilted your jaw to deepen the kiss.
You gasped against his mouth, the sound muffled, and he groaned softly in response, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “You really are a fun girl,” he murmured, the words warm against your lips.
Before you could answer, he leaned in again, kissing harder this time—messy, hungry. His tongue brushed yours, the taste of beer lingering faintly on his breath, and you couldn’t help but fist the fabric of his shirt, holding him closer.
But then, just when you thought he’d lose himself in it completely, Steve pulled back. His chest heaved, eyes dark and locked on you, but his grin was mischievous. You frowned, lips swollen, hair mussed, watching him rummage around like he’d just remembered something.
His hand disappeared into the compartment, the faint rustle of paper and plastic filling the moment. Then, triumphantly, he pulled out a fresh sheet of silver star stickers, holding it up between two fingers like it was a prize. His grin turned downright wolfish.
Your pulse kicked, heat rushing to your cheeks even as you tried to glare at him. “Steve—”
He cut you off with another kiss, quick and hot, before leaning back enough to smooth the stickers between his fingers. “Mm-mm.” His voice was a low rumble, both playful and filthy as hell, and the sight of him holding that sheet of stickers with so much intent made your stomach flip.
Steve shifted closer, his knee nudging between yours as his hands slid up your sides, guiding you gently. The leather of the seat was warm against your back as he coaxed you to stretch out beneath him, his body hovering over yours, lips never straying far from your mouth. The kiss was deep, relentless, the kind that made your chest ache and your head swim.
You sank into the back seat, heart hammering, your hands tugging at the hem of your own shorts. Steve pushed your hands out the way. The faint clink of metal filled the small space, followed by the sound of denim sliding against skin as he worked them down your hips.
“Jesus—why do you wear these so tight?” Steve groaned, finally yanking them free. He balled the shorts up and tossed them onto the floorboard, where they landed with a soft thud.
You smirked up at him, hair fanning across the seat. “Fashion, Harrington. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Mm,” he hummed, smirking right back, eyes flicking down your body. “Oh, I understand plenty.” His hands trailed back up your thighs, fingers squeezing, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there as he lowered himself over you again.
The kiss picked back up, even hungrier now—your lips parting, teeth catching his bottom lip for a second before he groaned into your mouth, pressing closer. His chest was hot and solid against yours, the faint scrape of stubble brushing your skin when he moved down to your jaw, then your throat, kissing his way along the sensitive line.
Your nails were digging into his shoulders, your lips locked with his when suddenly Steve’s hands slid lower, gripping the backs of your thighs. With a strength that stole the breath from your lungs, he pressed your legs up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. The movement forced you open in a way that made your stomach flutter, your pulse racing.
His eyes flicked downward, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest sent heat straight through you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough with hunger. His gaze lingered on the thin stretch of white fabric between your legs, darkened by the wet spot soaking through. “Already wet for me.”
The words lit a fire in your belly, and you growled back in frustration, rolling your hips toward him. Steve smirked, pressing his hips down into yours, and you felt the thick outline of his bulge through the denim of his jeans. The friction was sharp, raw, making you gasp as your body arched into his.
You both moaned into each other’s mouths, messy and desperate, kissing like you couldn’t get enough, like you’d die if you stopped. His thrusts weren’t subtle—slow, heavy drags of his clothed length against your soaked center, each grind making your underwear cling tighter, each shift pulling whimpers from your throat.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, the sound breaking as his hips rolled down again. “You feel that? You’re soaking through… you’re making a mess for me already.”
Your fingers twisted in his shirt, tugging, needing him closer, harder. The air was thick with the mix of your breath and the faint creak of the car’s suspension as you rocked against each other.
Then, with a sharp inhale, Steve let your legs drop just enough for his hands to move. He fumbled at his belt, the metal buckle clinking before he popped the button of his jeans. He didn’t take them off—just shoved them down far enough, dragging the waistband of his boxers lower so the heat of him pressed more directly against you.
The first grind with only the thin barrier of your thong between you both tore a loud moan from your chest. His head dropped back for a second, jaw slack, before he forced himself to look down at you, pupils blown wide.
“Better,” he groaned, pushing harder this time, the ridge of him rubbing right against your swollen center. “Fuck, that’s better—can feel all of you now.”
The car rocked slightly as you bucked up to meet him, the sound of his low curses mixing with the wet drag of fabric on fabric. His hands were everywhere—palming your thighs, squeezing your waist, one sliding up to press your chest down against the seat as if he couldn’t get you close enough.Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
Steve’s thrusts slowed, his hips rolling deliberately against yours as if he was savoring every second of the grind. Then, with a low curse under his breath, he tugged one hand down between you. His fingers hooked into the thin fabric at your core and pulled your thong aside.
The air hit your soaked skin, and Steve let out a groan deep in his chest, his eyes darkening. A glistening string of your wetness stretched from the fabric to you, catching in the fading light through the car window.
“Mm,” he hummed, eyes heavy-lidded as if he’d just been handed his favorite meal. His thumb swiped just close enough to make you jolt, then he leaned down, lowering himself between your spread thighs.
Before you could form words, his mouth was on you.
Heat seared through your body as his lips wrapped around your swollen folds, tongue dragging slowly over you with a deliberate hunger. His eyes didn’t close—he looked up, locking onto you, watching your reaction with a wicked sort of fascination.
The sight alone made you whimper, one hand flying to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. He groaned against you, the vibration sinking deep, making your thighs tremble.
“Steve—” your voice broke, your back arching as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring it like he wanted every drop.
He pulled back for a second, lips shiny, grinning up at you through messy strands of hair. “Taste so good, baby,” he murmured, before diving back in. His tongue circled your clit, flicking it with the tip before sucking gently, then harder, his eyes still glued to yours as if daring you to look away.
You gasped, curses tumbling from your lips, your hips jerking up uncontrollably. He grabbed your thighs, holding you down, groaning at how wet you were against his mouth.
“Good girl,” he muttered when he pulled back to breathe, his thumb stroking your thigh. Then, with his mouth hovering over you, he smirked, “Already dripping all over my seat. You proud of yourself?”
Before you could answer, he licked another long, slow stripe over your folds, moaning low in his throat like he couldn’t help himself. The sound of it filled the car, mixing with your broken moans, the creak of the leather
Steve settled in deeper, shoulders pressed against your thighs to pin you open. His grip tightened as he dragged his tongue slowly through your folds, savoring the mess you were already making. He pulled back only far enough to let the air hit you again, then pressed his mouth back down, sucking your clit into his lips with a wet pop that made your whole body jolt.
“God—fuck,” you gasped, your voice raw, your fingers clutching the seat. Your hips lifted instinctively, but Steve slammed his palm down against your stomach to keep you still, groaning against you when you writhed anyway.
“You hear that?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to swipe his tongue through your slick again. The obscene wet sound echoed in the small car, making you flush hot all over. He smirked, lips shiny, and licked his bottom lip like he was tasting you all over again. “You’re soaking—completely soaking.”
His mouth returned to you with a vengeance—tongue lapping, lips sucking, every move deliberate and greedy. He flattened his tongue against your clit and dragged it up, slow and heavy, then circled it until your thighs trembled. When you whimpered his name, he hummed in approval, the vibrations making your toes curl.
You tugged at his hair, half desperate, half needing more. “Steve—oh my god—please—”
That made him grin against you. He pulled back for just a second, spit pooling in his mouth before he let it drip directly onto your swollen center, watching it mix with your slick. “Messy,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “just the way I like it.” Then his mouth was back on you, licking up the slick and spit together, moaning as though the taste had wrecked him.
Your thighs tried to close around his head, the intensity too much, but he just pressed them wider, sliding his hands up to grip the undersides, his fingers digging in. “No hiding,” he groaned, mouth sloppily sucking at your clit. “Let me see you take it.”
Every lick, every suck left you trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.Steve didn’t relent—if anything, he grew hungrier, pulling moans and curses from you like he was chasing them, like they were his reward.
Then his lips closed tight around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, your back arching off the leather seat.
“Steve—” your voice cracked.
He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body, before pulling one hand from your thigh. His fingers trailed down, teasing your slick entrance, drawing slow, lazy circles that made you whimper. Then, without warning, his middle finger slid inside, sinking deep in one smooth thrust.
You gasped, your nails scraping at his scalp, your hips grinding down against his face despite yourself. He groaned like he loved it, like your writhing only drove him harder, his tongue flicking in sync with the steady thrust of his finger.
“Fuck—you’re tight,” he groaned against you, curling his finger just right, making your walls squeeze. He pulled back just enough to mumble, his lips still brushing your swollen clit, “Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl. Cum all over my fingers.”
The command hit you hard, your orgasm tearing through before you could stop it. You cried out, thighs shaking, your body pulsing around his finger as his tongue worked you through it. Slick gushed against his hand, soaking his knuckles
He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, your body twitching from the overstimulation. Then, slowly, he slid his finger free.
It glistened in the fading sunlight, coated thick with your release. Steve smirked, eyes locked on yours, before slipping it into his mouth and sucking it clean. His groan was low, guttural, like he’d just tasted the best thing in his life.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he muttered, his voice wrecked but playful. He licked his finger again, dragging it from base to tip, before popping it free with a wet sound. His grin was smug as hell, his chin still shining with the mess of you.
You were still catching your breath, chest heaving, when Steve’s hand slid firmly up your thigh and squeezed. His grin was wicked, but his tone was steady, commanding.
“Turn around,” he rasped, his voice rough with need.
Your pulse kicked as you obeyed, shifting on the cramped leather until your knees pressed into the seat and your hands braced against the backrest. Steve sat back for a second, watching you adjust, his hand brushing along your hip before landing firmly on your ass. He kneaded the flesh, groaning low in his throat, then gave it a sharp smack that echoed in the car. The sting burned sweet, pulling a gasp from you.
“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes locked on the curve of your body. “Just like that.”
His hands trailed up your back, broad palms sliding over your spine, pressing you down until your back arched beautifully. You sank lower into the seat, your cheek brushing the leather, ass lifted just enough to give him the view he wanted.
“Perfect,” Steve groaned, his voice breaking with raw hunger. He bent forward, chest brushing your back, lips hovering by your ear. “My perfect girl.”
He slid one hand down again, fingers spreading your cheeks to bare you completely. The sight made him curse under his breath, the heat of his breath hitting your skin. His hips pressed forward, grinding his still-clothed length against you from behind, the rough drag pulling another moan from your lips.
“You feel that?” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “That’s what you do to me—hard just from tasting you.”
His grip tightened, thumbs brushing dangerously close to your slick folds, teasing but not giving in. He kissed the slope of your shoulder, then leaned back, his eyes glued to the mess between your thighs.
“Arch a little more,” he ordered softly, giving the curve of your ass another sharp smack, guiding you into the exact position he wanted. His praise followed immediately, warm and filthy, “That’s it. My good girl. Always so perfect for me.”
Steve’s breath came hard through his nose as he sat back on his knees, taking you in. His hands spread across your hips, sliding upward before trailing back down to squeeze your ass. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to one cheek, then another, his stubble grazing your skin.
His thumbs hooked into the band of his boxers, shoving them down over his hips. The sound of fabric sliding over skin filled the cramped car as he freed himself, his length brushing hot against your thigh as he adjusted.
For a moment, he just stared, his palms spreading you wide. “Jesus, look at you,” he muttered, voice low, almost reverent. One hand held you open, the other wrapping around himself, stroking slowly as he lined up. He teased, pressing the swollen tip against your entrance without pushing in, smearing your slick along his length as he ground forward.
The sound it made—wet, obscene—filled the space, and you whimpered, arching your back deeper, pushing back against him in desperation.
“Mm, eager girl,” he rasped, giving your ass another firm squeeze before sliding the tip just barely inside. You both groaned at the same time—his head falling forward, your fingers clawing at the seat.
He withdrew instantly, dragging the head of his cock up through your folds, circling your clit before dipping back down. He repeated it, over and over, until you were trembling with need, curses spilling from your lips.
Finally, with a sharp inhale, Steve spread you wider with both hands and pressed forward, sinking in inch by inch. The stretch was intense, a deep burn that melted into overwhelming fullness, pulling a strangled moan from your throat.
Steve’s groan was just as broken, his voice low and wrecked. “Fuck—tight—so perfect.” He bent forward again, kissing your spine, his hands still spreading you as he slid deeper.
Halfway in, he paused, pulling back just a little before pressing forward again, teasing you with shallow thrusts that made you whine. “You want it all, baby? Hm? Want me to fill you up?”
Your breath hitched, your answer desperate, “Yes—please—Steve—” his hips finally snapping forward, burying himself fully.
The first few thrusts were slow, dragging, almost torturous—Steve pulling nearly all the way out before pressing back in, letting you feel every inch. The wet, sucking sound filled the car, mixed with your gasps and his low curses.
Then his patience snapped.
He gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your skin, and slammed forward. The car lurched on its suspension, a squeak of leather under your hands as you clutched at the seat. Steve set a rhythm—deep, hard, relentless—each thrust punching a moan from your lips.
“Yeah,” he groaned, his voice rough, sweat dripping down his temple. “That’s it. Take it, good girl. Taking me so fuckin’ good.”
Your body jolted with every push, the car rocking beneath you in time with his pace. The glass fogged darker, the whole space heating up until it felt suffocating, filthy, like the world outside didn’t exist anymore.
You tried to steady yourself,but every thrust made your knees tremble, your back arch harder, your breath come out in broken sobs of pleasure.
Steve’s hand slid up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades to push you down flatter against the seat, forcing your ass higher. The angle made him groan deep in his chest, his rhythm stuttering for a second before he found it again, sharper now, driving into that spot that made your whole body clench.
“Fuck—you’re gonna make me lose it,” he gritted out, his pace quickening, brutal and unrelenting. His thumb brushed your lower back in contrast to the roughness, grounding you. “So wet, baby—so fuckin’ wet I can hear it.”
You buried your face into your arms, muffling your cries, but Steve wasn’t having it. His hand fisted in your hair, tugging gently but firmly to make you lift your head.
“Don’t you hide from me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding in your ear as he leaned forward, still driving into you without missing a beat. “I wanna hear every sound. Wanna hear how good I make you feel.”
Your answer came out in a ragged cry, your walls fluttering around him, your body giving away just how close you were.
Steve groaned, deep and primal, thrusting harder, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the fogged-up car. “That’s it. God, you’re mine. My perfect girl—look at you, takin’ all of me.”
The rhythm was brutal, unstoppable, his praise just as filthy as the sounds between your bodies, the slap of skin against skin. Sweat trickled down your spine, beading at your temples, dripping to the leather beneath you. Still, you couldn’t stop the way you moaned, couldn’t stop the broken curses spilling from your lips every time Steve’s hips collided with yours.
“Fuck, Steve—” you gasped, voice wrecked, trembling as he drove into you again and again.
His only response was a guttural groan as his hand came down on your ass, the smack sharp and stinging. The force jolted through you, drawing another cry out of your throat. He rubbed the burn immediately after, his palm possessive as it slid back to grip and squeeze, then he slammed into you harder, hips snapping with brutal precision.
You were nearly shaking from the pressure of it, but instinct took over. With a low, breathless moan, you started to push back, meeting him halfway. Each time his hips snapped forward, you threw yourself back against him, the sound between you turning wetter, louder, filthier.
The effect was instant. Steve groaned, loud and raw, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he caught it again, even harsher this time. “Jesus Christ,” he growled, sweat flying from his hair, his voice breaking. “tryna kill me, baby? Throwin’ it back like that—fuck.”
The car rocked wildly under the force of both your movements, squeaking on its suspension, leather squealing beneath your knees as you kept pressing back on him, greedy for more.
Steve’s hands spread over your ass again, thumbs pressing into the dip at the top before pulling you wide open. His groan deepened at the sight, his hips grinding in hard before slamming back into rhythm. “Look at you,” he hissed, voice rough, “so desperate for me you’re fuckin’ yourself on my cock.”
Your moans rose in pitch, your body straining to match his every thrust, Steve’s fingers dug harder as he held you spread wide, his groans spilling hot over your back. “God, that’s it—keep goin’, baby, just like that. Throw it back, make me feel every inch of your pussy.” His tone broke into a harsh curse as your body clenched tighter around him, nearly dragging him under.
His groans turned guttural, curses spilling from his mouth with every slap of skin. Sweat dripped down his temples, his chest heaving, the car rocking harder under his brutal rhythm.
“Fuck—” his voice broke, sharp and desperate. “I’m not gonna last. Baby—touch yourself. Rub that pretty clit for me.”
You whined at the command, already trembling, but obeyed. One hand snaked down between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen nub. The first brush of pressure had you crying out, your body tightening instantly around him.
“That’s it,” Steve groaned, his grip bruising as he hauled you back onto him. Each thrust drove you forward, and his hands yanked you right back, using you, needing you. “Play with yourself for me. Wanna feel you cum—wanna cum with you.”
Your fingers circled faster, matching the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every drag of his cock inside you hit deep, wet sounds echoing in the cramped space, mixing with the obscene squelch of your own fingers working your clit. Your thighs quivered, body slick with sweat, breath breaking into whimpers and curses.
“Steve—fuck—I’m—” your voice cracked, strangled by the mounting wave threatening to crash.
He cut you off with a deep, raw groan. “Yeah? You gonna cum? God, I can feel it—you’re choking me, baby. Squeezing the life out of me.” His thrusts got harsher, slamming you down on him until you thought the car might tip over. “Do it—cum for me. Cream all over me. Let go.”
Your whole body shook, the heat pooling low and tight before bursting, crashing through you in a blinding wave. You screamed his name, your voice high and broken, as your walls clamped down around him, pulsing hard. Slick gushed out, soaking him, soaking the seat, the noise of it filthy and undeniable.
Steve’s answering curse ripped straight from his chest. “Holy fuck—yes—just like that.” His rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering, then he slammed deep and stayed there, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled hot inside you. His groan broke into a ragged growl, forehead pressed to your back, every muscle trembling as he came with you.
You rubbed through the aftershocks, gasping and moaning, your body convulsing as the orgasm wrung you out. His hands were locked on your hips, holding you still as he poured into you, hips twitching through the last few pulses.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered into your damp skin, still inside you, still catching his breath. His voice was ruined, wrecked with pleasure, but his hand smoothed over your back in slow, tender strokes.
You were still trying to catch your breath, chest heaving against the leather seat, every nerve buzzing from the intensity of your orgasm. Your thighs trembled under the weight of him, your fingers barely strong enough to push the sweaty strands of hair from your face.
Steve was still buried inside you, hot and heavy, his hips resting flush against your ass. He didn’t move at first—just pressed his lips to your damp shoulder, breathing hard, humming low in his throat.
Then, one hand slid off your hip, and you barely noticed—too lost in the slow throb of your body trying to recover—until you felt a cool brush against your skin.
A peel. A press.
The soft drag of adhesive sticking.
You blinked, twisting your head slightly, confusion flashing before his palm smoothed over your ass cheek where he’d placed it.
“Good girl ,” Steve muttered, voice still wrecked from groaning your name moments before. His hand lingered on the new star, the silver sticker glinting faintly.
The praise hit low and hard, sparking through your already-overworked body, pulling a weak moan from your throat. Your skin prickled, heat flaring all over again despite how drained you felt.
Only then did he finally pull back, sliding out of you with a slow, wet drag that made you shiver. The air felt suddenly cooler, empty, as his release slipped out in the wake of his length. He groaned at the sight, hand gripping your hip tighter for a second like he had to ground himself.
“C’mon,” he said, voice rough but playful, leaning back against the seat “As much as I’d love to keep you bent over back here, we both smell like sex and sweat and… we’ve got somewhere to be.”
You groaned into your arm, dragging yourself upright on shaky limbs. He just grinned, unabashed, tugging his jeans up and zipping them, though his eyes trailed openly over you.
You rolled your eyes, shimmying into your shorts and fastening them with practiced motions. Once you’d pulled your tank top back on, you crawled back through the console to the front seat. Steve put his shoes back on before sliding out the back seat, the door clicking behind him before getting back into the driver side.
His expression was a little more serious now, “You got a ride to the lake?” he asked, casual enough, but his hand tapped against the steering wheel, restless.
You smirked, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Yeah.” He nodded and started the car, and the two of you shared a quick, conspiratorial glance before pulling out and to your house.
LAKE AND BEERS
By the time Steve pulled into the dirt lot beside the lake, the place was already buzzing. Cars lined up bumper-to-bumper, music carried from a couple of boomboxes perched on truck beds, and the air was thick with sunscreen, smoke from someone’s grill, and the sharp tang of cheap beer. The lake shimmered under the late-afternoon sun, golden light glancing off the water while clusters of Hawkins High kids splashed, laughed, and shoved each other off inflatable rafts.
Steve parked a little away from the chaos, sliding his keys into his pocket before heading down the. The sound grew louder as he walked, voices cracking with laughter, and the occasional bass thump from one of the stereos.
He spotted his crew immediately—half a circle of beach chairs set up just far enough back from the water to avoid the splashes, a dented red cooler squatting in the middle like their makeshift table. Empty beer cans already littered the sand, kicked aside lazily.
The boys had claimed the best spot, no surprise. Eddie lounged with his arms thrown over the back of his chair, sunglasses tipped low on his nose. Jonathan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, while Will and Mike were shoulder-to-shoulder, arguing about something only they cared about. Lucas, shirtless and already damp from a swim, leaned back sipping a soda. An empty chair sat waiting for Steve, angled like they’d known he’d show eventually.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Eddie called, smirk sharp, lifting his beer in mock salute.
“Shut up,” Steve muttered, though his grin gave him away. He kicked his sandals off in the sand and dropped into the chair, tugging his shirt over his head in one motion. The air was sticky-hot against his skin, the sun baking down, but the cooler’s condensation-soaked lid looked promising. He popped it open, grabbed a beer, and leaned back, sighing like he’d just stepped into exactly where he belonged.
His eyes flicked to the lake, scanning the crowd. “Where are the girls?” he asked, cracking the can open with a snap.
Lucas lifted his chin toward the shoreline. “Over there—Max, Robin, Nancy. They went in a while ago.”
Steve followed the gesture. Sure enough, the three of them were waist-deep in the lake, hair slick and shiny under the sun, splashing each other while pretending not to notice a group of guys staring from the raft nearby. Robin spotted the boys on shore and waved dramatically before dunking Nancy without warning, earning a sharp splash back.
Steve shook his head, taking a pull from his beer. The lake party was packed—kids he barely remembered from the halls of Hawkins High running around, diving off docks, making out in the shadows of parked cars. It was loud, chaotic, exactly the kind of summer mess everyone expected.
But Steve couldn’t help glancing once more at the water, scanning for someone else—someone who hadn’t arrived yet.
Steve leaned back in his chair, one knee propped, beer resting on his thigh. He wasn’t as loud as Eddie, not as sharp as Mike, but he was comfortable. The kind of comfort that came with sunburn creeping across his shoulders and the faint hum of water nearby. His eyes drifted between the lake and the group, chiming in only when the conversation circled close enough for him to catch.
“Bet you ten bucks Lucas can’t even touch the raft,” Dustin bragged suddenly, pointing out toward the anchored platform bobbing near the center of the lake.
Lucas scoffed, leaning forward. “Bet you ten bucks I’ll get there faster than you.”
“You can’t even swim straight!” Dustin shot back. “Neither can you,” Mike cut in flatly, which sent Eddie into a fit of laughter.
Jonathan just shook his head, muttering something about idiots under his breath, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.
Steve smirked, sipping from his can. “You’re all ridiculous,” he said, watching as Dustin puffed up and Lucas looked ready to cannonball in just to prove himself. “This is why I don’t make bets with you guys—you all take it too far.”
Eddie pointed his can at him. “Nah, Harrington’s just scared of losing.”
“Please,” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes. “I’ve beaten you at everything we’ve ever tried.”
“Not everything,”
The cooler hissed every time someone cracked another can open. The heat pressed heavy, but no one moved much, too content with letting the hours drag lazy and golden.
Steve had just cracked his second beer when the shift happened—quiet, but immediate.
Movement at the far edge of the lake drew his eyes without him even realizing it. A new wave of kids was drifting down from the lot, towels slung over shoulders, coolers dragging in the sand. And in the middle of them—laughing at something one of her friends said, tugging her bag higher up her arm—was you.
You looked like you’d stepped straight out of a poster for trouble: cut-off shorts, black bikini bra, Sunglasses perched in your hair, eyeliner sharp even from a distance, you carried yourself like you didn’t need anyone’s permission to be there.
You and your friends claimed a patch of sand closer to the water, not near enough to overlap with their circle but well within view. You slid your your sandals off, tossing them beside your towel. One of your friends shoved your shoulder playfully, and you shoved back, both of you laughing as you dropped onto your towels.
Steve could feel the heat crawl up his neck, though whether it was the sun or you, he couldn’t decide. He forced himself to lean back in his chair, casual, like he wasn’t tracking your every move out of the corner of his eye.
Dustin was mid-story about something D&D-related, Mike chiming in with corrections, but Steve barely heard a word. His fingers tapped restless against his can, jaw tight, fighting the twitch of a smile that threatened to betray him.Because no matter how much he tried to look away, he knew exactly where you were.
The laughter of your friends drowned out most of the noise around you, but it was impossible not to be aware of the half-circle of boys just a little further up the lake. Their chairs were angled like a fort, cooler in the center, voices carrying over the hum of the lake.
And there he was—Steve Harrington, sun catching in his damp hair, shirt tossed aside on the back of his chair, beer can sweating against his thigh. His head tipped back as Eddie cracked some joke that had the others in stitches, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. That half-smile that always made your chest do something it really shouldn’t.
Your stare lingered for a breath too long, and you knew it. Heat tickled your skin—not from the sun this time. You snapped your attention back to your friends, reaching for your sunscreen like you hadn’t looked at all. Like you didn’t care. Like the sight of him leaning back, golden and easy, hadn’t made your stomach flutter.
One of your friends nudged your arm, shoving a beer into your hand. You cracked it open, laughing at whatever joke had just been tossed your way, but your pulse still thudded a little harder than it should’ve. Across the sand, Steve hadn’t looked away since you turned.
Water dripped in rivulets down Robin’s arms as she climbed out of the lake, slicking her hair back with both hands. Nancy followed close behind, calm and composed even with her bikini sticking to her skin, while Max bounded up the shore with that reckless energy only she could carry.
The three of them padded across the hot sand, towels slung over their shoulders. Robin was mid-sentence, joking about the way Dustin had almost face-planted off the raft, when her gaze snagged unexpectedly.
A few feet down the lake, you and your friends were stretched out in a patch of sunlight. Your laugh carried above the noise, warm and sharp, and Robin couldn’t help but notice the way you tipped your head back, sunglasses perched in your hair, sunscreen glistening across your shoulders as you rubbed it in with slow, absentminded strokes.
Robin’s eyes lingered. Just a second too long.
Nancy nudged her lightly, pulling her focus back as the three of them made their way past. Robin blinked, clearing her throat, falling back into step. She didn’t comment, didn’t even look again, but she didn’t need to.
Because Steve had seen it.
From his chair, half-hidden behind the rim of his beer can, Steve’s eyes flicked from Robin to you and back again. The faintest tension pulled across his jaw, but he didn’t say a word. Just leaned back further, pretending to be absorbed in Eddie’s latest tangent, though his thoughts were far from the conversation.
By the time the girls reached the cluster of chairs, Robin was back to herself—wrapping a towel snug around her frame, plopping into a seat with a dramatic sigh. Nancy settled gracefully beside her, towel draped over her lap, while Max plunked down at the edge, dripping onto the sand without a care.
The circle widened to make room, voices overlapping again, but Steve stayed quiet, fingers drumming lightly against his can. He forced his eyes to stay forward, though he could still feel the weight of what he’d just seen.
The chatter around the circle was easy, unforced. Nancy was shaking her head fondly at something Max said, Robin was still wringing water from her hair, Dustin and Lucas were mid-argument over some half-forgotten campaign. Steve leaned back, beer in hand, trying to let the hum of voices drown out the restless beat inside his chest.
That’s when Eddie lit up.
He flicked his lighter, flame catching, and the sharp tang of cigarette smoke curled into the air. Cigarette dangling from his lips, Eddie tipped his head back, eyes roaming lazily toward the lake as if searching for nothing in particular. But then—
His gaze snagged.
You and your friends had wandered to the water’s edge, laughter loud enough to carry across the sand. The sun bounced off the surface of the lake as you tugged your shorts down, shimmying them off in quick, practiced motions, revealing the curve of your bikini bottoms.And there it is.
And that’s when Eddie saw it. The gleam of silver catching the sunlight. Right on her—
Eddie choked on his smoke, coughing once, eyes widening as the realization struck hard. No way He knew that star. He knew those stickers—because Dustin had made such a goddamn fuss over them. The silver stars in Steve Harrington’s nightstand. The mystery kink. The great unsolved riddle of their summer.
And here it was. The answer standing right in front of him.
Eddie’s head snaps sideways just in time to catch Steve staring, jaw clenched, sunglasses lowered just enough to watch her.
But his reaction instantly turned once he noticed the star on your ass cheek. His jaw was tight, eyes locked on you with a mixture of heat and frustration, like he’d known before you’d even stripped down. And then, with a groan, Steve threw his head back against his chair, dragging a hand down his face in something that read almost like agony. A silent, fuck—she didn’t take it off.
When his gaze slid away from you, it landed squarely on Eddie. And Eddie—well, Eddie was already staring. There’s a silent exchange across the horseshoe of chairs:
Eddie: NO. NO WAY.
Steve, dead serious, shaking his head slightly: Nope. Unt-uh.
Eddie, leaning forward, smirk spreading slow: …Uh-huhhhh.
Steve exhales, scrubs a hand over his face. Shit. Dustin, oblivious, is still rambling about some new. Eddie can’t help it — he bursts into laughter, loud and wheezing. “Oh my god, Harrington.”
“Eddie… seriously, shut. Up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes darting toward the lake as though glancing anywhere else might erase what had just happened.
Robin’s eyes darted between Steve and Eddie, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “Okay, seriously… what the hell is actually happening here?”
Steve’s head whipped up briefly, voice clipped. “Nothing.”
Eddie just smiled, slow and smug, shaking his head in that way that said he knew the whole story. That small gesture was enough—the circle went quiet, the other boys and girls leaning in like they’d caught the scent of something they weren’t supposed to.
“what is even happening right now?” Dustin’s arms shot up, nearly knocking over his soda.
Steve groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. The fight was over. He ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Fine. But not a fucking word.”
He glanced at Eddie, signaling the go-ahead, but Eddie didn’t spill everything—he never did. Instead, he leaned back, eyes bright with mischief, and whispered loud enough for the closest boys to hear:
“Female version of me. Watch her. Wait for her to get out of the water.”
The timing was perfect. Within minutes, you and your friends were out of the lake, hair slicked and dripping, laughter carrying over the sand. Your bikini clung to your skin, wet and slightly darkened, you moved toward your chair.
And then it happened. As you turned to sit, just for a fraction of a second, the silver star gleamed in the sunlight, on your ass cheek. Fortunately for them the star was clinging by a thread.
Eddie’s grin widened, sharp and victorious. Dustin blinked twice, jaw dropping in a way that was almost comical. Mike’s eyebrows shot up, and Lucas muttered something under his breath, eyes wide with realization. Jonathan just gave a small, knowing smile, like he’d pieced it together without needing to see everything.
Robin and Nancy froze for a second, their eyes darting between each other, and then Robin whispered, “Ohhh…” like she’d just connected dots she hadn’t even realized she’d been following.
Steve, of course, didn’t look at you at all. His head was pressed back against the beach chair, fingers tapping against the armrest, listening intently to the wave of reactions.
He could hear Dustin stammer, “Wait… she’s—she’s…!” and Max snort-laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Robin’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward slightly, voice carrying just enough over the buzz of the party. “So… I was right. You are sneaking around with that rocker girl,” she teased, her tone perfectly echoing the words she’d thrown at Steve back at the mall. “You know, the one with all the black clothes, kind of… a girl-version of Eddie.”
Steve groaned, tilting his head toward her with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief, that classic really? expression plastered across his face. “Really, Robin? You have to repeat it?”
Max, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist chiming in. She mocked his voice flawlessly, dragging out the words in a sarcastic drawl: “She’s pretty… but uh, absolutely not.” Her smirk spread as everyone around them burst into laughter, the sound loud and teasing, like they were all in on some delicious inside joke at Steve’s expense.
Steve groaned again, leaning back in his chair and pressing his hand against his forehead. “You guys are annoying,” he muttered, voice muffled by laughter.
Nancy, shaking her head with a small smile, held up a hand to calm the teasing. “Who cares,” she said, soft but firm. “She’s pretty.”
Mike, never one to miss a chance to point out the obvious, leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Pretty fucking different,”
Steve’s mouth opened, ready to argue, but the group had already dissolved into a mix of teasing laughter and murmurs of agreement. Eddie, meanwhile, just leaned back with his smirk, silently enjoying the chaos he’d helped orchestrate, while Steve gave him a pointed glance that said clearly: this is all your fault.
Eddie catches the smoke from his cigarette as he let it curl lazily around his head. His grin was slow, sharp, and utterly satisfied, like he’d just solved the ultimate puzzle. He lifted his beer, tilting it toward Steve with a deliberate, almost ceremonious motion. His eyes glinted with mischief, scanning the group to make sure no one missed the unspoken meaning behind the gesture.
“To Silver Stars!”
