A/n: A short Steve x fem!reader oneshot. Feast you sleep deprived animals and enjoy this early Valentines special<3
Summary-> After Steve wakes you up, intenionally interrupting a heated dream, he does his best to tire you out again.
Pairings: Steve Harrington x girlfriend!reader
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl guys), Sleepy sex, 18+, minors dni, p in v, slight fingering, dirty talk
The bedroom is dim, and the faint amber glow from the hallway light illuminates the room in a dull haze. Rain taps lazy against the window like it’s too tired to really commit to waking anyone up.
You’re already half-gone, your body is heavy with bone-deep exhaustion that only comes after too many late shifts at the movie theatre, and your head is even heavier as it sinks deeper into the push pillow beneath you.
Steve’s arm snakes around your waist, tightening around your middle, and he drags you back until every inch of you is sealed against him. The sheets are twisted around your calves, the cool cotton clinging where your bodies have warmed them over the course of the night.
His chest is a furnace at your spine, heartbeat thudding slow and steady through thin clothing that separates skin from skin. You murmur some sort of quiet complaint as he flexes his arm, jostling you from your sweet sleep and the even 'sweeter' dream you were having.
But if anything your reaction seems to urge him on as he noses his way up your bare neck until his lips brush against the sensitive skin behind your ear. He places a soft kiss there. The kind of kiss that isn't asking for much, not yet, but definitely isn't innocent.
"Did I wake you up, baby?" He rasps, voice thick with sleep, "Were you dreaming of me because I'm sure I heard my name..."
He's teasing you on purpose. Even in your dazed state, you can tell he is. Steve Harrington is many things, but subtle is not one of them.
You would have snapped back his cocky attitude if you weren't so tired and if he weren't so right. So instead you muster the energy to whisper a quiet reply.
"You have work tomorrow, aren't you meant to be asleep? 'Thought you were dead to the world."
"Oh, I was." Steve hums, "Then you rolled over, and your ass pressed right up against me."
He rocks forward slightly, just enough to prove his point; he's already half-hard, thick and warm against you thanks to the lack of underwear on his end.
"Kinda hard to stay asleep when my girlfriend is basically grinding on me."
You make a small, denying sound, yet your thighs press together instinctively. He feels it -the tiny flex of muscle- and chuckles sending a pleasant vibration down your spine.
"Liar.” His palm flattens over your stomach, fingers spreading wide so the tips brush the underside of your breasts. He doesn’t grab, doesn’t paw, he just holds, an unspoken possessiveness in that quiet, sleepy way of his.
He doesn’t rush. Steve never rushes when he’s like this, all syrup-slow and focused, like he’s memorizing you again even though he’s had you a hundred times. His other arm slides beneath you, hooking under your knee and hitching your leg back over his thigh, opening you up without ever breaking the lazy rhythm of his hips rolling against your ass.
"Steve..." Your voice comes out more pleadingly than you would like to admit.
Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, the small space building between your legs. You try to squirm out of his grip, hoping to create some distance, but Steve doesn't let you get far. He uses the arm round your waist to hold you still, it flexes against your stomach with a gentle pressure and you can feel the ripple of muscle.
"Stay," He murmurs, his lips dragging a new, slow, wet line up the side of your neck. He socks the skin there softly until you whimper, and the spot blooms dark under his careful mouth. "Tell me what you want, show me what you need."
You don't answer with words.
Instead, you arch back, pressing yourself harder against the solid length of him. He makes a low, wrecked noise, and a helpless thrust forward escapes his otherwise controlled pace.
He shifts, just enough to gently tug your panties down your body with a precise pull. You help, kicking them off somewhere into the dark.
Then his fingers are there, just where you need them, hovering, silently asking for permission. You push down further, giving him all the confirmation he needs. He doesn't wait long, sliding through your slick folds and spreading you open with two digits.
He groans when he finds you drenched, a punched-out, raw sound. You’re wet and swollen from the dream he now knows you were having.
"Jesus Christ, baby," Steve circles your clit once, lazy, then sinks both fingers inside you to the third knuckle. Your walls flutter hard around the stretch; he curls them, pressing up against that spot that makes your hips jerk. “You're so wet. So ready. You were gonna come in your sleep if I didn’t wake up, huh?”
You can’t answer. Your mouth is open on a silent gasp, thighs trembling as he pumps slowly, his fingers curling on every withdrawal, spreading on every push back in. The wet sounds are filthy, loud in the rain-muffled dark.
He eventually pulls out, drags those glistening fingers up to paint your clit in slow, slippery circles. Then he shifts, hips rocking so the heavy length of his cock slides between your thighs, hot and leaking against your cunt without pushing inside yet. The head catches on your entrance every few strokes, nudges just enough to make you whine.
“Yeah?” His voice is wrecked and syrupy. “Want me to fuck you slow? Want me to fill you up and do the work for the both of us?”
He hooks your top leg over his, opening you wide. One hand grips the meat of your thigh, holding you there; the other guides his cock until the fat head breaches you. He's slow, so antagonisingly slow that you feel every ridge, every vein, the way he has to work himself in because you’re still swollen and tight even soaked.
The blunt head nudges, presses, slips inside inch by torturous inch until he’s buried to the hilt. When he bottoms out, pelvis flush to your ass, you both freeze. Just breathing. Him throbbing deep inside you, stretching you open, your cunt rippling around him like it’s trying to pull him deeper.
His forehead drops to your shoulder; he presses a trembling kiss there. You both go still for a second, just breathing, just feeling. Him stretching you open, you fluttering around the invasion.
Long, rolling thrusts that drag every inch out before sliding back in, so deep his balls press against your clit with each stroke. No frantic snap of hips, only this honey-thick grind, hips circling so the head of his cock rubs that spot inside you over and over.
His hand finds your breast again, kneading slow, thumb, and forefinger pinching your nipple until it’s flushed dark and aching. The other hand stays between your legs, middle finger rubbing messy, relentless circles over your clit.
You’re whimpering now, sweet, soft, little sounds you can’t swallow. He’s panting against your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder, murmuring filthy praise between each exhale.
The slow, deep rolls of his hips continue. You savour the steady, dragging rhythm that hits every spot to make your toes curl. Steve truly knows your body better than you.
“God, I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “All soft and sleepy. Fuck, gonna come inside you, okay? Want you dripping with me when we wake up.”
The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room, mingling with his ragged breathing against your neck and the soft, broken noises you can’t hold back.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck, listen to you. So wet I can feel it dripping down me. You love this, don’t you? Love waking up stuffed full of my cock, love coming apart f'me?" Steve pants, his breathing is more uneven now.
He's close and so are you.
The pressure builds slow, molten, until it snaps.
His words of sweet encouragement tip you over.
You come with a shuddering gasp, your walls spasming hard around him, milking every thick inch, clenching hard around him while your thighs tremble.
Steve follows two thrusts later, his hips stuttering, a choked groan muffled into your hair as he spills deep, hot pulses that make you whimper all over again. He bites down a moan and then slams deep for the last time as he finishes inside you. The white ropes seem to go on forever, filling you until you feel the excess leak out around his cock and slick your thighs.
He just stays buried, softening slowly inside you while his arms band tightly around your ribs. His breathing evens out against you while his lips brush lazy, sleepy kisses along your shoulder.
“Love you,” he mumbles hoarsely. “So fucking much.”
You twist just enough to find his mouth in the dark, kiss him soft and sloppy and sweet-tasting.
“Love you more,” you whisper.
He hums, smug even half-asleep. “Not possible.”
The rain drums on the outside, but neither of you pay any attention to it. You snuggle deeper and bury your face in his chest, inhaling his scent that is so uniquely him to the point you are certain he naturally smells this good.
His fingers begin to card through your now very tangled hair; he's careful to mind the knotts and whispers sweet nothings until you are pulled back under into the sweet clutches of sleep...
I got carried away with this piece! It was only meant to be a short drabble. But that's fine, I blame Steve. Jokes aside, I really need to sleep instead of writing fanfiction...
