keep them on - s.h
18+ minors do not interact masterlist part 2
wc :: 2.2k
pairings :: steve harrington x fem!reader
content warnings :: established relationship, SUBBBBBBBB steve like subway 6inch hearty meaty sub steve who will literally do anything, soft!dom reader, fem masturbation, oral (f!recieving) (IM SORRY THIS IS FREAKY AS HELL) edging, ruined orgasm kind of, unprotected piv, creampie, kind of abrupt ending
writers note :: this is kind of not proof read, anyways another fic coming in like 4 hours bcos i just have it sitting there.. anyways thank you for this request anon!! i hope it fits ur dreams and standards. I’ve literally never written anything like this so i had to tap into my freakiesttt and maybe like a couple hits off of my cart to really get into it but you didn’t hear that from me. Steve harrington with glasses come rescue me please. As always thank you for reading luv ya!!<333
i do not allow my content to be stolen, copied or reposted anywhere else. do not put my work through any ai tools or generators
(stop using ai for gods sake.)
─── ⋅
Steve Harrington being the middleschool’s new SexEd teacher and baseball coach comes with its pros and cons.
Cons like how he spends most of his Saturdays out on the pitch, crouched in the dirt and squinting into the sun, trying his best to convince a group of kids that, yes, they can hold a bat properly and maybe, maybe, hit the ball this time. Or how he’s up way too late most nights, sleeves pushed up and red pen in hand, squinting at papers on the female reproductive system and everything else that comes with trying to teach a bunch of twelve year olds something they only half listen to.
But it’s not all bad. There are perks, too. Like the way all the middle aged moms seem to think they’ve got even a sliver of a chance with him— lingering a little too long at pick up, smiling a little too sweet. Right up until you show up to get him, or when they spot the sweet note you tucked into his freshly made lunch that morning. And then there’s Steve himself, sat at the kitchen dining table late at night, rubbing at his eyes before reaching for the one thing he actually can’t do without when it comes to deciphering that kind of handwriting— his reading glasses— perched low on his nose while he tries to make sense of it all.
Every time you catch even the smallest glimpse of the furrow between his brows and how the glasses catch and glint in the low lamplight, you’re practically a river, knees turning to putty as you watch him scribble tiny notes in the margins of each answer.
Like just now.
You’d barely thought when you pulled your robe over your silk pyjamas, tying it loose, walking mindlessly towards the kitchen until you catch the sight of your beautiful husband and the glasses that are pressed right up against his face. You practically freeze in your tracks, thighs pressing tightly together as you linger in the doorway. Your lower lip catches between your teeth while you watch him, completely absorbed, head tilted slightly as he works through yet another stack of papers.
He hasn’t even noticed you. Currently too focused on whatever wildly incorrect answer one of his students has come up with this time.
“You want to come to bed?”
Your voice breaks through the quiet, soft but enough to make him jolt upright, pen pausing mid sentence. He blinks, a little dazed, before finally looking up, his honey eyes finding yours across the room.
And then dropping toward your frame
His jaw slackens just slightly at the sight of your bare legs, the robe doing very little to hide them, before reality catches up with him. The papers that sit in front of him and how the deadline is tomorrow.
A dramatic groan leaves him as he leans back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face.
“I know— I’m sorry, I need to get these finished.”
“Can’t you do them tomorrow?”
You pout, already moving toward him, slow and deliberate.
“They’re due tomorrow, honey”
He sighs, softer now, apologetic as he glances back at the stack.
“I’m sorry— promise I’ll be done soon?”
“Hmph… okay. Can I watch you do them?”
You ask, leaning against the hardwood table, the cool surface pressing against the warmth of your bare skin.
“Of course you can, baby.”
He answers easily, already turning back to the paper in front of him, attention slipping from you almost as soon as he’s said it.
Oh. Okay.
That’s how it is.
Your eyes narrow just slightly, watching the way his pen starts moving again like you didn’t just walk in here, like you aren’t standing right there. Like he didn’t just look at you like that a second ago.
You shift your weight, deliberately slow, the floor creaking softly beneath you as you inch a little closer. Close enough now to see the way his brows knit together again, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he focuses. Still not looking at you.
“Steve.”
You say it softer this time, almost sweet— but there’s something deeper underneath it. He doesn’t look up
Another con you forgot to mention is how much Steve cares about his work— almost too much. To the point where he overworks himself without even realising it, runs himself into the ground over a stack of papers and a red pen, gets so caught up in doing everything right that he forgets to take care of himself at all. He stresses and he overthinks, he stays up too late telling himself just one more paper until it turns into twenty.
And the thing is, you know him.
You know exactly how he gets, the little tells, the way his shoulders start to tense, how his brows pull together tighter and tighter the longer he goes on. You see it happening before he even does. But more importantly, you know exactly how to fix it.
Your hands move toward the fabric of your robe, untying the little bow at your waist and letting it slowly drop off your shoulders as if your a present ready to be unwrapped.
It could be taken as a mistake, or an invitation.
Steve is still focused on the papers, not even hearing the light thud of the heavy garment hitting the floor. So…you continue.
Your hand slowly snakes down your body to your pulsing heat, and you quietly gasp at the feeling of your arousal seeping through the fabric of your sleep shorts. Your fingers begin to slowly rub at the swollen nub between your legs, rolling it between your fingers before reverting back to pressing tight circles against your clothed skin. The friction of the silk atop of your pulsing clit is delivering an unimaginable sensation.
The moment you let a moan slip past your lips, Steve finally looks up. His gaze takes the sight of you in and he exhales through his nose. There you are, infront of him, pleasing yourself because he’s too busy to do it for you, hair stuck against your forehead, breaths uneven and short, what type of husband is he? To not at least help out— but fuck…the papers. He still has six more to mark.
“Baby, cmon— I told you, I’ll be done soon, then I’ll help okay?”
He grunts, eyes still glued to you, and your soft hands against your body
“That’s fine—”
You pant, other hand reaching your breast— pressing and pulling your pebbled nipple eliciting another sweet moan out of your pinkish red lips
“-I can do it myself”
Your hand stops and your body almost jolts at the loss. You begin to shed yourself of your pjs, taking off the top first as Steve eyes hungrily rake over you. Then painfully you remove the tiny shorts, raising your body up to sit atop the table— avoiding the papers of course because why would you get in the way of his work?
Your feet hit the seat next to Steve, and you spread your thighs open, hand quickly moving back down to your sopping cunt.
Steve lets out a breath through his nose as he watches your fingers slide between your folds. You whine as you slip your middle finger into your tight hole, the pressure not enough— nothing like Steve’s rough calloused fingers at all. But to keep up the show, you continue.
The room is filled with the sound of your finger plunging in and out of your wet heat and your loud moans. Steve’s mouth is practically watering, the papers entirely forgotten as he watches you try your hardest to reach your peak, even though it doesn’t seem to be happening. If it were Steve’s hands, he would have had you coming around him in seconds. So he takes this as his in. Screw the papers he can do them tomorrow morning
Steve’s shifts out of his seat, hands reaching towards your thighs. When you hit them away, he stops immediately.
“Baby wha— let me help you okay?”
“No Steve”
You moan, your fingers pulling out of you and reaching towards your swollen clit to rub two tight circles before plunging back into you
“Please? Please just let me touch you.”
Bingo. You have Steve exactly where you want him. You shake your head at his please, your gaze hazed and heavy lidded
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Please honey—“
Steve breathes out, hands resting just between your thighs
“-Let me make you feel good mkay?”
With a loud groan, you give him what he so desperately wants. Shifting your body forward till you’re practically off the table.
Steve jumps at the opportunity, hands immediately grasping your breasts. You whine under his touch, his methodical fingers rolling your stubborn peaks.
Steve’s lips ghost over your pulsing nub once, then twice. Before he stops, hands reaching towards the glasses that sit on his nose
“No—“
You breathe out, hips involuntarily jerking up towards him
“Keep them on”
Steve’s eyes widen at the request, and then he’s diving in towards your pussy like a man starved. His tongue rotates between sliding through your puffy folds and sucking and tonguing at your clit.
His satisfied moans vibrate against your heat, and you swear you can hear church bells just from his tongue alone.
You already got yourself worked up enough, so it’s only merely a couple minutes before your falling apart one his tongue, body rolling against his face as you finally reach your peak. Gushing all over Steve’s mouth as he works you through it. Tongue still pushing in and out of your heat until he knows you’ve calmed down.
When Steve pulls back, he’s smiling. Lips red and swollen— glossy and drenched in your slick. He shuffles back to sit on the hardwood chair— an in for you to straddle him.
He works quickly on his jeans, unbuttoning himself and sliding his briefs down along with the rough fabric of the denim. He lets an out sigh of relief when his cock springs free. Achingly hard and red, pressing against his blue button up.
“Take your shirt off too”
You say, finally sliding off the table to sit on top of him, legs swinging around either side of Steve’s thighs.
He lets out a shaky breath, fingers fumbling to unbutton his shirt. You don’t help him. Instead your hand traces the vein on the underside of his shaft. Then you wrap your hand around his heavy base, slowly inching up.
Steve’s hips buck into yours and his head falls back, the shirt sliding off his shoulders to reveal the thick hair that adorns his chest.
Your hand speeds up, still wrapped around his thick cock, slowly circling around until he’s writhing below you
“Yeah— shit that’s it— mm”
Steve moans, head falling back against the chair
Once you feel him twitching below you, you halt your movements. Steve’s head has never whipped up faster
“Fuck— why— please”
He mutters out, nodding towards your hand stilled around his pulsing cock
“Please move again”
He fucking whimpers when your hand starts to rotate against him again
“You like that?”
Your voice is deep, laced with something he’s never seen before
“Oh— oh yeah, I like it, please keep going fuck—“
You continue to pump his cock, feeling him get closer and closer, your fingers rub over the slit on his tip before moving back down again
“I’m gonna cum”
Steve’s a moaning mess under you, squirming and bucking up in your hand. Once you’re sure he’s going to come, you stop.
Steve groans, eyes blowing wide. Before he can speak or bitch about, you quickly sink down on him. Your warm pussy envelops Steve, welcoming him in to your tight hole
“Fuck baby— oh my god”
You still for a second, feeling the way he fits into you almost perfectly. like His cock was made to be inside you, and you only. Your hands wrap around his neck, finally you press your lips to his.
The kiss is hot and messy, tongues gliding against eachotehr. Your moans are swallowed up eagerly by Steve’s mouth as you begin to move.
Steve pistons his hips to meet your movements, hitting the spot deep within you.
You moan against his lips, quickening your pace. The rough pad of Steve’s finger rubs against your clit, simultaneously pushing you over edge. Your whole body convulses against his cock as you reach your peak.
Steve quickly follows after, still built up from your teasing before. His cum fills you in white hot,short spurts.
The room is sweaty, humid air clinging between your bodies. The only sound being your uneven breaths and the slick noise of Steve’s cock leaving your pussy. You hiss at the loss, feeling Steve’s cum drip down your inner thigh.
“Same time tomorrow night?”
Steve’s voice comes out rough, breath still uneven, forehead resting against your shoulder as he tries to steady himself.
You hum softly in response, nodding as your fingers find his hair, gently pulling him back into you.
“Yeah”
You whisper, he exhales something close to a laugh, tired and fond all at once, and you catch the way his grip tightens just slightly around you— like he’s not quite ready to let go yet.
So instead of moving away, you just kiss him again. It’s much slower this time, softer. No urgency left in it, just warmth, just him, just the quiet aftermath of everything settling into something familiar again.
When you finally pull back, it’s only far enough to rest your forehead against his.
“Grade your papers, Mr. Harrington,”
