the way i want to just paw at steve's waist in those tight jeans 🤤 like he's standing up next to the bed and you're sitting so ur face level with his zipperrrrr ... just like kissing and rubbing at his crotch 😭 he's soo dominant but also soo sweet
lowk cock worship but clothed cock worship; sucking dick through boxers tehe :p; dom/sub dynamics mdni 18+
it would be impossible for you to focus on anything other than steve's body considering your position.
you're sat on the bed, criss crossed, hands politely resting in your lap with heaps load of restraint. steve stands directly in front of you, the width of his body taking up nearly all of your field of vision.
even if your eyes weren't forced to be full of steve harrington, you would make that choice anyway.
because steve's dark cotton shirt and light washed jeans hug his body in a way that demands your attention.
he has his fingertips on your scalp, alternating between massaging and scratching in motions that placate you in a much needed way after the day you've had. you could be soothed to sleep if it weren't for you trying your very best to listen to steve's story about his day. that and if it weren't for the print of steve's cock in his jeans enticing you like no other.
at first, you exercise restraint.
your hands stay in your lap and you nod, hum, and no way!, along with steve's story in the appropriate places. your head is lifted, eyes tilted up to make contact with steve's eyes the entire time.
but then you start to slip.
you release your position in favor of ridding the strain on your neck, and, in turn, you're met with an eyeful of steve's bulge.
you try not to pay it any mind. but then steve takes his hands away from your scalp to adjust his jeans, nothing more than lifting them up a bit, but something about the motion makes your gut churn.
at that point, you have no choice but to dismiss restraint.
when you push forward and press a kiss to steve's cock, steve's words don't falter. he doesn't hesitate, because this little display of affection and desire from you isn't unfamiliar. worshipping your stevie isn't nothing new, just as it's nothing new for him to worship you.
then, your hands hug each of steve's hips, fingertips dipping into the empty belt loops of his well-loved jeans for purchase. you start to nuzzle at his cock, alternating between shamelessly rubbing your face into his bulge and pressing lingering kisses along the shape of him, searching for his tip all the while.
steve continues speaking, probably understanding that you're barely listening at this point but he doesn't drop the façade. he simply continues as if he's not steadily hardening in his pants.
his fingertips find your scalp once more, sitting near the base of your skull this time, as if he's ready to cradle your head in the way that he does when you're sucking him off.
maybe this will lead to that, but likely not anytime soon. you're not rubbing at his crotch with hopes to get his dick in your mouth. it will be a welcomed next step, but not the intention.
there is no intention, you don't think. you just need to feel steve's cock.
slowly, you reach for his button and then his zipper when the round piece of metal is out of the way.
steve stops speaking.
"what're you doing down there?" he finally acknowledges you.
his tone isn't accusatory. he's simply asking a question. when you look up at him, you see that gentle, dominant smirk he wears so well. the corner of his plump lips pulled up towards the moles on his cheek, brown eyes squinted just enough to show the humor in him.
"is this okay?" you ask when you have his zipper pinched between your fingers.
steve nods. "yeah, of course it is, baby," he assures. and his tone is so sweet. so gentle and understanding, as if he knows that you just need to do this, whatever this is.
"do whatever you need to do."
so you do.
steve doesn't even bother continuing his story. you'll probably ask for a recap later.
for now, you continue your movements but on steve's boxes. you don't pull his jeans down, and neither does he. you rub your nose against the checkered cotton, kiss at his concealed tip, and then wrap your mouth around him.
steve moans as if there's not any fabric between your mouth and his cock. his hand at the back of your head gets a little firmer but he doesn't push, pull, or even nudge.
you can't tell if the hand is there to ground you or himself. maybe both.
you continue like that, not bothering to do much more, and when you make contact with steve's bare skin it's a complete accident. your tongue goes rogue, licking a wide damp spot in steve's boxers, and it accidentally slips into the opening.
steve gasps and jumps as if you've hurt him. then, he swears under his breath. you know he wants more, but he doesn't say anything. he lets you take your time. he lets you do what you want with him.
but it's not submission. steve's still in control, and if he asked, you would do what he wanted.
you're whining. for perhaps the first time since you were a petulant teen, you're fucking whining. because of steve goddamn harrington.
you'd just dropped "the hair" from the middle of his name recently. and going from finally seeing him as someone other than his obnoxious high school persona to someone that you'll whine for is a jarring as anything could ever be.
yet here you are—legs wrapped around steve's waist, nails digging into his shoulders, back curved, your head thrown back, and actively ruining the fresh hairstyle you'd been so eager to sport earlier in the day.
that's the real reason you're whining. because steve is actively ruining someone's hard work and your hard earned money. each eager punch of his cock deep into you is directly contributing to the ruin of your hair. and you should care a little more. but it's nearly impossible to care about anything other than the intense pleasure steve is giving you.
truthfully, you wanted to be largely unaffected about the entire thing. of course, you wanted to enjoy yourself when you and steve had sex, but you didn't want to feel too much pleasure. you didn't want to boost his ego even more, and you didn't want to sweat your hair out while doing it. but both are currently happening.
your eyes have been pinched shut for who knows how long, and when you finally open them, you're so shocked to that steve doesn't look smug at all. you can't describe the look in his eyes, but smug isn't it. he looks a little fond, and understanding, and proud—but not just of himself.
his speed increases and your forehead latches onto the skin of his bicep.
steve kisses the top of your head. his speed does not falter at all.
you can't stand it, you don't know how you've been standing it for this long.
your teeth sink into his bicep. not gentle at all. there's a patch of steve's smooth clenched between your teeth. steve doesn't falter.
"that's right," he encourages, "do whatever you need to do, honey."
he kisses the top of your head again and that fondness from before returns.
you dig your nails into his back when the pleasure peaks. steve moans, and if you weren't already experiencing so much, you would hone in on his reaction to the pain you're inflicting. instead, you're too busy digging the heels of your feet into steve's ass cheeks as you let him fuck you and ruin your hair.
he'll pay to get it fixed later, though. it's not like he has a choice.
nai talking about porn star billy made me think of porn star steve harrington who has the nickname steve "sweetheart" harrington because he takes care of all the girls when they do a scene together. they fawn when they see that they're working with the sweetheart, and as soon as you get your assignment to work with him, they're patting you on the back and saying you got lucky. "you're gonna have the best time of your life," according to one of the girls.
description. on christmas night, a time you’d spent lonely for a while even though your last name is another’s, you receive a visit from a being you believed to be mythical for years. OR, santa claus pays you a visit to fulfill your wishes.
includes. SMUT 16+, technically cheating as reader is married but separated, horrible marriage but NO ABUSE!!, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (not safe, fanfic is fiction, irl is not), cumming inside, sweet santa’s son steve
word count. 5k+
a/n: merry christmas! i stayed up super later writing this and i enjoy it a lot i think! i hope it’s enjoyable :) this is also the only AU that i can see myself writing for in the future so yay !!
When you were younger, Christmas was a time of joy.
The largest tree your parents could afford, almost reaching the tip top of your ceiling, decorated with ornaments new and old. You loved looking back on the ones you made as a child, how the growth of your artistic ability could easily be shown in the ornaments that hung prettily against green fir.
The music was a staple. Your mom would make a show of putting on records, dancing around the house with you, singing the crafted lyrics of holiday songs until you knew them by heart and you had begun to lead her in them instead of the other way around.
At the time, everything seemed so warm and colorful. Even when Hawkins would be blasted with a white Christmas, all you could remember was greenery and warmth.
None of that has been present in years.
Ever since you married Ralph.
Sitting on the armchair in your living room, facing the large tree that you carefully decorated, you try to remember the last time you had that childlike wonder towards Christmas. It was long, long, ago, you decide once your brain cannot conjure up a year.
Your legs are mostly bare, and they would be cold if it weren’t for the fire heating them up. You’d lit it a while ago, and had to rekindle it multiple times since. It worked as a habitual reminder for you, keeping you awake so that you could see that Ralph returned to your home safe and sound.
No matter how often you told yourself that you didn’t care about him, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk upstairs and go to sleep whenever he was out. Even though you had assurance that he would return drunk as can be with another girl's perfume on his collar.
Your eyes turn to the clock. It’s late, but too early for Ralph to be home anytime soon. Only a few hours until the clock hit midnight, and introducing another dull Christmas.
Turning your eyes back to the fire, you try not to think about it.
Some nights, when you find yourself like this, you have a glass of wine and a few records to accompany you.
But tonight, you sit alone with your thoughts.
Thus far, you’d concluded that it was time to finalize your divorce.
You and Ralph were not happy together, you both knew this. You slept in separate rooms, barely spoke to each other, and have not been intimate together for a while. There’s been a pit in your heart, stomach, and throat in regards to your marriage for even longer.
You know that in order to be truly happy, you have to be legally divorced.
You make plans to contact a lawyer on Monday.
You’re lost in thought whenever the front door opens.
Your back faces it, and there’s no need to turn around and see who’s entering, even though he’s hours early.
Heavy boots thud against the hardwood floors, skirting to a stop. You hear a groan, and a sound akin to a gruff, followed by rustling. Ralph murmurs something under his breath, you don’t bother asking him to repeat it.
Instead, you sit still, back straight, eyes forward and rapidly blinking as you wait for him to go upstairs. And when he does, that pit inside of you doubles.
The house feels colder.
You wake up without knowing that you’d fallen asleep in the first place.
Your body was jolted awake by itself, and you’re instantly made aware of something being out of place.
It takes you a second to figure out exactly what it is, but when it comes, you’re prompted into action.
Someone, or something, is on your roof.
There’s a loud thud, assumingly similar to the one that woke you, and then there’s one more that’s slightly quieter. You wait, your eyes turned up as if you could see through the roof itself. Then, there’s the sound of footsteps. Human footsteps.
So someone is on your roof.
You stand and tiptoe to the staircase.
“Ralph?” You call, your voice a whisper yet loud enough to be heard if he was listening. You try a few more times, to no avail, and you’re left with the realization that you’re going to have to fight off a burglar on your own, on Christmas.
It’s a horrible, daunting feeling to realize that your deadbeat husband is even more of a deadbeat than you originally thought.
The person atop your roof is on the move. Your eyes follow the sound of the footsteps as you make your way to the table that sits adjacent to the staircase. Your eyes don’t dare look away from the crown molding as you pull the drawer open, and blindly fumble for the weapon Ralph kept tucked in the mahogany table.
At least Ralph could do one thing right.
You have it in your hands when the steps stop.
Your hands tighten around the handle when someone comes down your fucking chimney. Like Santa Claus or something.
Unfortunately, the fire was completely put out by now, due to the fact that you’d fallen asleep. You wished it were still blazing so you wouldn’t have to deal with this intruder yourself.
But things just aren’t going your way tonight.
“Stop right there.” Your voice sounds stronger than you thought it would. The shake in your hands betrays you though.
Not like the person could see it anyway. They were too busy commenting on their landing.
“Could’ve landed better. That’s something Dad’s gonna critique me on. ‘How was your landing, Son? You know that’s the most important part of the entrance’.” He’s so enticed with his own chastising that it takes another two barks of orders from you for them to even spare you a glance.
“I said, Stop. Right. There.”
He has the audacity to look shocked. As if he wasn’t the one to break into your house.
“I can explain.”
You scoff, but you don’t roll your eyes. You can’t take any chances. “Save it for the police.” One hand stays on the weapon, and the other reaches for the phone on the table.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!”
You can barely comprehend what happens next.
One minute, your fingers are just about to wrap around the plastic of the receiver, and the next the receiver is gone all together. When you glance down, you see that the entire phone itself is missing.
“What the …” Your eyebrows push together as you squint, and then you cast an accusatory glare at the intruder.
“What the fuck did you do and how did you do it?”
When you watch the phone appear in his hands, your knees buckle.
“Like I said, I can explain.”
You must have been drugged with something.
Maybe some hallucinogens from the 60s or the Cocaine that you know to be frequenting clubs currently. Maybe someone –– Ralph –– even spiked your eggnog earlier. There has to be some explanation for you to be here, in this position, with this person that you had thought to be mythical for the past decade and a half.
Because standing next to you, looking up at a fucking sleigh with eight reindeer attached, is Santa Claus. The mythical man who travels around the world in one night to bring happiness and joy and presents to all the good children.
You’re staring particularly hard at the one reindeer leading the flock, your eyes squinting as a hand comes to shield your eyes from literally nothing. But you have to be sure, as if this will truly confirm or deny.
You take a step closer to your home, and crane your neck up further, just to get a better look. And sure enough, there is a red nose. Rudolph is leading the sleigh. Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer.
You turn to Santa, your jaw dropped and your eyes wide and your heart thudding so hard behind your chest and tears coming to your eyes from the sting of the cold and the sting of childlike excitement.
“You’re Santa Claus,” you tell him, as if this is something he did not already know.
He nods his head, and places his hands on his hips as he glances from his sleigh to you.
“Yeah. That’s what I’ve been telling you. Well actually,” one of his hands lifts to bring his thumb to his forehead, push the red hat out of the way, and scratch at the skin a bit, “my name’s Steve Claus, but yeah, for the night I’m Santa.”
You can’t do anything but repeat yourself.
“You’re Santa Claus. Santa’s real? All this time?”
He nods again. “Yeah. I mean, only as real as you believe. So like you had to have believed in me or else I couldn’t have been here and– it’s a whole thing and I’m kinda running on a schedule here so.”
You’re too shocked to say anything else so you let Santa––Steve take charge of the conversation.
“Look, okay. I know you’re shocked and all but I need you to listen to me. My name’s Steve, as I just told you, and I’m filling in for my dad––Santa–– for the night. My first task, and probably the most important one of them all, is to come here, and find you, and fulfill your greatest desire or whatever.” He scoffs and looks off to the side like he doesn’t believe in anything he’s saying.
Your face displays confusion similarly to Steve’s. “I don’t know what my greatest desire is and why are you here, at my house? Isn’t there some kids in Africa who need this more than me or something.”
Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. That was my exact point but Dad said I have to come here. So, I’m here.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Steve, but I can’t ask for something if I don’t know what I want.” You take a second to think, and to shiver because it’s so cold and your slippers were not made for snow and you’re still dressed in tights and a little dress. You push your discomfort to the back of your mind and lick your drying lips.
“Maybe a sable, a yacht, a convertible, the deed to a new house? Or another ring that’s not this hunk of clunk,” you flash your left hand and the diamond ring that Ralph gave you. It’s nowhere near your type, and you hate to look at it. But you refuse to take it off and spark very-true-rumors of your divorce from him.
Steve stops you before you can go on. “No, no, not like material things. It has to be something deep down inside. Here,” he takes a step closer to you and begins to reach his hands out, “let me just–” you watch as Steve’s hands find your shoulder and your chest, right where your heart would be. Which, in turn, puts his hand almost on your tit.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and his eyebrows begin to furrow with focus. “Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable I just have to find–” he smiles, “there it is,” and then his smile drops, and replaces itself with shock that forms something more like a smirk. “That’s … interesting.”
“What? What’s interesting? And what did you just do? Did you grope me or test for breast cancer or–” Steve interrupts you.
“Let’s go inside for this.”
There is absolutely no way in Hell, Heaven, or Earth that you were not drugged with something.
Because there is no way that Santa Claus––or Steve Claus or whatever––was kneeled between your legs, in the early hours of Christmas day, his gloved hands sliding up your almost bare legs with the intent of reaching between your thighs.
Your heart thuds behind your chest with ferocity that reaches your throat, your hands are shaking and sweaty, and you fully believe that you’re going to pass out before your tights even come off.
“Relax,” he’s telling you. “When’s the last time your husband did something for you? Hmm?”
It takes you a while to respond. Not only because you’re thinking of a response, but also because your breath has been knocked out of you with the way Steve’s looking up at you. His eyes are so big and so brown and so pretty. They’re cloaked with long eyelashes that you feel envy and jealousy for.
And his skin’s so golden. He lives in the North Pole, so there is no reason for him to have a tan this glorious. It amplifies his freckles and moles that you almost get lost in. Almost. He prompts you out of an incoming trance.
“Are you still with me?” he says your name, and you swear you almost melt. Instead, you hold yourself together and nod.
“Yeah, sorry,” he smiles so softly and tells you it’s okay. “It’s been a while since Ralph and I even …” you trail off with embarrassment. Steve fills it in for you.
“Had sex?” You nod. “God, a man has a wife as beautiful as you and he won’t even make you feel good? It’s a shame.”
His hands find the tops of your thighs. They slip under your dress, and hook around the elastic of your tights and panties. “Will you let me take care of you?” He’s pleading, his big brown eyes soft and glowing.
You nod once more.
“Words, honey. I need to hear you say it.”
“You can take care of me, Steve.” And he smirks.
“Good girl. You listen so well, honey.” The praise goes right to your cunt.
He’s pulling your tights down and you reach a hand out to grasp the armchair so that you don’t topple over. Steve’s suddenly made aware of your predicament, and he instructs you to take a seat.
He doesn’t bother standing to make his way to your new position. He just crawls shamelessly so that he can find his place between your legs.
Without anything on your skin, you’re bare and cold. Goosebumps rise on your legs, and with a flick of Steve’s hand, the fire is going. You sigh gratefully and begin to relax back into the cushions.
Your legs part and you make room for Steve. From there on out, you’re puddy in his hands.
You let him throw your legs over his shoulders and slide you down so that your bare cunt is closer to his face. Your hands rest on the pillowy arms of the chair, and you take a deep breath just as Steve’s face disappears and you’re only met with the velvet of his hat.
The first touch of his tongue makes you flinch. The movement is embarrassing, and you’re instantly apologizing. Steve gently reassures you with whispers followed by tiny presses of kisses into the junction of your pelvis and your thigh.
The next touch is more expected, and easily welcomed. His tongue is flattened out and he drags it from your hole to your clit, where he purses his lips and kisses.
You’re already mewling from such a simple gesture.
Steve takes your reaction in stride. He repeats the action, but swirls his tongue around your clit at the end instead of kissing it. Then, he focuses solely on the bud. He’s delivering the most calculated kitten licks, his tongue perfectly enveloping your nerves in a way you’re sure is not humanly possible.
It’s so good that your back is arching within the first few minutes. Your hands are twitching at the arm rests, begging for strands of hair to hold onto. You dig your nails into the fabric instead of reaching out and digging them into Steve’s scalp.
It’s when Steve starts practically making out with your cunt that you lose it.
You regain your sanity for only a few seconds when you notice that he’s mumbling little praises in between.
“Taste so good, sweetheart. And doing so well ‘f me. Don’t ever wanna leave this pussy, baby.”
Your breath has quickened and it’s heard in your moans. Your hips grind up into Steve’s face on their own accord, you’re so busy chasing your quickly approaching high that you don’t even realize.
Steve welcomes it. His hands slide down to grip your ass, and he fucking dives in.
He’s messy with the way he eats you out. His tongue slipping and sliding and adding to the wetness of your cunt. The muscle is so warm yet cold and he knows exactly what to do and you can’t hold back anymore, your hands are finding his shoulders, running across the red velvet of his suit and up the side of his neck and playing with the parts of his hair that aren’t covered by his hat.
It’s only a few more determined movements and you’re cumming, the empty walls of your cunt spasming as your back curls and the crown of your head rubs at the back cushion of the armchair.
Steve works you through it. The pads of his fingers press and massage into your ass as he keeps you flush against his tongue. You’re sensitive, so he works you slowly, his licks going back to short ones, using only half the expanse of his tongue.
Once you stop twitching, and you’re back to the sitting position that you started in, Steve slips his hands from under you and leaves from between your legs.
When Steve looks up at you, you’re ready for another round.
His mouth and the area around it glistens with a mix of his saliva and your cum. His pretty pink lips are parted and you can just faintly hear the little breaths he’s letting out. He sees you staring, and he smiles at you, a glint in his eyes.
His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you decide that you wanna kiss him.
So you do.
Your feet set down on the hardwood and you bend down to take Steve’s face in between your warm hands so that your lips can securely slot in between his.
The kiss is slow at first, testing the waters on both ends, and seeking out taste from your end. Something shifts when Steve whines.
You’ve practically pounced on him at that point. And you would feel even a little bit of sympathy if he wasn’t so receptive to it.
He’s pulling you into his lap by the back of your thighs. He’s tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and forcing his tongue between your lips. He’s canting his hips up so that your cunt grazes the fabric of his pants and you’re made aware of the hard shape suffocating in them.
“Holy shit, Steve,” you can’t help but exclaim once Steve’s clothed cock grazes you again and you’re made aware of just how much length he’s packing. “Can you fuck me? Will you fuck me? Please?”
Your hands still hold his flushing cheeks, and you’re so close that your noses are almost touching and your lips ghost across his as you speak.
He looks so baffled that you want him to fuck you. Like he didn’t just devour you better than Ralph ever had.
His brown eyes staring up at you in wonder, a look that you can only describe as submissive.
He stutters when he speaks. “Yeah. Mhm. Yeah.”
You smile into the kiss.
As you’re pulling away, your hands search for whatever it is that undos Steve’s top. It’s much more complicated than you would have originally guessed, so you let Steve do it instead.
As soon as it’s open, you’re resting your hands on his chest and pushing him to lay back on that hideous faux cow skin rug Ralph insisted on putting in front of your fireplace. You hated it, truly, but you’re also thankful for its presence in a moment like this one.
Steve lays back and watches you kiss down his neck and chest all the way to his bottoms, which are much easier to get open.
His boxers have little candy canes on them and you can’t help but snort. He’s about to start babbling out some sort of excuse, but you couldn’t care less for it. You wrap your lips around the clothed head of his cock instead, your eyes closing gratefully.
Steve sighs and curses under his breath. You intended on teasing him a little longer, but his hips buck up and one of the reindeer on the roof makes a sound (probably Dasher) and you’re reminded of his time restraint.
Your nails graze his skin as you pull his boxers and pants down just enough for access.
You were right about his size. But you couldn’t have predicted just how pretty his dick is. Pretty is the only word to describe it.
He’s groomed, first of all, shaved in most places but with a small, clean tuft of hair at the base of his dick. His dick is a perfect compromise of length and girth, and just looks like it would fit perfectly in your mouth and cunt. The bead of precum at the flushed tip looks appetizing, in an almost primal way that seems unrecognizable from you.
All you want to do is suck.
So you do.
Your lips wrap around his bare head this time and you actually moan. You moan because you enjoy it, not to be sexy like you would with Ralph long ago.
Your tongue swirls and your head makes its way down his dick.
You’re manually breathing the further down you go, and controlling your swallows so that you don’t choke and embarrassingly barf on Steve Claus’ dick (although that would be a story to tell).
Steve’s moaning above you. One of his hands comes to the back of your head and you briefly get the fear that he’s going to push you down further. But he doesn’t. He keeps his hand there, limp, pliable.
His thumb caresses your cheek on its way there, and the touch makes something else swell in your chest.
You continue your work. Your saliva dribbles down the parts of his cock that your mouth cannot reach, and you let your hand get to work. The other holds you steady by gripping Steve’s hip bones.
Above you, praises continue.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. So good, that pretty little mouth of yours. Wanna take you back home with me. Make you my little snow queen.”
And holy fuck does that sound enjoyable. Fantasies of leaving behind this dull life for one in a literal fantasy land briefly floods your mind, and prompts you to suck Steve’s cock with more vigor.
You work shallowly now, focusing on the tip and a little further down. You pump the rest of his length with your free hand, twirling and gliding your soft palm up and down.
Steve’s working so hard not to fuck your hand at this point. You can tell.
Veins in his neck are prominent as he restrains himself and you almost want to tell him to fuck your mouth. It takes your own personal restraint not to.
Your mouth detaches from Steve’s almost completely, your lips solely wrapped around the tip so that your tongue can focus on the area right below his pink tip.
When Steve Claus cums, it’s the most beautiful sight you think you’ve ever seen.
His fingers grip the back of your neck so tightly that it stings just a bit, his chest reaches for the sky, his eyes squeeze shut and his pretty lips part to let out the whiniest little sounds.
You milk him, letting his warm cum spurt onto your tongue until his dick is twitching in your mouth and he’s manually pulling you off. You’d expected him to taste bitter, or even a bit salty. You didn’t expect him to taste sweet, with a hint of something that is so close to peppermint out of all things.
You’re broken away from your wonder at the taste of Steve’s cum when he speaks.
“Baby, I need to be inside of you. Now.”
You’ve always appreciated a man who got straight to the point.
Steve’s cum is barely down your throat before his tongue is.
His hands work to unzip your dress and he only separates from your lips to pull it over your head. When he’s undoing your bra, he’s kissing your neck. You tilt your head and your hand finds the back of his head, pulling him closer to you, silently urging him to leave marks.
And he does.
He sucks and nips so hard in multiple places, leaving behind burning marks that he blows on before he moves down to kiss your chest.
When his hands press into your back, you realize that he’s removed the gloves.
His fingers are soft, and you want them inside of you.
But then his cock presses into your thigh and you decide that you want that inside of you more than his fingers.
Steve’s tongue swirls around the perky buds of your nipples as he lays you down against the rug.
When he’s had enough, he sits back on his haunches, and stares at you.
You feel a little shy and self conscious, until you catch the look in his eye.
Steve’s not staring, he’s marveling.
He licks his lips and lets out a breath of air, a soft “wow” barely audible in there.
With new found confidence, you bring your knees up and part them as one hand trails up to grip your tit, and the other trails down to swipe a hand in your folds and glide it down to just barely dip in your fluttering hole.
“Need you, Steve,” is all you have to say and he’s on you, one hand holding you still by your hip and the other aligning his dick. But not before he takes his hat off of his head, and puts it on yours.
When he presses forward and begins to breach, you can’t help but gasp. You’re trying your best to relax, but he’s so large that it’s just not working. Steve’s thumb rubs soothing circles into your warm skin and that works a bit, but you eventually just have to close your eyes and wait until he’s bottomed out.
When he does, he lets you take a few moments to adjust.
“Doing so well, honey. Just breathe, that’s it. Relax.” His words work wonders on you, to the point where you have to consider if he’s actually ordering you to relax.
When your muscles aren’t tensed, Steve starts to move, shallow and shy at first, then with more depth and confidence as your body starts to tell more.
Your lower back arches and your hands start to grip the rug. You reach out for Steve, and he comes to you, resting his weight on either side of you and pushing his chest against yours.
Your nipples, sensitive from the chill of the air earlier and Steve’s mouth, rub against his toned chest and the movement increases the sensitivity.
Steve’s hips move with barely any percision, with only a hint of calculated movements that leads you to the edge. Just having him above you, fucking you, staring into your eyes and moaning is enough to speed you to your orgasm.
Your hand trails around Steve’s back and your nails scratch at his skin, your chest pushes up to increase the friction on your nipples, your legs lift to dig your knees in his sides. You’re not going to last much longer, and Steve realizes.
He dips down to peck your lips, and then your cheek. “You close, honey?” he asks in your ear.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m so close, Stevie.” You can feel him smile at the nickname.
“I’ll get you there. Promise.”
His hand trails down to press his thumb to rub your clit as his thrusts speed up just enough, increasing the squelching sound of where you two are connected.
Your eyes pinch shut, but Steve shuts that down. “Look at me. I wanna see you when you cum around my cock.”
Two more circles of his thumb and your back is arching and you’re cumming with a loud cry. Your ankles wrap around his lower back and you pull him in to you, forcing his thrusts to be more shallow than they were before. But you can’t get enough of him, you don’t want him to leave.
Deep in your mind, you wished you could spend your entire night like this. But Steve has a job to do, and he can’t spend his days buried in your cunt.
Your walls are fluttering around him and he curses. “Fuck, so close,” he says your name and you know you’ll never get tired of the syllables coming from his tongue. “Want me to cum in you, hmm?”
The idea is more appealing than it should be.
Worry flashes your face for a second, Steve kisses your cheek. “Don’t worry, you won’t get pregnant. But that would be a sight, wouldn’t it?”
Your cunt tightens around him and he chuckles. “You think so too, don’t you?”
There’s no point in denying it.
“Yes, Steve. Please cum in me, mark me up.”
He does with a few more thrusts.
Steve’s face contorts when he cums, but he keeps his eyes on you. You watch him through it, one of your hands finding his hair and the other cupping his cheek. When he leans into your touch, and presses his lips to your palm, you smile softly.
You’re standing in your clothes once again on your lawn. Steve’s hat is still on your head and it keeps you warmer better than any other clothing item you’ve ever owned.
You watch Steve on the roof, the taste of his lips starting to fade against yours. A soft, almost sad smile is on your lips as you watch him get situated in the sleigh. You take it all in once more, the eight reindeer, the red sleigh with a massive brown sack on the back, the gorgeous man commanding it.
Then, as he strikes the deer into action and sails away into the night, you make your way back inside and to the armchair.
short blurb abt the harrington thanksgiving experience <3 GN! reader !!
steve absolutely despises thanksgiving.
he hates the tradition behind it (he’s always rambling about how bullshit the whole story is), he hates the frenzy that comes from black friday, he doesn’t understand the point of the macy thanksgiving day parade. but the whole reason he hates thanksgiving is because of his family.
he knows that meeting his family is a relationship hurdle that you should get over, together. but he can’t bring himself to take you there.
the drive he can do, especially with some of your cassettes playing through the cherry red beamer. it’s what comes after the drive that’s daunting for him.
the greetings and stiff hugs and awkward chatter. then the drinks that wrongfully loosen up all the worst people. he doesn’t think he can bear the disappointment and upset that’ll no doubt show on your face once uncle jim starts ranting about “the problems with america”. steve just knows that the pout on your wine stained lips will make his heart break.
so, he’s waiting for it.
his fork is tight in his hand and the sweat that’s gathered along it should have made the utensil slide out of his grip by now but he needs to ground himself, so he refuses to let go of the silver.
you’re sitting to his left, and directly across from uncle jim. steve can’t stop staring at the older man’s red pudgy face and the food that’s gathered in his facial hair.
graphic ideas of ways he could stop jim from speaking flood into steve’s brain. he doesn’t bother attempting to drain them out. he accepts them, and welcomes them.
until your hand is on his thigh.
he physically jumps when your palm comes in contact with the denim atop his thighs. his eyes cast down to look at the area of contact, and then they lift to look at you.
you’re staring ahead, engaged with the absolute bullshit that jim is saying. you don’t agree, that steve knows better than the back of his hand, but you’re nodding as if you do. you’re falsely acclimating, just to keep peace at this cage of a table.
steve could say his vows then and there.
there’s a brief moment where jim isn’t speaking and grandma pat thankfully speaks up.
“dessert?” her frilly voice says. steve hates that voice, but he’s never been more grateful to hear it than he is now.
steve sees your face light up, as if you’re genuinely excited for barely sweet dessert.
“that’s a great idea, grandma pat,” your hand leaves steve’s thigh and his body deflates. he watches you pull the towel out of your lap and place it on the table beside your plate. your hands press flat against the table, and your chair pushes back against the rug. “steve and i will go get them.”
steve easily follows suit. he will take any excuse that he can to get away from this wretched dinner.
your shoes clack against the floor and drain out the sound of aunt lenore bringing up the decline of a “real woman”.
as soon as the door to the kitchen closes behind him, steve expects you to speak up.
he waits, and tucks his hands in his pockets, and leans against the fridge that he remembers sneaking down to during thanksgivings years ago. he watches you, and watches you, his eyes darting all around the kitchen with your movements.
and eventually, when you don’t say anything, he does.
“my family sucks.”
you snort, sincerely, and the sound pulls the corner of steve’s lips up.
“you said it,” you say, your head turning this and that way as you assumingely search for a pie cutter.
“let me,” steve moves towards you, his hands reaching out for your waist so he can move you to the side. he pulls the drawer in front of him open, and automatically finds the pie cutter.
when the metal utensil is sitting next to a pair of equally unappetizing looking pies, steve leans his hip onto the counter and turns to face you.
you mirror his expression, your eyes finding his.
it’s then that steve sees the upset. you’re trying to hide it, just a bit, but eventually you let it drop. your sad half-smile turns to a pout, and your eyes dull, and your shoulders sink.
“c’mere,” steve urges. his arms open and you find his chest like a magnet.
“i’m supposed to be comforting you.” your voice is a mere mumble against his chest, but the words still reach steve’s ears.
“we’re comforting each other.”
“m’kay.”
there’s a few moments of silence while you both take comfort in the others warmth.
it’s just a few moments, because you both become aware of the time restraint at the same time.
the pull apart is mutual, and equally missed.
“kiss?” you ask, your voice light and your eyebrows raised.
steve leans in without a thought. his lips find yours in a quick kiss, once, twice, before he goes in for one longer one.
his hands find the back of your wool sweater and he pulls you to his chest. you reach around, press your palms flat against his back, and pull him against you.
the warmth that comes from him is almost suffocating, yet addictive.
your lungs burn, and your stomach churns, and your skin is on fire, but you refuse to separate from steve.
his hands are roaming and sliding under your sweater to press against your bare back. cool air floods your skin then, and you sigh against his mouth.
you’re so content in this space, all you want to do is stay here.
but there’s a storm outside of these doors that you have to see the other side of.
so, you pull from his lips and kiss the tip of his nose.
“you wanna sneak away after dessert? get up to something?”
your smile is infectious. “we’re sharing a bed tonight, steve, we can do whatever we want.”
steve hums and presses his lips to yours once more. “it’s more fun to ‘sneak away’, don’t you think?”
you can’t help but agree.
steve takes one pie, you take the other. with your free hands, you hold the other’s.
celeste <3 my darling <3 i have a a-bit-too-detailed request if and only if you’re up for it <3
ps: if you’re not comfy turning this into a fic or simply don’t want to, which is 100% up to you, then please take this as a random concept that i’d like your opinion on. or maybe just something fluffy to make you smile !!! <3 this is quite a long one, so…
steve harrington x shy! ditzy! best friend
*r = reader
lil backstory first: steve and r have been best friends for a couple of years now, and as we all like to read, are secretly in love with each other. however, from the very beginning, steve noticed his girl was quite shy and anxious, preferred to keep to herself and barely ever socialized with anyone… so even though he was interested in her from first fucking sight, he held back and tried to ease himself into her life instead— but it just so happens they became the closest of friends and steve wasn’t comfortable with jeopardizing that friendship because of his less than friendly feelings. so, friends it is.
r has a bit of a luna lovegood! vibe to her, y’know? often skips instead of walking, speaks whatever is on her mind (albeit mostly quietly as if speaking to herself and sometimes she only speaks half of her train of thought and leaves other confused) (she furrows her brows and pouts and speaks so softly steve thinks it’s fucking adorable), she’s so kind to everyone and doesn’t take jokes or teasing or straight up insults to heart, she focuses on herself and how she feels about herself the most (knows when people call her something she isn’t therefore doesn’t give them any importance). she’s always talking to animals and plants and flowers as if they’re friends and as if they hold actual conversations, like the plants and animals truly respond to her.
dresses in pretty dresses and flowy skirts and soft sweaters, butterfly clips in her hair, dainty jewelry, messy braids sprinkled in the middle of her hair, lots and lots of rings, lipgloss and highlighter and shimmery eyeshadow, loves doing those fairy wing designs with her eyeliner, chipped nail polish or glitter nail polish, has many ear piercings.
steve and his best friend are really close. you see, r has never had romantic validation or any romantic / sexual experience, she’s demisexual/demiromantic and quite introverted, neurodivergent, so being in a relationship with anyone has never been something she particularly wanted or had the time / mind for— until steve. she slowly fell for him while he was already pining for her. both consider the other theirs; steve swore off other girls pretty much as soon as her met r, and r never had eyes for anyone but steve.
r bakes her stevie sweets, sometimes even drops them off at family video when he’s working! it makes steve’s heart squeeze every time. she’s so damn sweet to him; always complimenting him and defending him from even the most playful of insults, gives him tentative cuddles like she always thinks he wouldn’t want to have her touch him, praises him often, makes him little handmade gifts like flowers pressed on glass and her favorite ring ever that steve wears of his left ring finger, she made him a necklace with his birth flower pressed on it for his birthday and gifted it to him along with a lil handmade booklet that has a bunch of their pictures together on it (plus a few with robin and the kids too). r stays up all night on the phone with her stevie whenever he has a nightmare or fights with his parents, they have movie nights and baking sessions and flower picking days!
r loves flowers, knows the meanings of every single one, and works at a flower shop
listen, steve is just as sweet to her! if not more in his own way! like how overprotective he is, how doting and caring, how much he takes care of her (the whole tying her shoelaces for her and tucking her hair behind her ear and reminding her to eat and pulling her waist to avoid her bumping into something while she talks excitedly to him without looking where she’s going). treats her like a princess, really. like royalty. to him, she deserves the world and he’ll give her everything he can. she’s been so alone all her life, though mostly by her own doing and preference, but he strives to make her feel happy and loved! they’re both crazy touch starved when it comes to the other, and r gets quite flustered and shy and blushy whenever she wants a cuddle from her stevie. her seat is always his lap, they hug often, she leans on him with her arms wrapped around his waist all the time, they bicker and tease and joke and laugh together, cheek smooches from her and forehead kisses from him are a must, they give each other pretty rocks!!!!!!!!!!!
steve’s girl is all giggles and breathless laughs and teary eyes and random thoughts, and he loves it. she’s comfortable enough with steve that she feels free to be a brat or a crybaby at times without fearing he’d judge her or leave her :((((((((
in my head, r has a fairy / witchy vibe and aesthetic to her; she often looks ethereal in steve’s eyes at the very least, a softness and light to her that make her seem straight out of a fairytale. crystals and tarot cards and stones and flowers are her thing— she loves surrounding herself with magic. she’s always sort of floaty, like she’s always with her head in the clouds and daydreaming, talking to the wind and imaginary friends, like all she needs are her flowers and animals to talk to and plants to care for. like she doesn’t care if she’s odd or weird or a freak to other people, because their opinion doesn’t matter to her. she’s unapologetically her.
she loves just existing by herself!!! which is why she’s so shocked when she realizes she wants to exist with her stevie!!! r has never wanted someone before, never wanted to kiss and to touch and to be someone’s girlfriend, but she wants her stevie to be her boyfriend so badly!!!
unbeknownst to her, steve wants her just as badly. wants to be all of her firsts— first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first time… in his head, he wants to be her first and only. but he knows his sweet girl would need to be eased into such things, if she ever even felt the same for him. and that’s okay with him; he’d wait forever if it meant she’d be his.
the gang has a bet going on on who will confess their feelings first.
slowly but surely, steve and r become closer and closer and closer until she kisses him, an impulsive act when she finally notices steve looking at her like she looks at him, with hearts in his eyes, and the kiss makes steve melt. they kiss so softly and sweetly and she’s clearly inexperienced and tentative but it’s so good steve follows her lips whining whenever she pulls away to breathe. over and over and over. soft whimpers and breathless whines and low moans. until steve breathily asks begs to be her boyfriend.
firstly, i wanna mention the fact that i annotated tf outta this as i was reading. i didn’t wanna forget any of my thoughts butttt the annotations are out of order so bear with me.
also not proof read as per ush
as i was reading, all i could think about is how steve is willing to give everything to her.
his crewnecks, more of his side of the bed when she stays the night, the waffle he has on his plate that she’s been eyeing, … his heart. he should feel embarrassed, he knows that the man he was a few years ago would, to give up him entire being to someone who seems so unaware of the feelings he has for her. but he couldnt care less. hes so content with being her friend, because it means that he gets to exist in her space. in the light, airy, fern and flower filled bubble that she encapsulated herself, and him, into.
even though they both exist in that bubble, it doesnt cut them off from the outside world. stares and whispers and unwanted opinions still penetrate through the barrier that steve has attempted to fortify. she brushes off the intrusions, but steve attacks them. he knows that she doesnt ask for it, and sometimes dissproves of steves behavior, but he cant !! help !! it!!
she is his and so unapologetically her and steve just gets so fed up with the puritan beliefs that comes with living in bumfuck nowhere, indiana. that anger that he had whenever he was a Mean Girl comes back just for a second but then shes smiling and tucking a little daisy into his hair and hes forgetting about everything except the movie he had tucked in his backseat for the two of them to watch later that night.
not only is she steves, but theyre each others. its a known fact by everyone around town. “theyre dating, right?” everyone asks each other, and they might as well be. hands held, secrets shared, gazes swapped. they are practically boyfriend and girlfriend without the labels.
especially with that damned ring. as soon as robin sees it on steves fingers, her eyes widen and shes slapping his chest offendedly.
“you got fucking married and didnt tell me?” and steves so fucking confused. his eyebrows are furrowed and hes upset that robin took him away from his work (keith told robin and steve to start a new system for organization and its so confusing for absolutely no reason).
hes looking at robin with that confused look on his face and she points to the ring on his finger. “oh” is all steve says. he fiddles with the band with his thumb and shakes his head with a little smile on his face.
“my girl gave it to me.”
and thats it. no explanation given because there isnt one needed. shes his girl, and she gave him a gift. simple as that.
(except steves heart picks up in pace and his stomach churns hopefully as he imagines the ring meaning something more final and grandiose)
side note: steve gets into crystals because of her. she buys him a little necklace with a small cut of amethyst on it and steve becomes obsessed. he loves and admires that she has her thing and he wants something like that too :(( so he goes for crystals! so much of his money goes into expanding her collection and hes more than okay with that.
another side note: steve lets her be her truest self because he loves everything about her so so much. even her brattiness. which, steve is aware is partially his fault because he gives his girl literally everything she asks for (she jokingly asked for his beamer once and he was this close to indulging her) but thats just because he cant help it :(( shes so sweet there is no way that steve would be able to deny her anything.
which is why steve is so willing to take that leap into a relationship when she makes the first move.
at first, during that split second where her lips are about to touch his, hes worried about what kissing her would mean. what would change? would anything stay the same?
but then her lips are on his and he notices that they feel even softer than they do when she kisses his cheek and hes getting so lost in the moment and in her timid movements. shes shy and inexperienced and steve knows that he should be guiding her, but he cant help but lose himself in everything that is her. because he can smell her perfume and her soft hands are cupping his cheeks and starting to find his hair and her soft body is beginning to press against his and her hips just fit so perfectly in his hands and hes never noticed that she was made for him.
steves more than happy to find that almost nothing has changed about their relationship. she still talks to plants and animals and he talks to them with her, she gives him flowers and he gives her crystals, they still have movie nights (except with loads of kissing and heavy groping in there). truthfully the only thing that has truly changed is the label.
last side note: the gentleness that steve possesses with her transcends into the bedroom. hes all soft kisses in the crook of her neck and on her shoulders and respectful hands gently touching her and pink lips asking before he does anything. she finishes remembering the euphoria and none of the pain and shes left with an insatiable craving for all of steve that just makes their bond stronger and adds another element to their relationship.
finally had time to get to this and i hope it’s alright :(( it’s late and i think i’m flu positive so
you’re running around the house, looking for a specific piece of jewelry that you swore you saw two weeks ago on a saturday at 3 PM.
steve’s impatiently leaning against your bedroom doorframe, listening to your frantic searching while he’s periodically checking the expensive watch on his wrist.
you both needed to be gone 5 minutes ago, and that was the safety time. you really needed to leave in another 10 to 15 minutes. but steve wasn’t gonna tell you that.
instead, he sighs and clears his throat. “sweetheart, leave it. we gotta go.”
he hears you grunt and the sound of your still bare feet against the hardwood while you make your way back to the bathroom. your voice echoes from in there.
“i based my entire outfit around that necklace. without it, i can’t wear the outfit.” the jewelry on your wrist jangles as you pick up more makeup items.
“i’m sure you look fine.” his voice sounds flat, but he means it. there hasn’t been a day in your life where steve wasn’t attracted to you.
you huff and attempt to dispute his statement. but as you walk out of the bathroom and round the corner to face steve, he knows that he’s right.
your hair and makeup is done pristinely, both elements accentuating your features. you have bracelets on both of your wrists, and there’s an anklet on your left ankle. your fingers are adorned in rings, but steve’s eyes find the custom cut one on your left ring finger. his big brown eyes linger there for a second, before they take your figure once again, scanning over the skin toned thong that hugged your hips, and settling on the arm thrown over your bare tits.
“i’ll just wear something different,” you’re saying, making your way towards steve and turning sideways to prepare to slide through the gap he’s left in the door. “it’ll only take a minute.”
steve knows that’s not true but he doesn’t comment on it.
instead, he reaches a hand out and places it on your oiled up waist.
“i think you look fine like this,” he tells you, eyes already starting to glaze over.
it’s such a cheesy comment, but your ears heat up anyway.
“steve,” you half heartedly say, again trying to get through the door. he stops you by stepping in front of you, causing you to look up at him.
his eyes are focused on your tits and slowly, you remove your arm, watching the way his eyes slightly widen and his tongue pokes out to lick his lips.
“5 minutes,” both of his hands take your waist in them and he takes steps back, leading you into your bedroom.
“steve, no. we can’t. my hair looks too good.”
he stops you both in the center of your room and drops to his knees, the sound of bone against wood making you cringe just a bit.
“5 minutes.” you shake your head.
“there’s no way that’s gonna be enough time.”
steve slips his fingers in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your legs, urging you to step one foot out. his large hands find your knees and he pushes your thighs apart, cupping one kneecap in his hand and placing your leg over his shoulder.
his breath ghosts over your cunt as he speaks. “5 minutes.”
