boyfriend!steve harrington loves wrapping his hand around your throat; loves that you trust him to do that, want him to do that. he also loves feeling the chain of the necklace he gave you with an ‘s’ pendant when he chokes you. squeezes your cheeks together with one hand when he wants you to speak up, mocking your cute little pout— that’s bordering on bratty, your eyes teary, going all shy before he wipes your eyes. your stevie knows you have a hand kink for his hand only. and uses it to his advantage. but when you reach for his hand, press a soft kiss to his knuckles or his palm, and then guides his hand to your throat? not even always in a sexual setting, sometimes just as a comfort. just to know he’s got you, you’re his, he’s here. he’s yours too. yeah, then it’s his turn to melt.
in celebration of big dick!steve being canon… 18+ minors dni
“you’re so good for me,” steve whispers, lips brushing against yours as you whimper into his mouth. “taking it like a champ, baby.”
he’s barely past the tip and you’re clenching around him, body trembling at the sheer size of him. he’s already made you come twice on his tongue, but your previous orgasms haven’t made a difference. steve harrington is fucking hung.
“steve,” your eyes are wide, tears brimming the corners. “i don’t think it’ll fit.”
“we’ll make it fit, gorgeous,” he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth as he pushes in further. “we’ll open her up for me.”
you gasp at his words, your slick rolling down his cock. when he makes it halfway, he gives you time to adjust. the cutest whine falls from your lips and he has to hide his face into your neck so you don’t see the shit eating smile on his face.
“that’s my girl,” steve praises. “think you can take all of me, baby?”
you nod dumbly as he sets a pace that has your nails digging into his shoulder, “give it to me, steve.”
he moans against your shoulder and it isn’t until he hits that sweet spot inside you that you realise he’s bottomed out.
“fuck.” he groans.
“oh my god.” you babble, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you clutch onto him for dear life.
“you’re so fucking tight,” he grits out. “so warm and perfect.”
you come around him with a cry of his name.
“oh, baby,” he laughs mockingly, wiping away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. “did you just come? couldn’t hold it back anymore?”
“feels so good,” you gasp out. “don’t fucking stop.”
“i have all night, baby,” steve smiles, fucking into you harder than before. “this big dick is all yours.”
let's hear it for the boy! || steve harrington x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 10.9k
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Best Friend!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (solo masturbation, dry humping, f!receiving oral, handjob, premature ejaculation, p in v sex), language, sexual references, Steve is very oblivious, Steve can't get it up (unless it's for you), porn WITH plot, slow-ish burn
Summary: set before s4. steve has a problem. he can't cum unless he's thinking about you. except you're his friend and he definitely doesn't have any romantic feelings towards you. at least, that's what he tells himself.
“Seriously? Katie Frey doesn’t do it for you?” You asked, sitting atop the counter at Family Video. Steve shrugged, embarrassment welling up in his chest at your words, and the general topic of conversation.
“I was as surprised as you are now,” he said, twirling a company branded pen between his fingers and hoping the fidgeting would take his mind off of how absolutely mortified he was. “Because, like, Katie is hot.”
“Absolutely. Smokin’ hot.” Your voice was muffled around a twizzler, framed by perfectly made-up lips.
He made a face at your interruption, staring at you with narrowed eyes until you mimed zipping your mouth shut.
“And like, she’s got these great tits. Huge.” Really huge, fucking perfect tits. Not that he was a perv about it, but it was hard not to notice them. “And she’s pretty. And, you know, we were going at it at her apartment after our date and I swear I was into it. But…” He stopped twirling the pen so he could bury his face into his hands, mumbling the end of the sentence. “I couldn’t… cum, you know? I had to just fake it.”
“Fake it? Were you convincing?” you asked, brows furrowed. He peered up at you through the spaces between his fingers, at the quirk of a smile on your lips. “Maybe you should show me. I’m a visual learner.”
He threw the pen at you and groaned in frustration. “You’re an asshole, you know that right? This is serious.”
You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”
He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”
You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”
“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”
You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”
“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”
You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.
He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.
He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.
"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”
You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.
The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.
“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”
Steve smiled and turned on the charm.
Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.
Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.
The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.
But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.
“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.
Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.
“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”
——
His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.
“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”
She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”
“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.
He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?
What the fuck?
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”
“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.
He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.
He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.
“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?
“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”
“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”
His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”
“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”
Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”
You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”
You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.
“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”
He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”
“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”
“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”
Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”
“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”
The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.
“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”
“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”
You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.
“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”
“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”
You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.
He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.
You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.
He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.
“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.
Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?
Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.
“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”
It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?
“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”
With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.
He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.
Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.
“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.
“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”
Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.
She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.
You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.
“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.
It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.
“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”
“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.
You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”
“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“
“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”
He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.
And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?
You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.
His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?
“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”
There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.
He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.
He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.
This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.
And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.
Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.
He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.
“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.
A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”
He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.
It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.
The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.
There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.
His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.
“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?
“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”
He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.
You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”
His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.
You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”
Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.
It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.
“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”
You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”
You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.
“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.
You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”
“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.
You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.
“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”
——
“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.
“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.
It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.
Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.
God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?
“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”
Robin snorted. “I bet.”
“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”
Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.
“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.
Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.
His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.
Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.
Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?
He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.
Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.
He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.
You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.
You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.
Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”
You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”
The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.
But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.
——
Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.
It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.
The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.
”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.
You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”
Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).
He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.
His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”
“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.
His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”
You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”
His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.
“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”
“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”
His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”
You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.
He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”
“You’re hard right now.”
He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.
“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“
The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?
When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.
“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”
His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”
You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”
It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.
Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.
Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”
You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”
Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”
That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”
He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”
He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“
He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”
You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.
Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.
That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”
Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”
He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.
This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.
"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.
He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.
You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.
“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”
He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.
It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.
You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"
"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.
"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."
Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."
He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."
He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.
You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.
You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.
Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.
"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.
It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.
His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.
"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.
"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.
When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."
"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.
"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.
"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."
"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."
Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.
You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.
To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.
"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."
You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"
Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.
"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."
Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.
But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.
He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.
It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.
Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.
"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.
His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.
You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."
He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"
You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.
It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.
"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.
"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"
When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.
You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.
He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"
You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"
He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."
Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.
"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.
"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders
"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.
With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."
Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.
You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.
Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.
You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.
Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.
"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."
You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.
He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"
A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."
His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."
"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"
Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.
He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.
Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."
He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.
"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."
Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.
But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.
His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.
It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."
He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.
You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.
"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"
He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.
Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."
It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.
He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.
"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"
Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.
You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."
He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.
You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.
"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."
You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."
He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."
thank you so much for reading! i can't believe this has been in the works since 2023 and i FINALLY found the motivation to finish it!! i really hope you enjoyed, i had so much fun with this plotline :) let me know what you think!!
18+ a/n: one of the last few fics i have saved on a doc from my stranger things account i nuked in 2023 (@/eddiebaghetti) my pseudonym was soooo uggo, adah suits me way better,, enjoy !
steve who laughs the first time you get your hands on it because of that dumbfounded look you’re giving him. he knows it all too well, seen it about a hundred times.
you’re on the floor of the family video break-room kneeling between his legs. he feels like a freak with the way you’re staring at it, mouth agape, eyebrows disappearing into your hairline. god. he’s huge. thick too.
“you with me?” he asks. the question is strained, almost breathless. he knows, you realize. he knows exactly how bad you want to take it for a spin. maybe that’s why he indulges you, holding his cock by the base and feeding the thick tip into your mouth, palm fastened to the back of your head.
˚ ✧ ──
steve who doesn’t let you take him all at once the first time you have sex, placing a careful hand under your ass to keep you from sinking down all the way on not his throbbing dick.
you’re panting into his mouth, knees on either side of his thighs. you’ve been fucking yourself on his tip for 10 minutes, groaning at the stretch you feel.
steve groans when you clench down on him, eyes going wide. you want to tell him how pretty he looks, how gorgeous his lips are, all bitten and slack.
you test the waters by sinking down further, pushing past the resistance of his hand to take him halfway. a gasp forces its way past your lips. he’s huge, absolutely monstrous.
“fuckfuckfuck don’t hurt yourself.” he groans, throwing his head back against the pillow. he was losing his composure and fast. you hear none of it, bouncing harder in search of that sweet spot you need him to hit.
you want all of him, every inch, every ridge. you’d kneel between his legs all day if you could, mapping the veins of his cock with your tongue. the best part is? he’d let you.
you’re pulled out of your thoughts by a hand on your face. steve looks up at you from where his head lays sideways on the pillow, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the silky fabric.
“y’wanna take the whole thing?” he rasps, clearly defeated in the midst of your passion. “take it. fuckin’ size queen.”
the jab is laced with affection, you know that much when his hands settle around the dip of your waist. it’s not long before the room is filled with your shared whines again, the air growing thick with anticipation.
“ready?” he asks. you’re nodding before he can get the full word out, sinking down once more to finally let all of him fill you.
you aren’t even fully seated before your orgasm hits you, a wave of spasms reverberating out from your core. the sound steve let’s out is guttural, primal. a filthy precursor to the load of cum that fills you moments after.
This is my first time on tumblr- I’ve been writing on wattpad for years and never thought I’d start to write here but there’s a first time for everything so here I am! ( wattpad is corneliastreetss in case you wanna check it out!) this one isn’t great but better ones are coming<3
Pairing: Steve x female reader
SMUT! Lots of fluff and just Steve being extremely cute and boyfriend material <3
Steve was your escape. Whenever life was getting a bit too much for you, school or work related, he was always just your shoulder to lean on, making you feel better in any way he could.
Tonight wasn’t any different- you worked at a record store, and one of your colleagues- a male- was making your work life hell. Not only by being an asshole but also by making you feel extremely uncomfortable- so after one of many alterations, you decided to quit. It wasn’t an easy decision knowing your job was one of your favorite things ever- but you knew your boss wouldn’t dare to fire a male- even if he wasn’t a good person- so instead you quit.
You drove back to Steve’s house, heart aching knowing you would feel better in his arms just minutes later.
When you pulled up in his driveway- he heard the car door slam and made his way to the front door, not expecting you would show up this early.
As he opened the door, Steve immediately knew something was wrong- the look on your face, the puffy and red eyes, your demeanor was different and he could tell something had happened.
“Hey, what happened? “ he said making his way to you only to be attacked by a hug. You relaxed just as quick- breathing his sent and letting your stress get out of your system.
“ I quit.” You said in his chest as he pulled back, still holding you by your waist.
“ What do you mean you quit?” He furrowed his brows- concerned and confused.
“ My job. I quit. Higgings didn’t want me to go but since Matt’s a guy he couldn’t fire him over ‘a simple misunderstanding’ so I left.”
“ That asshole bothered you again?” Steve said- and you could almost vision the smoke coming out of his ears.
“ Yeah- can we get in? It’s freezing.” You said hoping this might change the subject.
“ Shit. Yeah, sorry come on.” He led you with a hand on your lower back, closing the door behind you once you were inside.
“ Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, taking your hand in his.
“Not really. I think I just wanna lay down and cuddle if that’s okay with you?”
“ Yeah, we can do that babe. I need to go check something, just make yourself comfortable alright?” He squeezed your hand as you nodded and made your way upstairs to his room.
And you did just what he said- you threw your coat across the room, your pants and shirt following as you went into Steve’s closet and found a button up shirt you always like to steal. You laid down and waited for Steve to come back.
The night went on as just you two cuddled and talked, until he said something that caught your attention.
“ You know, you could come work with Robin and I at Family Video. I could talk to Keith about it, plus we’re understaffed.”
You looked up at him- your head previously on his chest.
“ You would do that?”
“ Of course I would. I mean Robin would be happy, and we’d get to work together. Plus there’s a back room with plenty of space, so…” he said looking away teasing.
“Oh shut up.” You slapped his chest and both laughed hard- until you calmed down.
“ You’d like that?” He asked, putting a strand of hair behind your ear.
“ Yeah. I’d like that.” You smiled prepping kisses on his chest.
“You know, I was serious about the back room stuff, there’s plenty of space.” He said again.
“Oh yeah? To do what?” You said, imitating his grin.
“ I could show you.” He wiggled his brows and immediately got you on your back and climbed on top of you.
“Show me then.” You smiled like an idiot- you could use that distraction.
“Would start like that.” He said while prepping kisses along your jawline and neck, making you hum in response.
“Then what?” You asked, your eyes closed enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin.
“ I could do something like that.” He came up and kissed you, his hands traveling all over your body until reaching for his wanted destination.
Steve started parting your thighs all while kissing you, slowly making its way down to them as his free hand came to a stop- right at your entrance.
“Stop teasing.” You laughed on his lips- not breaking the kiss.
Steve smiled through the kiss and started touching you- pulled down your panties so he could have full access.
He broke the kiss only to start kissing along your jawline again-unbuttoning your shirt, making his way down to your stomach- and then to your spot.
Steve wasted no time- his mouth was on you in a second, making you feel like a piece of art.
It lasted awhile- him down on you, one hand inside while the other one cupped your breasts.
You tried not to make a sound until eventually your back started aching and you could not hold back.
“Steve.”
He could not hold back either, he needed you- you needed him so he pulled away and made his way back to your face, kissing you- so you could taste yourself.
The kiss was heated- knowing both of you could not hold back any longer- Steve put the condom around him as fast as he could and in just a second- he was back at your entrance.
“ Are you ready?” He whispered- already out of breath.
“Yes, Steve please.” You begged, your legs already around him, and fingernails ready to dig in his back.
After hearing you- Steve couldn’t wait anymore- the boy came crashing into you- sending you both into a moaning spree.
He would go faster- stronger whenever you asked- he was at your mercy and didn’t want this moment to stop.
“ Steve I’m close.” You said, out of breath too as you felt your body coming undone.
“ Me too baby.” He said in your neck- his head resting there as you dug your nails into his back- pulling his hair because of how much pleasure you were feeling.
It happened quick- both of you, at the same time- and it felt magical.
Steve’s head was still in your neck- both of you trying to recuperate from what had just happened.
“Fuck.” He whispered again as he pulled back, your body feeling lonely and empty the second he did.
Steve fell on your side on his back, both of you breathing loudly, sweating.
“ That was amazing.” You said and laughed, turning your head to look at him.
“ Yeah. That was pretty good.” He smiled at you- obviously joking.
“ Asshole.” You slapped his bicep- only for him to open his arms and cuddle with you- as you always did.
A few minutes passed- Steve cleaned and handed you new underwear and a shirt of his after you went to the bathroom and then laid back in his arms.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“ your stomach is growling, you hungry?” You asked hearing the sounds his stomach made under your head.
“Starving, actually.”
“Me too.” You replied- and an idea went through your mind.
“Want me to cook?” You asked, sitting up next to him- as he followed you.
“It’s past midnight, you sure?”
“Yeah, I wanna do it.”
“Y/N, take no offense in this, but last time you tried to cook you almost burned my house down.”
“ Because you were distracting me!” You defended- remembering what had happened that night.
“And I won’t now?” He asked, his brow raised.
“That’s your problem. What food you craving?”
“Pasta.” He answered
“Same. You got anything to go with it?”
“ Chicken, I think. My mom left it as if she thought I’d cook it.”
“ Well too bad for her, I’m gonna be the one to cook it. C’mon.” You made your way out of bed, Steve doing the same.
“I’ll help you. Get everything ready I’m just gonna take a shower real quick okay?” he said standing in the doorway.
“ Okay.” You smiled and got on your tiptoes to kiss him.
You both smiled as he pulled away and turned around.
It took around ten minutes for you to lay everything down- finding everything too.
Once you had- you started prepping everything only for Steve’s hands to come lay across your stomach, your back to his chest.
You smiled and turned around, putting your hands around his neck, and admiring how much taller than you he’s always been.
Steve looked at you with eyes you’d never seen before. It was adoration- pure bliss and love.
“What?” You said and laughed, flustered.
“You’re just very beautiful.” He said and put a strand of your hair back around your ear.
“Thank you, my love.” You said- obviously blushing but really happy.
“You’re beautiful too you know?” You said- his turn now to be flustered and blushing.
“ I know. Is it the hair?” He said sarcastically.
“Definitely the hair. I wonder what you’d look like bald.”
“Oh god I don’t ever wanna imagine.”
“Me neither.” And this sent you into a fit of laughter.
A few minutes later- Steve had decided to try to cook as you stood on the counter next to him, admiring and hoping he wouldn’t mess everything up-you really were hungry.
But eventually- Steve got distracted, coming to stand in between your legs, pulling you close and starting to kiss you passionately.
“Steve, babe.” You said against his lips.
“Hmm” he hummed against your lips, making you pull away.
“ Your chicken is burning.” You laughed and pointed at the pan.
“ Oh shit shit shit!”
You couldn’t wait for the future- and more nights like this one.
warnings. big dick!steve harrington, descriptions of male genitalia, mating press, doggy style, oral sex. this is more a blurb than a real fic (despite being 1.6k words)
hyde's input. did you sneak into the recordings of season 5 vol. 2 and somehow find out big dick steve was about to become canon?
Steve’s dick is big. Like, big big.
Eye-bulging, jaw-dropping, panty-soaking big. The kind you see for the first time and have to physically hold yourself back from flinching, from panicking, because how the hell is all of that, all of him supposed to fit inside of you?
Of course, the panic is a little presumptuous of you — it’s not like Steve has even so much as expressed any interest in you, much less implied he would ever want to try fit his gargantuan cock inside of you. In fact, the only reason you even see it is by accident.
A day at the pool, something organised in a last ditched effort to not have the summer of eighty-five end on the depressing note of losing a father and a friend. Things aren’t normal, but they’re getting there, one Harrington hang-out at a time.
Dustin is the criminal, the one charged with ruining your life, for it’s he who has the bright idea to stroll up behind Steve — who is in the middle of passionately ranting to you about how awful he and Robin’s new boss is — and pants him.
The plan goes a little too according to plan, leaving Steve naked from the waist down, too startled by what just happened to collect himself fast enough for you to not notice. The inviting trail of coarse hair, guiding your eyes from navel to pubic bone. The wider-than-a-handful thickness, so much weigh to him you figure that surely it must hurt to walk with that thing constantly in the way. The absurd length, not even hard yet hanging over halfway down his thigh. The veins, decorating the pale of his skin with a blue hue. The mushroomed tip, a bulbous blush of pink that practically begs for a little loving to be given to it. The matching set of balls, heavy with the cum of a man’s whose libido is through the roof yet his sex life is as dry as wheat.
When Steve finally reacts, a slurry of curses aimed directly at the Henderson boy, you know it’s too late. You fucked up, stared too long, and now he’s caught you, wide-eyed and no doubt drooling over the sight of his flaccid dick.
Where you expect him to tease you, or even acknowledge your wandering eye with a wink, the fucker decides to simply stare you down as he tugs his swim shorts back up and tucks himself back into place.
From that day onward, you’re cursed with knowing what he’s packing beneath those too-tight jeans.
You try your best to forget about it, to not notice how much the crotch of his pants always seem to bulge; to not stare when he sits down and has to physically spread his legs apart, just to get comfortable. Try not to think about it that one time you’re all scrambling into the back of a van, running from the law, and a crowding problem forces you to crawl onto Steve’s lap, leaving you with the burden of feeling him the rest of the bumpy drive, poking at your back with every speed-bump Nancy hastily speeds over.
Eventually, time grants you freedom: you forget all about Steve and his massive dick.
Which would be great, if it didn’t come back to bite you — and someday fuck you — in the ass. Because Steve ; sweet, lovesick, cotton-candy hearted Steve finally lets desperate times call for desperate measures when, after nearly watching you twist and snap in every direction, eyes rolled back and mind caught in Vecna’s dimension, he finally fesses up.
Tells you all about his feelings, long realised and even longer hidden. All about how he used to switch his shifts around at the scoops, just to see your face a little longer. About how he used to take the bus to school, despite having a perfectly drivable car, just to sit next to you. About how Dustin is forever teasing him, in moments when you turn your back, mocking his love-struck features every time he so much as looks at you.
Safe to say, Steve Harrington finally gets himself a date.
One date leads to another, leads to a month, leads to — Oh no.
Because, while taking things slow had been more forced on you by life and all its extenuating circumstances, it had certainly not helped you remember one crucial detail about your precious, hair-obsessed, charmingly confident boyfriend…
Until the problem is glaring you in the face.
Splayed atop his bedsheets, already four — or is it five? — orgasms deep, remnants of your own ecstasy staining his chin and his fingers in a sheen of wetness, you go from love-drunk to stone-cold sober in a matter of seconds, as soon as Steve conquers the clasp if his belt and shucks off his jeans, only to reveal a site you had worked a little too hard to forget.
His cock, massive and slapping up against his stomach, smudging his porcelain smooth skin with a bud of precum.
“Steve, that’s- Wow- It’s too big,” god, don’t you just feel so silly in that moment, blood battling to rush to your cheeks and your clit all at once. As much as the sight is fear inducing, you can’t ignore the fact a part of you wants him, cunt already clenching around nothing at the mere thought of having him stretch it nice and wide. “It won’t fit!”
“Oh, I-” Pretty as ever, Steve has the modesty to chuckle, hand taking a hold of his dick and giving himself a slow, purposeful pump, like he is trying to tease himself. Clearly it works, for a shiver ripples through him and the tiniest, choked out groan escapes him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re gonna make it fit, okay? You and me, gonna train her to take me, all of me. Can take it as slow as you need, feed it to you little by little. Just- I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”
You both make an admirable attempt, truly, yet you wind up tapping out, gushing around him for the sixth time that evening, when he’s barely breached halfway in — and still you feel like he is in your guts, reorganising your organs to make way for his cock.
One would assume you would get used to his impressive length, the longer the you not just see it but feel it, taste it, milk him for all he’s worth… One would be wrong.
Because there is no getting used to this.
To how he consumes you from the inside out, pinning your knees to your chest, your ankles locked behind his head, while he continues to grind down into you in sloppy, barely-there rolls of his hips, too many inches of him burrowed deep within your cunt for either of you to do anything other than gasp into one another’s mouths, letting the world roll by while you lose yourself in one another atop the mattress, grasping at flesh and babbling out songs of praise.
To how deep he reaches in your throat, forcing your eyes to a water while your throat muslces seize around the head of his dick, fighting to extract him yet welcoming him deeper the further down you sink your mouth on him. It’s a bathroom break, a tiny window in which Robin has ran out of the radio booth to relieve herself, leaving you and Steve the perfect chance to, well, relieve yourselves. Head back, pupils blown out, hand tangling in your hair, Steve loses himself in the feeling and fucks into your throat, groaning louder with every victorious gag he feels and hears, followed swiftly by pathetic whines for more of him, evidence of just how good it makes you feel to make him feel this way.
To how, when things go wrong and tensions run high, you are the one he reaches for at the first sign of reprieve. Bent over the nearest surface, relieved of any clothing denying him of access to your cunt, it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself drooling, with your eyes rolling into the back of your skull while Steve takes all that frustration out on you, fucking you from behind and showing you just how deep he can reach, he can fuck you, especially when he’s too far gone to care for decency, to worry about going too hard or too deep. Unrestricted, unabashed, these are the times where Steve Harrington gives you the best and most of him, sinking right down to the hilt and watching you choke on your own breath, no doubt feeling him somewhere in your lungs.
The absolute worst part of Steve’s well-endowment isn’t that he practically has you dickmatised. No, the worst part is that he has no clue. Truly, he is humble and in denial about his size to the point where, at first, you had mistaken it for a feigned politeness, the kind of thing one must do because it is the societal norm.
But then you began to notice it. The shy glances, the hesitant smiles, the shakes of his head when you’re lost in the sauce, babbling in his ear about how he must own the greatest cock mother nature ever made, something only the most erotic and bodice-ripper novellas could come up with — yet here it is on a simple Sunday morning, plugging you full of his cum in the afterglow of lazy lovemaking, the perfect way to start a perfect day.
So, in conclusion, Steve’s dick is big. So big. Please make sure you tell him this as much as possible, preferably while it’s several inches inside of you, because despite that charming smile and easy-breezy attitude, he’s just a man looking to be told how good he is — even in the most superficial, debaucherous, primal ways.
“Steve hears that all the time and he goes in anyway, don’t you Steve?”
Robin’s words had yet to leave your mind since she said them in front of everyone at the WSQK station.
You know Robin meant well, a harmless, funny sex joke. A throwaway line meant to lighten the suffocating mood as you all faced yet another apocalypse due to Vecna. Unfortunately for you, it just made the already existing pit of anxiety in your stomach grow tenfold.
Your relationship with Steve was new enough as is.
Hell, you didn't even know what you were really doing here with these people who were trying to save the world anyways. The knowing, slightly suggestive looks that had flickered between everyone after Robin’s joke only solidified that feeling, making you want to shrink into the floorboards.
Steve instantly shot Robin a pointed, silencing look and genuinely asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He turned to you after, sensing you retreat further into the seat behind him. He placed a soft kiss to the side of your head and rubbed your arm lovingly hoping to ease you a bit..
But the damage was done.
That queasy feeling lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest and refused to leave.
It had been three days since then. Three days of Steve’s warm hand finding yours, of his comforting presence on your couch, of his soft kisses goodnight at your door.
And three days of you quietly, systematically, building a wall.
Not intentionally. Never intentionally.
You still kissed him, still leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, still loved him—god, you loved him—but everything stopped short. Kisses didn’t linger for more than three seconds. Hands didn’t wander. The moment it felt like it could lead somewhere, your chest tightened and you pulled away.
You were in his bed now, at his house, a rare moment of peace stolen in the midst of the ever-looming dread of whatever was happening in Hawkins. His arm was around you, a rerun of your favorite show playing and casting a blue glow over the room. He was tracing idle patterns on your shoulder with his thumb.
Your mind couldn’t help but wander.
Steve was your first real boyfriend. Your first everything. And you were… you were a virgin. It wasn’t a secret, not really. Steve knew. He’d never pushed, never made you feel anything less than adored.
You were both content with the slow and sweet pace you had set and just relished as much as you could in the dizzying newness of falling in love.
But now Robin’s comment had dragged the unspoken into the harsh light.
You knew of his past, ‘King Steve.’
You also didn’t really care at the time, but now. Now, it made your own inexperience feel like a gaping chasm between you. What if you were terrible? What if he was bored?
And god was he actually that big?
Your breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound.
Steve’s thumb stilled. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, too quickly, nestling closer as if to prove it. You tilted your face up for a kiss, a peace offering to your own paranoid thoughts.
He met you halfway, his lips soft and familiar. It started like all your kisses did, sweet, a little hesitant on your part. But then Steve, maybe sensing your need for reassurance, deepened it slightly. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his tongue swiping gently against your lower lip.
A jolt of panic shot through you. You froze. Then you pulled back, breaking the kiss after only a few seconds, turning your face into his chest.
You felt him go still. The hand on your jaw dropped. The arm around you tensed. The laugh track from the TV sounded cruel and mocking.
“Baby, can we talk about this?” Steve’s voice was low, carefully neutral.
“About what?” you mumbled into his t-shirt, playing dumb. Your heart was a frantic bird against your ribs.
“You know what. What Robin said. I know it got into your head. You’ve been acting weird ever since.”
“I’m not acting weird.” The protest was weak, even to your own ears.
Steve shifted, pulling back just enough so he could see your face. In the flickering light, his expression was painfully earnest, etched with a concern that made you want to cry. He nodded slowly. “Okay then.”
He leaned in and kissed you again. It was a test, and you both knew it. He poured everything into it—all the affection, the worry, the sheer Steve-ness of him. It was the kind of kiss that usually made your toes curl, that made the world shrink to just the two of you.
But still, after three seconds you pulled away.
A small, distressed noise escaped you, and you physically untangled yourself, pushing back against his chest.
“See,” Steve said, and the hurt in his voice was evident. He sat there, running a hand through his perfect hair, making it endearingly messy.
“You are being weird. You hardly want to touch me now, you pull away, and I just… fuck.” He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want it to be like this. Not with everything going on. I mean, you heard them in there. Shit’s probably gonna hit the fan any day now. I don’t want things to be weird between you and me when it does.”
He looked at you, his brown eyes wide and vulnerable. “I love you, baby. You know that, right?”
“I know, Steve, I love you too,” you whispered, tears finally spilling over. “Robin just got in my head a bit. I’m… I’m scared.”
“Of me?” He looked horrified.
“No! Well, kind of. Not you, per se..” You swiped at your cheeks, frustrated. “Of um… of that.”
You gestured downwards.
Oh, Steve thought.
You could see it register in his brain but you continued anyway.
“You know I’ve never done this before. So it kind of freaked me out. Robin being right, that yo-you’re big. Too big. What if it doesn’t fit or what if—” The words tumbled out quickly before you could stop them.
“Oh,” he breathed. He reached for you slowly, stopping just short, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”
You shook your head, voice barely there. “Sorry, I’m being stupid—”
“No, no you’re not stupid.” Steve interrupted your rambling firmly, “Firstly, Robin’s an idiot, who shouldn’t have said that. And second, we don't have to do anything. Ever. I mean that. If the idea of me... down there... is scary, we don't have to do anything about it until you're ready.
“But I am ready,” you whispered, the confession torn from you. “I want you. I'm just... intimidated. By the... logistics.”
A soft, genuine smile touched his lips.
“Logistics, huh,” He squeezed your hand. "We can make it a little less intimidating. If you want.”
You blinked. “How?”
“Get you used to it. So it's not some big, scary uh, thing. It's just... a part of me.” His cheeks went faintly pink, but his gaze was steady on your eyes.
“You could... touch me. Just to see. No pressure or expectations. We don't even have to take our clothes all the way off. Just so you know what you're dealing with. So it's not so scary in your head.”
The offer was so vulnerable, so utterly Steve—turning his own body into a teaching tool to ease your fear—that your heart squeezed.
“Okay,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.
He nodded, his eyes soft. “Okay. You lead, alright? Whatever you want.”
With trembling fingers, you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. He lifted his hips slightly to help you, his movements careful and non-threatening. You pushed the soft fabric down, your eyes widening as he sprang free.
Up close, the reality of him was even more…daunting. And Robin was 100% right. Steve was huge. Thick and heavy, already half-hard just from the intimacy of the moment. You stared, a mix of awe and that old fear swirling in your gut.
“You can touch it,” he murmured encouragingly, his voice a low rasp. “It's just skin. It's just me.”
Hesitantly, you wrapped your fingers around the base. He was warm, the skin surprisingly soft and velvety over the rigid core of him. You gave a tentative stroke, and he hissed in a sharp breath, his stomach muscles clenching.
“Sorry!” you yelped, pulling your hand back.
“Don't be sorry,” he gasped, a breathless laugh escaping him. “That's uh... that's the point. It's sensitive. It's okay. You're not gonna break it, I promise.” He guided your hand back, covering it with his own for a moment before letting go. “See? It's just a part of me. It reacts to you. That's all.”
Emboldened, you explored him, your touch growing surer. You learned the weight of him in your palm, the way the head swelled under your thumb, the way his breathing hitched when you traced a certain vein. The fear began to recede, replaced by a fascinated curiosity.
And Steve was just as patient as he promised, letting you learn him and touch him so intimately.
“See?” he whispered after a few minutes, his voice strained. “Not so scary when it's just us, right?”
You shook your head, a real smile touching your lips for the first time in days. “No, not so scary.”
He leaned in and kissed you then, deep and slow and full of a promise that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with trust. When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes were serious. “We can stop right here. This is already more than enough.”
You looked from his earnest face down to where your hand still rested on him, feeling the throbbing heat of him. The anxiety was a quiet hum now, the love, the want, now that was louder.
“I don't want to stop,” you said, and you meant it.
Steve shakes his head, reaching for his pants, “Baby—”
“Steve.” you cut him off sharply, the heat between your legs getting warmer. You needed this and you were ready. “Please. I’m sure.”
“Okay, if you’re completely sure,” Steve starts, but you interrupt again.
“I am.”
“Okay, alright,” Steve says, as if he's talking himself up now. He pulls your body closer to him and places a deep kiss on your lips.
Steve stayed true to his word. He talked you through everything making sure nothing was intimidating, his voice a low, soothing rasp in the quiet room.
“Just gonna take this off, okay?” he murmured, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You nodded, lifting your arms, and he peeled it away, his eyes drinking you in a way that made you feel beautiful, not exposed. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
His own clothes followed, and your breath caught. You’d seen him without a shirt before, but this was different. In the dim light, he was all lean muscle and smooth skin, broad and solid. Hot. A fresh flutter of anxiety arose.
Steve saw it. He just kissed your shoulder, his hand splaying over your stomach. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “We’ll go so slow, I promise. You set the pace, remember.”
You nodded, ready.
He touched you like you were made of spun glass, his hands and mouth mapping your body, learning what made you gasp and arch off the mattress. Steve used his fingers first, making sure to take extra care stretching you gently, watching your face intently for any sign of discomfort.
As comfortable with him as you might be now, that still didn’t take away from the fact that he was still going to have to put it in, and you needed to be prepped properly. So he fingered you expertly, making sure to work his way up to three fingers so that he knew you were ready to take him.
“You’re doing so good,” he praised, kissing your temple. “So perfect for me.”
Steve made you come on his hand and then in his mouth, making sure you were absolutely soaked before he settled between your legs. He was propped on his elbows, his face close to yours. The tip of him pressed against you, and you both froze.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself. You took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He began to push forward, an inch of impossible, burning fullness. You stiffened, a small gasp escaping, clenching instinctively.
He stopped immediately. “Too much?”
“Just uh… a lot,” you panted, then got worried. “You sure it'll fit?”
“It will, baby,” Steve assured you with a gentle kiss. “I know, I know, just breathe for me.”
He dropped his forehead against yours, his own breathing ragged. He didn’t move, letting you adjust and relax your muscles, peppering your face with soft kisses. “Tell me when.”
You focused on his eyes, on the love and patience shining there. You focused on the feeling of him, a stretch that was slowly growing. You shifted your hips, experimentally.
A groan ripped from Steve’s throat. “Fuck…”
“More,” you whispered. “Please, Steve.”
He obeyed, sinking another inch, then another, in a slow, relentless glide that stole the air from your lungs. The feeling of being filled, utterly and completely, was overwhelming.
He was so big, stretching you to a limit you couldn’t have imagined, but the burn was edged with a piercing pleasure that grew with every millimeter he sunk into you.
His large dick, forced your walls open, stretching you out for the first time nice and wide.
Steve bites his lip hard to keep himself from sinking into you too fast. Your squelching cunt makes it difficult to restrain himself, especially because it makes an obscene sound with every inch he pushes into you.
The whole time, your muscles can’t help but flutter and try to suck him deeper while also trying to reject his prominent bulge from splitting you open.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his body trembling with restraint. “You’re taking me so good. So perfect. All of it, baby, just like that.”
Steve must’ve spent at least twenty minutes just feeding you his dick slowly, all at your own, agonizingly slow pace. You could feel the veins and thick head that were just in your hands molding you to fit him inside.
At the halfway mark, you look up at him, with large teary eyes. “Steve.”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Can you just put it all the way in?”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah, I just want it over with. Please.”
“Alright, I can do that for you sweetheart. Take a deep breath for me, okay.”
You nod rapidly, not wanting to look and turning your head to the side. Steve takes that as an opportunity to latch on to your exposed neck, sucking hard to distract you from the stretch you were about to feel.
You count to three in your head, then inhale deeply. Before you can even finish taking a full breath, Steve sinks the rest of the way in.
“Mmph fuck.” you cry out at the pain, “God, Steve.”
“You okay, still with me?”
You didn’t really think you were.
The first half felt like nothing in comparison to this half. Steve only seemed to get bigger as he got closer to his base and god did you feel it. His warm body now pressed to yours completely, feeling the shared and growing stickiness between you two.
You felt a little dizzy at the feeling. Steve stilled again, letting you feel the fullness and getting readjusted to his length. “Look at that?” he whispered, his voice raw. “My girl taking me so well. See, nothing to be worried about. You were made for me, baby.”
He began to move then, with a rhythm that was gentle and painfully slow at first, then growing more confident as your body welcomed him, opening up, meeting his thrusts with tiny movements of your own.
The earlier fear was gone, completely burned away by the heat he thrusted into your core. He was everywhere—his scent, his sweat, his whispered praises in your ear, the solid wall of his chest against yours.
“Steve,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of his back.
“I know, baby, I know,” he repeated, his rhythm faltering for a second as he fought for control. “You’re so tight, so perfect. Gonna make me lose it.”
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, arching into him. The coil of pleasure in your lower belly was winding tighter, a pressure building that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
“Not gonna stop,” he promised, his voice gravelly with strain. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next thrust sent a shockwave of pure, white-hot pleasure through you. You cried out, your vision blurring at the edges.
“There?” he breathed, doing it again. “That the spot?”
You could only nod, words stolen by the sensation. He focused on that angle, his movements becoming more purposeful, driving you relentlessly towards the edge. His own breathing grew more ragged, his thrusts losing a fraction of their perfect control.
“Come for me,” he urged, his lips brushing your ear. “Let go. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
It was the permission you didn’t know you needed. Your body seized, a silent scream caught in your throat as pleasure radiated out from your core. Your walls clamped down on him in a series of frantic, fluttering pulses, milking him deeply.
The sensation was too much for Steve. With a ragged, broken groan of your name, he buried his face in your neck and followed you over, his own release pumping into you in hot, pulsing waves. His hips jerked through the last few, shallow thrusts before he stilled, collapsing heavily against you.
For a long time, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing mingling in the quiet room, the frantic beat of his heart against your chest slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening now.
Finally, Steve stirred, pressing a soft, damp kiss to your shoulder before carefully pulling out. You winced at the sudden emptiness, a faint, oversensitive ache settling in.
He immediately gathered you against him, tucking your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you in a secure, possessive hold.
“You still doing okay?” he murmured.
You were more than okay. You were boneless, spent, a little sore and very cockdrunk, but utterly, completely at peace.
You tilted your head back to look at him. In the dim light, his hair was a wreck, his face flushed, his lips swollen from kissing. He looked utterly debauched and more beautiful than you’d ever seen him. A soft, sated smile played on his lips.
“Better than okay,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Let me go get you cleaned up, I’ll be right back.”
He slipped from the bed, moving with grace. You watched him pad naked to the connected bathroom, the sight of his strong back and the easy confidence in his movements sending a warm, drowsy aftershock through you. You heard the soft rush of water in the sink.
He returned a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth. His expression was soft, focused entirely on you. “Just gonna make you more comfortable,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Steve was gentle, so incredibly gentle, as he wiped the cooling sweat and combined release from your stomach and thighs. He was methodical, folding the cloth to a clean section.
But then you saw his hand pause, his brows drawing together for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked down to the cloth, then quickly back to your face, a mask of calm slipping over his features a little too fast.
He tried to subtly turn the cloth over, to hide the side he’d been using.
But you’d already seen it. A vivid smudge of red against the pale cloth.
Your breath caught. A cold spike of panic shot through the warm haze of your afterglow. Blood. You’d known it could happen, logically, but seeing it… it made everything feel suddenly real and intense. Not to mention taking someone that big for your first time. What if he accidentally ripped you apart?
“Steve—”
Steve saw the shift in your eyes and immediately dropped the cloth onto the nightstand and cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.
“Hey, look at me, baby,” he said, his voice low and firm, anchoring you. “It's okay. It's completely normal. It doesn't mean anything is wrong. It's just a little bit. It's okay.”
Steve searched your face, his gaze unwavering. “Does anything hurt more than it should? Are you okay?”
You relaxed a bit, shifting your gaze and trying to take a mental inventory. There was a deep, pleasant ache, a feeling of being thoroughly used in the best way, and a sting where he’d been. Sharp, but not too alarming. Just the evidence of his size and your obvious newness.
You shook your head. “No. No, I'm okay. A bit sore. Just… seeing it surprised me.”
He nodded, understanding. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, a slow, lingering press of his lips. “I know. It's a lot. But you're okay. I've got you.”
He finished cleaning you up quickly, disposing of the cloth, then helped you sit up. “C'mon, let's get you to the bathroom. It'll help.”
Steve slid an arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you stood on wobbly legs, and walked you there. He waited just outside the door, giving you privacy but staying close enough that you could call out if you needed him. When you were done, he was there, helping dress you in PJs, which swallowed you whole, smelling like his soap and his skin.
Steve led you back to bed, which he’d already straightened, pulling back the covers. He guided you in, then climbed in beside you, immediately drawing you into his chest.
You arranged your limbs around him, tucking your head under his chin, his arms a solid band around you.
Steve placed soft, sleepy loving kisses to you, and you felt your body getting more heavy with exhaustion, your mind drifting on the edge of sleep.
Just before you slipped under, a thought, clear and undeniable, floated to the surface of your drowsy mind. You nuzzled closer, your lips brushing the skin of his chest.
“Steve?” you whispered, your voice slurred with sleep.
“Hmm?” he hummed, already half-gone.
A sleepy, utterly genuine smile curved your lips against his skin. “You're fucking huge.”
A silent shudder of laughter went through him. You felt the grin spread across his face even though you couldn't see it. He tightened his arms around you, pressing a smiling kiss into your hair.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and smug, fond satisfaction. “I know.”
warnings: very raunchy, smoking, daddy kink, self indulgent asf
Imagine…
You’re hunched over a textbook, half-skimming through a page of assigned reading for a college course you were rather ardently persuaded into taking. It wasn’t long before you realized the class was pointless. Now you only do the homework half the time; your designated study time is when your boyfriend is working and you’re tucked away in his warmly-lit apartment off campus. It always smells like cheap, waxy candles— the tall ones you burn in old bottles that melt and run boundlessly —and sex. You two can’t help it, fucking like rabbits all over the place. Despite the ten years he has on you, he never grows too tired to appease you. It also smells like weed, sometimes. Cigarettes, often.
He gets home from the studio late into the night, purple circles decorating his eyes and dark curls veiling his forehead. He’s almost immediately on the couch beside you, sinking into the worn-out cushions. His scruff grazes your bare thigh as he stoops his head, placing tender kisses along the skin.
“‘M gotta finish this reading, Cal,” you tell him. All he says is “no, wanna fill you up.” His lips tickle your exposed flesh as he talks into it. “‘m so close to being done?” It’s a valiant effort, sure, but pointless nonetheless. He shakes his head, whole demeanour tainted with a relentless impatience.
The books lazily pulled from your hands and tossed onto the floor. You have on nothing but your tiny panties and a huge, faded t-shirt of his. It always drives him crazy seeing you in the clothes he wore at your age.
“You gonna be nice to me?” You ask, sugary. “Yea, baby, ‘m always nice.” Cal loves watching the way you react when he gets mean after promising to be sweet to you. You morph into a mess of pouts and murmurs; he’ll push the hair and spit off your face and bat your cheeks with the palm of his hand. It stings but there’s no pain, well, any that’s unwelcome, that is. If he’s giving it, it’s not more than you can take.
“Okay,” you say. That’s all it takes. His shirt finds its home on the floor, your panties follow. Bending you over the arm of the couch is almost a second nature to him, as is the way his large, tattooed hands bracket your waist and make you feel secure and delicate. It’s like your pussy is molded to fit his cock. He reminds you of that every time he slips in, and releases a sigh. He starts gentle, nice. He does that a lot, but only to amplify when his strokes turn bruising. And they do. It’s like he’s searching for something in the depths of your form, something divine.
“That’s my good little girl— oh, oh fuck,” his hand snakes around from its vise-like grip on your ass to your belly, firmly placing his hand under your navel and pressing, he asks right by your ear, “can you feel me? ‘M so deep, baby. So, so deep.” He’s punching your guts; you doubt you’ll ever get used to the sensation: “‘s too much, you said you’d be—” that earns you a correctional smack on the ass and you whine.
“Make me proud, baby,” and he’s spilling into you, hot and sticky and white.
†
You’re on your knees below him; he’s blowing out a thick veil of smoke, derived from his second cigarette that’s life is fleeting with every long drag. The ashtray beside him seems to gleam in the dim light of his apartment. The smoke stings your eyes as he blows it in your direction, contributing to the redness around the rim of your glossy eyes and tears already cascading down your ruddy cheeks. You’re now coughing lightly around his cock as you choke and gag on the size of it along with the smoke. He’s telling you in a gravely, low tone to “don’t be such a fucking baby” and “take it” as you begin to writhe.
“Aw, look at you, wiggling for me. Acting all pathetic… I know you’re not really that pitiful.” He smirks, cigarette bud perched on his full lips. It’s wide enough for his teeth to stare back at you, but small enough for it personal, only yours. You show off all your pretty teeth in a knowing, mischievous grin framed by swollen lips and spit in return. He cums across your face with a finishing, punched-out groan.
You love to play with it with your tongue, blowing spit bubbles with his release and your accumulated saliva. He loves watching you be so juvenile; you're his sweet little slut, after all.
†
You’re begging and shifting under him as he teases your slick hole with the head of his thick cock. It’s a maddening pattern, the way he’s slowly pushing in and having you stretch around him, then pulling out all lazy. His eyes are tired as they bore into yours and his shallow strokes are indolent.
He asks you, “no one your age could do it for you, could they, baby?” You throw your head side to side, needing him close—closer than skin, deeper than breath. “My greedy girl… needs every inch of my grown dick.” The tanned, pliant skin of his soft stomach melts into yours as he finally lets his dick sink into you fully.
You feel him everywhere, the way his hot skin is fused to yours at what feels like every possible point; his eyes locked on yours, even though now they’re slipping back into his skull as he fucks into your soft, warm cunt; his breath on your face. It smells of toothpaste and lingering cigarette smoke.
His biceps are hard and taunt under a layer of plush flesh; they feel dizzying as they wrap around your head and neck, cradling you. He’s squeezing and the way you fall lightheaded intensifies the feeling of him being embedded inside you; he grazes your g spot and kisses your cervix with every thrust.
His voice sounds so fucked-out and taunting when he demands: “tell me my name, baby.” Your mind screams compliance, “daddy… d- fuck, you’re right there; always right there, fucking me perfect, daddy.” He loves hearing you, “can anyone else fuck you like me?” You shake your head with fervor, “no, daddy. Only you, just you.”
He knocks on your door after dark. That’s the first warning. He never used to knock. He’d show up with a breathless “hey,” let himself in like it was still 1985 and nothing bad had ever happened. Like he was still the boy who would carry you over puddles, grin through bruises, put himself between you and the monsters like it was his job. But that Steve doesn’t knock anymore. That Steve is dead not by Demogorgon or dimension, but by something quieter.
He still looks like him. That’s the worst part. Same golden skin. Same tousled hair. Same lips you used to dream about kissing in the back seat of his car while “Should I Stay or Should I Go” played on the radio. But his eyes they’re colder now. Not dead, not empty.
Calculating.
Like he sees you everything in you and already knows how to use it. You shouldn’t open the door. You know this. But your hand moves anyway.He’s leaning against the frame when you let him in, jacket hanging off one shoulder, eyes scanning you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat.
“You weren’t gonna answer?” he asks. His voice is smooth, deliberate. “Thought maybe you’d forgotten me.”
You don’t know what to say, so you step aside, and he brushes past with that scent —cedarwood, cologne, and something darker beneath it. You barely hear yourself close the door behind him.
“You look good,” he says. Then, slowly, “Better than I remember.”
His tone is laced with something a challenge, a claim.
You force a smile. “You were here last week.”
He shrugs. “Still true.”
When you look up, he’s closer than he was a second ago. No sound, no footsteps just there, right in front of you. You take a step back instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go. The wall meets your spine before you know you’re retreating.
And Steve?
He just smiles.
“That’s cute,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “You still pretending you’re scared of me?”
You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. His gaze drops to your lips. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
It’s not like he’s violent. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t lash out. But there’s no room anymore no softness, no hesitation. Not in the way he speaks, or touches, or moves. Not in the way he watches you like he’s measuring out all the places he could sink his teeth.
It started months ago. After the gates opened, after the dust settled. You’d thought he’d changed from grief. From trauma.But now you understand. He liked what he became. He doesn’t want the world to be soft again. He doesn’t want to go back. And maybe — deep down — you don’t either.
Because the Steve in front of you doesn’t beg.
He takes. “Tell me you want this,” he says, voice low.
He has you pressed to the wall now, one thigh between yours, the heat of him unbearable even through your clothes.
“I—” Your voice catches. You try again. “I shouldn’t.”
He smiles like he’s already won. “But you do.”
His hand trails up your thigh, slow and sure, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. You should push him away. You should say no.
But all you do is breathe, “Yes.”
And that’s all he needs. By the time he carries you to your bed, you’re gasping against his mouth. He kisses like he’s starving — like he missed your taste every second he was gone and now he’s making up for lost time. Clothes come off in pieces. His hands never stop moving. He unzips your dress with a slow precision, watching it slide from your shoulders like a silk offering. Your bra is gone in a blink. Your panties follow with a tug of his fingers.You’re exposed. Raw. Breathless. And he looks at you like he’s devouring every inch.
“You know,” he says, dragging his thumb across your nipple, “I used to dream about this.”
His hand cups between your thighs, fingers sliding through the heat already pooling there. “But not like this. Not with you trembling. Not with you this wet, this ready, knowing I’m not the boy you used to love.” You arch into him, aching. He lowers his mouth to your breast, teeth grazing your skin. “You still want me?”
Your voice is nothing. A breath. “Yes.”
“You want the real me?” He slides a finger inside you. Then another. His voice darkens. “The one who doesn’t stop when you beg?”
You shudder. “Please.”
And that’s all he needs. The room feels charged, like the air thickens the longer he looks at you. His fingers trail over your skin like he’s cataloging you. Possessing you, cell by cell.
“Lie back,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let me see you.”
You do pulse racing, breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath his gaze.
Steve drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, spreading you gently. His touch is slow. Careful, almost reverent — which only makes the heat in his eyes that much more dangerous.
“God,” he mutters. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to your knee, then higher — to the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, the soft skin just beside where you want him most. His stubble grazes you, and you twitch under his mouth.
“Sensitive?” he asks, smirking.
“Steve, please…”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
You bite your lip. “Touch me.”
“Oh, I am.” He licks a slow line along your inner thigh, but doesn’t give you what you need. His voice darkens. “Just not where you want yet.”
His hands grip your hips, holding you open as he finally lowers his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue is torturously slow — flat and firm, dragging up your slit until your hips jerk and a broken moan escapes your lips. He groans in response, burying his face deeper.
“Fuck,” he whispers against you. “You’re already dripping.”
He eats you out like he means it. No teasing now — just pure, focused hunger. His tongue swirls and flicks, his lips suckle your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs shake. He moans into you like you’re his favorite meal, and the sound goes straight through your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you grind against his face, no shame now. Every part of you is alive and wanting. He pulls back only to slide two fingers into you, curling them perfectly as he returns to your clit with relentless attention.
“Cum for me,” he growls, voice raw. “I want to feel it.”
Your whole body arches. The pressure crests hard and fast, and you shatter around his hand with a cry you couldn’t suppress if you tried. He keeps going through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling, soaked and spent. But he’s not done. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing, cock straining against his jeans.
“You ready for me?” he asks.
You nod, still dazed.
He strips quickly, every inch of him golden and hard and perfect. But when he climbs over you, presses the head of his cock to your entrance — he pauses.
“You sure you want this version of me?” he asks, voice quiet.
You cup his face. “I want you. All of you.”
His eyes darken. “Then take it.”
He pushes inside, slow giving you every thick inch. The stretch is intense. Your breath catches. He fills you completely, until he’s seated to the hilt, buried so deep you feel him in your stomach.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so tight.” He stays still for a moment, eyes locked on yours, chest heaving.
Then he begins to move.Each thrust is deliberate — deep, slow, dominant. He rocks into you like he wants to claim every part of you, and you let him. The world shrinks to nothing but this bed, this moment, this man inside you who used to be soft but now owns you.
“Look at you,” he pants, watching your face twist in pleasure. “You love it. You love how deep I am. How full you feel.”
You can’t speak only moan, only nod.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you gasp. “I’m—yours.”
He fucks you harder. Your nails rake down his back. His name leaves your mouth over and over, like a prayer to the corrupted god he’s become. And he drinks it all in. When he grabs your thigh and hooks it over his shoulder, the new angle sends shocks through you.
You’re going to cum again.
“Steve—fuck—please—”
“Let go,” he growls, voice breaking. “Cum on my cock. Now.”
You shatter again, harder this time — pulsing around him, your body clenching so tight it pulls a curse from his throat. His rhythm falters. Then he thrusts once, twice and cums with a ragged moan, burying himself as deep as he can, spilling inside you with heat that leaves you shaking. You lie tangled together in the sheets, both of you flushed and sweating, limbs knotted like vines.
His hand brushes your cheek. You expect the sharpness to return. The arrogance. But instead, his voice is quiet. Raw.
“I don’t think I know how to stop wanting you.”
You whisper, “I don’t want you to.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s not used to being allowed to feel.
Then he smirks. “You’re mine now. No take-backs.”
You press your forehead to his. “Good.”
Because it’s true.
You’re his.
And some part of you — the part that used to be scared — is glad he never gave you a choice.
