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elfenbensord · 1 month ago

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for anonymous - thank you for voting!!! hope you like this hehe <3

contains: love drunk!steve; gender unspecified reader; flirting; s4!steve

He’s practically drooling. If he were someone else, he would call himself pathetic - even if he knows he is. Steve licks his lips, watching you reach high for a tape, your shirt riding up a little.

“Are you serious?”

He can’t hear Robin, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. Loves her, but pretty boy duty calls.

“Steve!”

“Huh?” he finally asks, turning to face her.

“Have you even heard a single thing I’ve said in the last —“ She checks her watch. “Three minutes?”

“You were talking for three minutes?” he asks, startled.

“Oh my God, Steve.” She’s pissed. And he feels bad, but he knows she’ll be fine in five minutes, and probably even better if he fucks up while checking you out at the counter. “You’re such a bonehead.”

He rolls his eyes and looks back at you. You’re looking at him, all amused. He feels so deeply seen, like you shouldn’t even be looking at him, like he doesn’t really deserve the attention.

“Sorry,” you say. Your voice sounds so sweet. “I just haven’t heard someone say ‘bonehead’ in a while.”

“He is,” Robin says flatly.

You smile at him and his knees feel weak. “I’m sure.”

You continue browsing. Robin looks at Steve. “You are a bonehead,” she affirms, grabbing a cart of tapes to put them away.

Steve feels all dizzy. He’s seen hot people in the store, but this is different. You’re straight out of a dream. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t seen you before. You’re about his age, but he doesn’t remember you from high school. Not that three concussions haven’t ruined his memory.

He perks up when you come to check out. Steve has no small talk in his mind for your selections. His brain feels frozen and it reminds him of his time at Scoops a year earlier.

“Do I know you?” he asks. It comes out awkwardly.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “I’m just - I’m here visiting some family, and I have to babysit.” You point at the two animated movies you’d chosen. “So, no, I don’t think so.”

“Babysit?” he says. “I babysit, too.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” he says. Now he’s spitballing. “They’re little shits though. Always dragging me into things I don’t want dragged into. But they’re sweet, I guess. Except one of them.”

You nod politely.

He wants to hang himself with film strips.

“Well, if I need help, I’ll definitely call you.”

Finally, an opening. “You’d need my number to do that, huh?”

Now you’re frazzled. Thank God. “I guess so.”

“How long are you in town for?”

You bite your cheek. “Another week.”

Steve hums. “I say we take our kids, drop ‘em off at the arcade, and head to the movies ourselves.”

You laugh, looking at him like he’s crazy. Your eyes are soft, though, and your smile is genuine. “Seems irresponsible.”

“Self indulgent, maybe.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before realizing you need to pay. You mumble and search your bag for your wallet, sliding a five across the counter. “Sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m a little frazzled.”

“I have that effect on people.” Oh, he’s so back. He grabs your change, slipping it back to you.

“Want your receipt?”

You read between the lines. “Sure.”

He grins and snatches the paper from the register, scrawling his number across the top. He writes his name before realizing he never said it out loud. “Oh! I’m Steve, by the way.”

You give him yours and take the receipt from him. “Nice to meet you.”

He nods, waves as you leave, heart thumping. He collapses against the counter once you’re out of sight, head in his hands.

“A week,” Robin says, startling him. “You gonna have a whirlwind romance or something?”

“Maybe,” he says.

She scoffs. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

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elfenbensord · 2 months ago

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I would've read your love letters every single night - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Steve falls for a girl he's only ever written to

A/n: pen pals, friends to lovers, Steve calls reader ‘angel’

Warnings: 18+, strong language, kissing

Word count: 2.9k

October, 1988

It started in the summer, with a misplaced letter that Steve had to respond to. It was on his doorstep, with no phone number, neatly written for someone else, someone who was not him. So he wrote back, nicely informing the person that they had the wrong address and then she wrote back thanking him for being so kind and then his pen was suddenly in his hand again, writing.

Over two months later it was normal for him to get letters from her, they were meant for him now, they weren’t delivered wrong, they were always in the right place, right on his door stop. Soft white envelopes with the prettiest handwriting he had ever seen, that smelt like pink flowers he couldn't recall the name of but he would know if he smelt them.

Steve had made one or three jokes about her, the girl he was writing to because of some little mistake, being an angel, because half the time he was unsure if she really existed, just like angels.

He was desperate to get home, to recount his day on pen and paper, to write down all the jokes Robin told or how there was one customer who spent hours behind the red curtains and how Steve had seen a little white kitten on his drive home that she would've just adored. So he did just that, he wrote down everything he thought she would like to hear, in much messier handwriting, with a few spelling mistakes, not that she ever minded.

And a letter came back because it always did.

Dear Steve,

I think timing someone when they're hiding out behind the curtain is completely reasonable, especially if behind it is exactly what you would find behind a red curtain in a video store, then yes, I think you should time them next time. Just as your letter came I was coming back from a walk through town and I saw a kitten and it reminded me of you, i thought that was silly but seeing you did the same definitely saved me from feeling stupid, it reminded me of that story you told me about your neighbours cat attacking you, though I doubt a cat would attack without its own reasons, you may only be telling one side of the story with that one. I’m sure it was very cute though, the one you saw, it may have been a sign of luck, or peace or something good coming your way. (Don’t make fun of me I know you don’t bother with that stuff but still.)

I wanted to tell you that I got the job at the florist so your help with the application must have been what did it, I’m starting to think you’re good luck, or you’re just far too sweet to me, either way, thank you.

She always ended her letter with a heart, drawn quickly at the end of her words, it was a little thing he hoped she only did for him. It wasn’t fair but Steve wanted to be the only one she wrote to, he didn't know many twenty one year olds who kept pen pals so with luck, he was starting to sound like her, he was the only one.

He kept all her letters in the top drawer of his desk. If it took a while for her to write he liked to read over them, first thing in the morning or right before bed, occasionally a little drunk around three in the morning too. He had favourites, this one would be one because she had called him sweet and that was a direct hit on his heart.

He brushed his fingertips over the word, over the paper, hating and loving at the same time that she had touched it too. He didn't know her, well he did but he wouldn’t know her if he saw her walking through Hawkins, however it didn’t matter, he was sure she was pretty, he was sure she was perfect. Whatever she looked like, Steve had a lingering crush on her, that gave no signs of going away.

He had his pen ticking back and forth in his hand, like he used to do when he put off doing his homework in school. There was something that caught his eyes on his desk, a picture, from the spring, of him, Robin and then Nancy and Jonathan home from college, in Mrs Byers garden. He liked that picture but he still found himself ripping it straight down the middle and cutting himself off.

Dear angel,

I’ll bring a stopwatch tomorrow. And for your information I have been nothing but nice to that cat. I've even petted it a few times when it’s been sitting on my car, I think I even called it a pretty boy once so whatever issues it has with me are one-sided. I can see you taking that side though, it's a grey fluffy thing, like a big mothball, that would adore you much more then me if you ever met it and I’m sorry sweet girl but I don’t think white kittens are signs for anything, but I would never make fun of you, if I ever did I think I would die on the spot, you can’t be creul to an angel without paying the price I’m sure I read that somewhere.

I’m glad you got the job but I know I had nothing to do with it, you could’ve gotten it on sweetness alone, you belong in a flower shop, (I’m not even going to try and spell whatever it’s really called) that’s why they gave you the job.

P.s I’ve put a picture of me in the envelope, I’m not expecting one back or anything I just wanted you to have a picture of me, like soldiers did in the war, they did that right?

She hated that her shoes were on her bed but she was so desperate to read Steve’s letter, taking the time to untie her laces was completely out of the question, and how else was a girl supposed to read a letter from a boy she liked then laying on bed with her feet kicked up.

The picture he had given her fell from the envelope, it was clearly ripped and Steve was clearly sunkissed in it, the weather must've started warming up where he was just like it did where she was and he had caught the sun. He had pretty freckles dotted everywhere, the sweetest of smiles, pretty blonde highlights in his hair and-

In all her dizziness, in reading his words twice over, she always did that, in her daydream of having him call her angel again and again she hadn't even placed him. Steve wasn't just sweet, kind Steve who never left her letters unread, who helped her with whatever she needed, who called her names that made her stomach flip, he was Steve Harrington.

King Steve, Hawkins it boy, Steve who she sometimes saw buying handfuls of popcorn and candy with his friends on a friday night. Which made Robin, Robin Buckley, Eddie was Eddie Munson, Nancy was- her head was a mess. Too caught up on falling she hadn't realised who he was.

She didn't answer the letter, she couldn't.

Sometimes he just didn't hear from her for a little while. He guessed sometimes she didn't hear from him for a while too, but he wondered if she waited so anxiously at the window like he did. He wondered if she felt this tightness he felt in his chest when he didn't get to read her words.

He walked to work just to get his mind off of her, and the horrible feeling that sending the picture had pushed her away, they had a nice first name basis thing going that felt delicate to him and now he feared he had dropped them and watched them shatter into a rug he couldn’t pick them up from. He felt this uncomfortable tightness in his chest, like his body was telling him he had done something wrong. Because, fuck, did he miss her.

A sweetness filled the air on his way home, the florist's doors wide open, open to catch people as they passed on the street. Considering Hawkins only had one flower store they didn't need to bother. And for the first time since Steve was seven years old and obsessed with daisies he wanted to go in.

Flowers were her thing. And he would take any little part of her he could get, he decided two steps from walking in that if on the rest of his walk home, he saw that kitten again, he would write to her first.

Everything around him was red and orange, he felt like he was drowning in cinnamon and cold fall mornings but he guessed that was just because of the time of year, he wondered what spring would be like.

There wasn’t really anyone inside, just an older man, no doubt buying some roses for his wife, standing as the young girl behind the counter tied them prettily and smiled at him, making light conversations in ways that would make how Steve was with costumes look awful.

Pink hyacinths. That was what the letters were coaxed in, he glanced but couldn’t find any, even though he was sure that was what was softening the air now, pretty stem cut hyacinths. He would’ve brought them if he could only find them.

“And some lavender for luck.”

Steve’s heart thumped in his throat, he had heard that before, lavender being lucky, not that he agreed but she had made it sound right so he supposed- the hyacinths weren't in the florists, it wasn’t in season for them to be, but they were in the perfume she wore. The girl behind the counter and the girl from his letters.

He walked out with a headache unknowing if it was the overwhelming flowers or just because he had seen the girl-, no, his girl.

Dear Steve,

I’m so sorry for taking so long to write back, but you’re right, they did send letters and pictures, normally they would take a picture of the people they loved with them, I’m sure lots of young men took pictures of there girl and then left them one of them, it’s all terribly sad if you think about it too much but its romantic too. Your picture was very sweet, I put it on my bedside table, beside your letters, it just made sense to put it there. I hope you don't mind me not sending one back, I think I'm still just too nervous, especially now I've seen just how handsome you are, I don't want to make you overconfident so i'll leave it at that. I don’t think you could ever be cruel Steve, not in my eyes.

Dear angel,

Don’t be sorry, I was just worried about you that's all, I think I worry about you a lot when the post is late or you’re just busy, I hope that’s okay, that I worry about you. I’m glad you kept the picture, it was one of my favourites, I kind of hated tearing it but I wanted you to have it more, please don’t call me handsome again, I don’t think my heart could take it, the back of my neck started burning up when I read your words. I take it back, please call me handsome over and over again. I have an update on the person behind the red curtain, they came back three times since you last wrote, I also had a run in with the neighbour's cat, it hissed at me the other morning for walking past it. I might buy treats to win it over, let me know what you think it might like.

You’re right too, I would never be cruel to you, (thank you for not saying anything about the spelling mistake), I would never be anything be kind to you, good to you, fuck, sorry, my hands moving faster then my head is, I hope works going okay, I’m sure you fit right in.

She had read Steve’s latest letter a number of times, more times then she could count, his handwriting seemed to deteriorate as he wrote, it was much messier then she was used to but she liked that. She liked how he wrote what came to his head the second it did because it made her feel special to know that when he wrote to her it was with some kind of need. No matter how small, the scribbled writing made her feel dizzy and lightheaded.

It kept her warm somehow, to picture his words, even in the pouring rain. Even in the middle of Hawkin’s where all the pavements had holes that made dirty water splash against her legs every time a car passed.

A truck went past, over the speed limit too and that did catch her attention. It pulled her from her daydreaming and back to the path she was walking, to her soaked jeans and her muddy shoes. To Steve, standing what could only have been six or seven steps away, his jeans just as damp and his hair soaked through.

She looked at him because she thought she could get away with it but he knew. Somehow he knew it was her and all she could was turn her back on him and hope he forgot the entire thing but even through the bad weather she could hear him coming after her.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Steve reached out for her arm, a careful touch as he caught the sleeve of her sweater, pulling at the wool in the rain would only stretch it but that wasn’t too important right now.

His eyes were softer then she imagined, she had seen the boy she wrote to as soft and sweet but Steve Harrington couldn’t be soft, his reputation was enough for her to know that. But then he was looking at her, down at her really, and she felt she couldn't walk away even if she wanted to.

“I’m sorry-” “I’m sorry-” She didn’t know what he was apologising for but she didn't know what she was for either.

Steve hadn’t let go yet, he didn’t think he could, his thumb pressed the white wool of her sweater, it was wet and cold but nothing had ever felt so sweet to touch before. She smiled at the ground, a bashfulness in her eyes that made the lines of his smile burn like a papercut.

He didn’t take his eyes off her, he had seen her twice now and he knew he didn’t ever want to take his eyes off her. He had been so right to call her an angel, the thought that the night after he first saw her, pretty pictures of her behind the counter playing through his mind as his lost sleep over how perfect she was to him.

He swallowed nothing, his throat moving and her eyes following along his neck, his tongue moved before he had the chance to think, just like his hand would. Because if he thought about the soft little way her lips parted he would’ve fainted right there on the sidewalk.

“Sorry about the letters, being so-, illegible.” He laughed to himself, eyes casting to the floor for a second, waiting for the teasing to come. Not knowing her in person protected him a little, his bad spelling and his messy handwriting, his incorrect use of words, it didn't matter when it wasn't face to face but now he was praying the girl in front of him didn't think he was an idiot.

“They were fine, more than fine.” She spoke softer than he imagined, a little more nervous then how he read her letters but it was okay because he was nervous too.

Fine had never sounded so sweet before. A word had never meant so much to him and he couldn’t help but relax his shoulders, the strain in the back of his neck now gone as let her sleeve go.

“Yours were much prettier to read.” He liked the look on her face a little too much. He liked how fucking pretty she looked when she was praised, Steve would’ve confessed how much he adored even just the scent of her letters or the way she wrote her s, just to see that look.

“I like your handwriting.” She pinched her brows together, like she was wondering how someone couldn’t.

And she was because his handwriting made her feel special, it made her bite her lip and kick her feet, it made her cheeks burn when he cursed or called her angel, it made her know which letters were from him just from seeing the envelope sitting on the dining room table- she couldn’t think, Steve Harrington was kissing her.

His hand was on her waist, his fingers too close to her hip, digging in her flesh through her clothes and he was kissing her and she was kissing him because nothing had felt so right before. He was soft and sweet but full of need too as her lungs began to ache and his lips moved against hers.

He muttered something, something that had him grinning and her smiling shyly, “You can’t put that in an envelope.”

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elfenbensord · 2 months ago

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ROSEHILL COTTAGE The Holiday, 2006

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elfenbensord · 5 months ago

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win with you (18+)

summary: your bantering with steve comes to a head (lol get it)

contains: smut! 18+ only! steve x reader; reader with a vagina; fem!aligned reader; fingering (reader receiving); handjob (steve receiving); bantering; some pining; cutie ending

author’s note: let’s try not to plagiarize this one luvs xx

Steve’s not even drunk and he’s still annoying. Making you grit your teeth in the passenger seat while he’s being cocky and what he must think is comedic.

“Admit it,” he says. His smile is all teeth. “You love watching me do keg stands.”

“I was literally not even outside when you did that.”

“Then what’s got your panties in a bunch, huh?”

He’s being mean about it, but he doesn’t mean to be. He doesn’t know you’re head over heels for him. Catching you gawking at him isn’t all that serious to Steve. He just thinks it’s funny.

You don’t.

“Who says it’s you?”

“I do. Jesus, should’ve seen your face. Looked like you saw a God. You think I’m pretty, babe?” And he laughs.

“Shut up!”

“If it wasn’t the keg then what was it? Grinding on people? My outfit? My jeans a little too tight?”

You want to throw yourself out of the car. “Steve, stop!”

“So you’re saying you’re not wet right now?”

“Oh, my god. No.”

You are. You have been since he picked you up to go to this stupid ass party. Maybe if he didn’t hold the door open for you, or put his hand on your lower back to guide you inside, or wink at you from across the room when someone was holding him up you’d be dry. But you’re not. Not like you can help it.

“Okay, so prove it.”

You look over at him finally, his smile more relaxed and bemused. “How?”

Steve holds his hand out towards you, elbow resting on the center console. “Give me your underwear.”

Your stomach flips and your face gets hot. “You’re disgusting,” you scoff, looking back out the window so he doesn’t see how phased you are.

“So you won’t?”

“No!”

“Fine.” He rests his outstretched hand back on his thigh. “I’ll just assume you’re wet since you’re so embarrassed.”

You grit your teeth hard. “Will you shut up for the rest of the drive if I do?”

“For tonight only? Sure.”

“You swear?”

“Swear.”

You huff, incredulous at yourself, as you slip your underwear down your thighs, pulling them over your heels at the ankle. There’s an evident wet patch, stringy with your arousal, and you’re about to shove them back on before Steve grabs your wrist. “We made a deal,” he reminds.

You practically throw them at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he lets his eyes wander from the road to the silk in his hand. “Oh, Jesus,” he says. “I fuckin’ knew it.”

You try to snatch them from him, but he’s already pulling off to the side of the road to get a real good look at them. You hide your head in your hands when he turns the overhead light on, gasping a little. “Wow. All this for me?”

You growl. “Who said it was for you?”

“You know I’m teasing,” he says, but he still grips your underwear in his hand. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Your head races because you actually weren’t expecting him to ask that. “Um. Uh - Brady. Brady Tyler?”

Steve scoffs. “That dumbass with two first names? He sat by the chip bowl all night.”

“Well, I like chips.” Your hand reaches for the silk and again, he pulls away.

“You like chips, or you like Brady?”

His brow is quirked. He’s staring you down and he has to know it’ll get even more of a rise out of you.

“This is humiliating,” you sigh, finally getting your hands back on your underwear. “Can you just take me home like I asked?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you-“

“Bullshit, Steve,” you spit, staring out the window again as he kicks the car back into drive. “You like it when I get embarrassed, you think it’s funny.”

“Well, a little,” he admits. “But I didn’t mean for you to get uncomfortable. Really.”

“How did you even know I was wet?” you ask after a while.

Steve bites his lip and drums on the steering wheel. “You want me to be honest?”

“You look up my skirt or something?”

“No. I just - I could - I could, like, smell it.”

You throw your hand against his arm fast and hard and he groans.

“Why do you say shit like that?”

“Well, I - I did! Moment you got into the car - it’s not - it’s not like it’s bad, I just - you know?”

“‘Not like it’s bad’? Oh, tell me, Steve, did it make you hard?”

You’re trying to get a rise out of him to satiate your own anger. It’s a lot easier (and admittedly more fun) when the bickering goes both ways. But he stills, pulling onto your street, going quiet.

“Did it?”

“We’re almost -“

“No way! You did not just make me show you my underwear to avoid this now.”

“It’s gettin’ late -“

“Let me feel, then.”

“Huh?”

“Only fair, right? You got to hold my underwear, I think feeling your dick is less intimate.”

“That’s absolutely not true -“

“Will you let me?”

Steve groans and pulls up to your apartment, throwing it in park and turning to face you. “Fine,” he huffs, taking your hand and moving it to his left thigh.

“No,” you scold, breaking into a smile. “That’s not the side you tuck it into.”

He seems to grow a little pale. “How do you know?”

“Everyone knows, Steve, not like you’re -“

Your hand hits his hard on and you both gasp at it. It would be comical except for the implications that you’re both horny for the other. You let your hand stay for a moment, watching Steve’s dark eyes flit down, then back up to yours. He licks his bottom lip.

“Not like I’m what?” He finally asks, voice cracking.

You blink, heart racing. You lick your lips, too. “Not like you’re small,” you mumble. “Your jeans are really tight,” you add.

You can feel his cock kick under your palm and you experimentally press down with the heel of it. Steve gasps, head leaning back against the seat. His jaw drops. You’ve never seen him so lost for words before.

“Is that good?” you ask dumbly, still using the heel of your palm on him.

He sighs and licks his lips, highlighted hair falling over his forehead. “Uh-huh.”

You’re shy. Even with your hand on him. You pull back but he takes your hand again, pressing it down on his cock and grinding up into it. Both of your eyes widen, your throat going dry. You can’t speak, so you just continue, rubbing him through those stupid dark wash Levis.

“You- w-were hard for me all night?” you finally whisper, stuttering a bit. You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the window so he’s facing you. “Ever since I….”

“Picked me up?”

“Please,” Steve asks hoarsely, his hands moving to the waistband of his jeans. “I gotta - it hurts.”

“Oh,” you whisper, removing your hand so he can shove his jeans down his thighs. He’s left in his boxers, and his unfocused eyes flick up to meet yours for approval. “You’re wet, too,” you say, reaching out with a finger to touch the wet spot where the tip of his cock is.

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back again. “More, please.”

You realize your power here, as his adam’s apple bobs, as his cheeks turn red. It’s thrilling to have the upper hand. It makes it feel like you’ve won.

“It’s only fair that you give me yours, right?” you say, running the tip of your finger down his shaft. It’s begging to be let out. “Don’t you think, Steve?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you scoff, moving up to his waistband, letting it snap back against his stomach. “Gotta take a good look at what I’ve done to you.”

Steve moves surprisingly quickly, though a bit irritated. He hands his boxers over with a scrunched nose. “There.”

“Hmmph.” You punch the light above you on and grin widely as you examine them. The amount of precum is a little unbelievable, but it’s clear he’s been thinking about you just as much as you thought of him.

Steve mocks you, huffing with his arms crossed, dick out in the open. “What?”

“I think you made a bigger mess than me.”

“Absolutely n- oh!”

He throws his head back as your hand gently wraps around his length. It hits the window harshly and you laugh, but Steve’s incredibly serious. His hips thrust up into your hand desperately. His jaw’s gone slack again, eyes squeezed shut, fists balled up. You stroke him and beam when he inhales shakily, one hand coming down to rest lightly on yours.

“Not fair,” he heaves. “Didn’t get to touch you.”

You twist your wrist. “You want to?”

“Jesus, yes, of course,” he babbles. In the light of the car, you can see the faint line of the scar across his jugular. You want to lean forward and kiss it, lick it, soothe it. “Thought - th-thought touchin’ your underwear would be sp-spank material for months - wanna feel….”

“Wanna feel what?”

“Your pussy,” he nearly growls, bucking his hips upwards again. A hand goes up towards his hair, tangling his fingers in it. The sight makes your eyelids drop, your mouth salivate. He looks so wrecked and so big in your hand.

“Steve,” you moan, thumb swiping over his leaking tip. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Are we doing this here?” he breathes, suddenly punching the light out. He seems a little more focused. “I’m not a big fan of c-car sex.”

“What? Don’t wanna ruin the leather?”

“Shut up.”

“Is that how you should talk to me?”

“Y’know what turns me on?” he says, leaning forward, your hand still wrapped around him. His hands make their way between your legs, big and warm on your inner thighs. Your hand stops moving now, feeling a little less in charge with him looming over you. “When you get irritated with me.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Y’must be turned on a lot then.”

Steve’s knuckle grazes over your swollen clit. You gasp and squeeze his cock, your other hand gripping the door handle behind you. “Oh, I am.”

It’s quiet as he touches you. You can’t meet his coffee colored eyes while he rocks the joins of his fingers against your clit. He soon manages to work his way underneath the fabric of your underwear and you both gasp.

“Jesus, she’s cryin’, huh? Wanted me so bad all night,” he coos, now using the pads of his fingers to stroke up and down your folds. You shiver and try to keep up your own strokes, but it’s insanely difficult when he’s touching you like this. You feel his cock flex in your palm and it makes you clench up. “Come on, thought you were touching me.”

“Shut up,” you grit, “your stupid dumb fingers are distracting me.”

He chuckles, pressing two fingers right against your entrance before pulling away. “They are, aren’t they? Needed me, didn’t you?”

“Just needed something.”

“Sure, like Chip Bowl.” He scoffs. “You could’ve made up a much better lie, y’know.”

You jerk Steve off again, trying to get back a bit of your authority. He groans low in his throat, breaking it off with another laugh. “Could’ve - picked - a-anyone else-“

“Yeah, well,” you breathe, fighting back a moan as his fingers work fast on your clit, your hand finding the same pace against his shaft. “Your nickname w-was f-fucking… the Hair.”

“That’s mean,” he whines. “Not like I chose it. Oh, fuck, honey-“

“And King Steve,” you continue, spreading your legs, pushing forward slightly to have better access to him. “Stupid.”

“You’re about to cum on his fingers,” he groans.

“Bullshit,” you moan, grabbing his shirt with your free hand. He’s got the top half unbuttoned, showing the hair on his chest, sleeves rolled up. If you look down, you can see the veins in his forearms pushing out as he works on your cunt. You pull him towards you and his lips land on your neck. He’s quick to suck an eager hickey into it.

“Gonna make me cum,” he whispers into your skin. “You- this isn’t how - mmmmmph - how I wanted….”

“Oh,” you breathe. Your wrist is starting to cramp but you maintain your pace. “You d-dreamed about this, huh?”

Steve licks a path up to your ear. “Like you haven’t.”

You grab his shirt harder, breathing heavily, panting while he rubs your clit. He bites into your neck, a whimper leaving his throat. “Ah,” he cries, rutting into your hand as you rut into his, “‘m gonna cum, shit!”

“On the leather?”

Your orgasm hits you fast and severe as he slides two fingers knuckle-deep into you. You gasp and swear, pushing yourself into him and pulling him onto you. Steve groans, cumming from the sensation of your tight walls around his digits, your hand pumping him through it. He forces himself off of your neck to press his lips harshly into yours and you both moan and lick into each other’s mouths until you need to pull back to breathe.

You can only stare at each other for a while. Your thumb rakes over Steve’s temple, rubbing away a stray drop of sweat. He looks drunk. Your chest heaves and he moves his hand to your thigh again, rubbing gently.

“Thanks for the ride,” you finally say, pushing his hair out of his face.

He smiles and nods. “You, too. Are you gonna let me in to clean up?”

You smile back. “Sure. But I’m not helping.”

“Awful rude of you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You notice now how hot you are, how radiant your cheeks have been. The intimacy of his kiss only makes you boil more. “How about you let me stay to make up for it?”

“You trying to sleep with me?”

“No,” he muses. “Just trying to win with you.”

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