stevieswhore
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stevieswhore · 5 days ago
Note
art accidentally calling patrick daddy while they jerk off together… !!!!!!!!!!
Oh anon he’s a mess <3
CW: 18+ !NSFW! Daddy!kink obvs don’t read it if that freaks you out
—-
They get home late from a frat party on a random Saturday night. Tashi’s cousin is in town so Patrick’s sleeping over in Art’s dorm room. Art is much drunker than he is. Patrick had to guide him back to his room. Use the keys and unlock his door. His roommate is surprisingly still not home when they get there which is probably good. Art’s a flirty drunk, all flushed and giggly. It’s actually adorable, except Patrick is so attracted to him it always makes him feel a little crazy.
He’s playful as Patrick convinces him to change into something he would feel comfortable sleeping in. “You just wanna see me naked,” Art hiccups grinning when Patrick suggests that jeans aren’t the most comfortable sleeping attire. He manages to stumble out of his jeans and he’s just wearing boxers and the t-shirt he had on under the hoodie he wore out. Then he falls into his extras long single bed and settles on his side, hugging his pillow and pulling his knees up so his ass is protruding into the bit of space left for Patrick. Patrick watches him for a minute, adjusting himself for the way his cock is stiffening.
It’s a miracle Patrick finds a way to fit without spooning him. He lays on his back, half his body balancing in midair.
He’s still awake, drunk and now horny, Art’s bottom pressed against him. He starts flipping channels and when it lands on some random episode of Nip/Tuck he slips his hands inside his boxers and starts touching himself through one of the made for cable sex scenes.
“Mm, Patrick,” Art’s sleepy voice sounds and he wiggles, Patrick pauses for a millisecond, he thought Art had fallen asleep by now.
“Hm?” Patrick replies. Just in case he’s talking in his sleep. It’s not his usual thing, but it’s not unheard of.
Art rolls over on the small bed to look at the television. “Whatcha doing?” He hiccups.
“Mm, nothing. I’m in my head. Tashi was wearing those tight jeans all night so I’m a little, backed up.” Patrick lies, he actually hooked up with Tashi at the party, peeled those tight jeans off of her. This is all because of Art. And it’s been forever since he did this in front of Art, let alone in the same bed but it’s Art’s fault actually. His ass really doesn’t have to be so perky and firm.
”Mm, yeah, she’s so hot,” Art sighs. And before Patrick realizes what’s happening it’s like they’re in high school again, and Art’s got his hand on his own dick, touching himself too.
Patrick sighs, his mind now focusing less on the cable sex scene and more on the little soft noises Art’s making. It’s right in Patrick’s ear, the way he’s positioned on his side. Patrick thinks more than once about grabbing him, helping him. “You ever think about that night in the hotel with Tashi.” Patrick whispers, he used to talk Art through it and figures he might as well do it again since they’re practically on top of each other.
“Yeah,” Art moans.
”I think about… about…kissing you.”
Art lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah?”
”Mmhm. Sometimes it makes my dick hard.”
“Like now?” he’s so close to Patrick. The way he’s breathing, the feel of it light on Patrick’s shoulder, in his ear, the way he sounds. Patrick knows he’s not much longer for the world. And that’s when it happens.
“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Just like now, you’re making me fucking hard, baby. You getting drunk and falling all over me, flirting all night. Makes me feel like you want me.”
”Mm you like it, daddy? I think I’m gonna come,” Art whines, his voice is all syrupy and sweet like honey.
And Patrick just falls apart.
”Oh…oh fuck,” he gasps, his body stilting and suddenly he’s jerking haphazardly as strings of liquid shoot out of his dick onto the bed and everywhere. For a minute he thinks he’s gonna hit the television a few feet away for the force of it.
It’s nothing. Should mean nothing but that word, the way Art sounded when he said it. The way he’s squirming in bed. Patrick wants to… he needs to fuck him into the mattress.
“Holy shit, you made a mess,” Art’s giggling. He probably doesn’t even fucking realize he said it.
Patrick is breathless, he reaches for Art, gripping at his cock, his hands wet with his own spend and he starts helping him. Art doesn’t protest, probably too drunk. He just moans and let’s Patrick pump him.
“Did you just call me daddy?” Patrick asks. Just the taste of the word on his tongue is about to coax another round of it out of his dick.
“Hm?” Art hiccups.
“Just now, you fucking called me daddy.”
“I don’t know. Mm sorry, I think I’m drunk.” Art moans.
“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. “You wanna say it again?”
Art hums, moving his hips forward and back as his cock slides slippery between Patrick’s fists. “Say… say daddy?” He asks softly.
“Yes,” Patrick says, it’s actually so delicious in Art’s voice. “Say it again.”
“Daddy I wanna… I wanna… mm daddy please…need to cum please,” Art begins moaning nonsensically.
And Oh Fuck.
Patrick’s gonna lose his mind. He feels his dick again already coming to attention. Like he’s fucking sixteen jerking it every two minutes. “Tell daddy how it feels, baby.” Patrick whispers, “Oh god. Daddy wants to fuck you. Daddy wants to fuck you all fucking night.”
“Mmhm, you can fuck me daddy, fuck me, fuck me please, daddy,” Art says. He begins to lose it then. He’s moaning so loudly Patrick is sure they hear him in the hallway and soon Patrick’s thighs and boxers are getting wet with hot creamy liquid.
“Fuck,” Art groans as he pulls his shorts back up and rolls onto his back, giggling.
“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, crawling on top of him, and pressing himself between Art’s thighs.
“Holy shit,” Art says, recovering pretty quickly from the giggles when he feels it. He reaches up to play with Patrick’s hair. “You’re hard again?”
“Mmhm,” Patrick hums. “Do you realize how fucking hot that is? You saying that. Fuck sweetheart.”
Art pulls him closer and kisses his mouth and Patrick rubs himself along the thin bit of fabric of their shorts, the only thing that’s keeping him out.
“Daddy it feels so… big,” Art sighs against his lips.
“Art I swear Im going to lose my fucking mind,” Patrick breathes and Art smiles.
“Sorry, it’s so…fun.”
And of course that’s when they hear the twist of the lock, it’s his fucking roommate.
“Fuucckk,” Patrick groans as Art sits up, hiccuping.
”Honey I’m home,” the roommate says drunkenly. “Oh forgot you’d be here.” He adds when he sees Patrick in the glow of the tv. Patrick doesn’t really like him. In part because he’s almost certain he has a crush on Art.
“I’m gonna pee,” Art says, climbing out of the bed.
“Yeah sure,” Patrick pouts, rubbing himself idly beneath the blankets, still all messy.
Art smiles and gets closer so he can talk quietly in Patrick’s ear. “Don’t worry, daddy, we can try it when he goes to sleep. I think I can be really quiet.” He whispers, hot breath ghosting over Patrick’s ear lobe, words making him shiver.
Patrick chews his bottom lip, gripping at the sheets. He’s so fucking ready he hopes he can wait til this guy falls asleep. “Mmkay. Fine. Yeah. Lets try.”
(Idk lol. Hope you like it anon <3 I’m out here looking up random “sexy” shows from 2006 I hope y’all appreciate my detailed and thorough research. Probably gonna find a way to watch nip/tuck now✌🏿)
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stevieswhore · 22 days ago
Text
one breathes life unto the other
Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (GN terms & pronouns, reader has breasts & a vagina)
This is part two of one sin leads to another (both also on ao3), I highly suggest reading this first so you’re not lost! Also, this is the end of this little two-part fic. MDNI!
Summary: The catastrophic destruction of Hawkins leaves Steve utterly hopeless. You refuse to give up on him, trying to find a shred of comfort to offer among tragedy.
WC: 10k+
Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of grief and survivor’s guilt, suicidal ideations, PTSD, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of memory loss, brief appearances of other characters, friends to lovers, fuck-ton of feelings, smut— handjob, soft dom!reader, sub!steve, dirty talk, PiV sex (unprotected), nipple play, oral fixation, praise kink, etc.
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A/N: I wanted this out months ago, but life happened. This one is heavier than the first, focusing on Steve’s feelings/pain post-s4 destruction, but there’s comfort smut and a realistic happy ending as promised. If it’s not your cup of tea, I understand. Please heed the warnings if you decide to read! I appreciate y’all so much<3 title is from dusk - chelsea wolfe, and dividers from @strangergraphics!
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Despite only just reconnecting with your childhood best friend again, you still knew the way to Steve’s house like the back of your hand.
What you weren’t so great at navigating were the roads all torn to shreds, cracked wide open. Down the street, you can see the front of Steve’s house, with no smoke or fire in sight; you assume his was one of the lucky ones that weren’t sucked into the ground.
Rolling to a stop, feet away from a fissure in the ground, you sigh; foot on the brake, chin atop your resting hands on the wheel, you break the silence.
“Steve?”
He barely has the energy to acknowledge you, weakly humming in response. It’s hard to fight the weight tugging his eyes shut, but he somehow manages to.
“I don’t think I can get any closer to your house from here.”
You offered to drive, after all was said and done; everyone was hurting, emotionally, physically, but you knew Steve was in no shape to be behind the wheel.
“S’just a bump in the road,” he murmurs, not bothering to peer out the windows. 
“I’m not wrecking your car trying to get through this shit.”
“Drive in the grass. Who cares?” He still won’t look out the window, stare landing on you instead. “All these fucks are gonna move after tonight anyway.”
Steve’s not wrong about his neighbors, wealthy enough to quickly find homes elsewhere, you know that. Hell, his parents will probably never set foot in Hawkins again after tonight; won’t even come home to assess the damage, gather personals, just leave a mess for their son to handle.
But the damage hasn’t discriminated what paths to take; some houses are crumbled wrecks, too, falling into the mini canyons the earthquake created. If you could even call it that.
“It’s not safe—“
“I don’t even care if the car gets scratched up—“
“Even if I found a way around this shit, there’s a chance we’d fall right through the ground.”
Silence falls between the two of you, and you wonder if Steve fell asleep. Seconds of quiet feel like hours, but he eventually answers, and it’s not one you’d like to hear.
“Fuck it. Not like this was worth surviving anyway.”
Your heart sinks, and it sinks fast. Never once have you heard him so hopeless before. Not even in the past day.
“Steve, don’t say that—“
“Bet it was nice to just… be asleep during this shit.” He throws a hand out to the ruins of a nearby house, void of any faith left in existence. “Not even know the ground opened up wide under your house, die in your sleep— it- it’d be so quick, you’d never even know. You’d be stuck in a dream, forever.” 
You want to counter that with the fact his dreams— more often than not, are nightmares— but you hold your tongue.
The last 24 hours alone have changed you drastically; you can only imagine the amount of change Steve has undergone time, and time again these last several years. But this isn’t him; no past, present, future version of him would ever sound like this.
 This is a polar opposite of the Steve you’ve always known.
You blink away tears, scorching hot, while your throat threatens to close, aching as you do your best not to give into your emotions.
Don’t be a crybaby. Don’t cry, don’t cry, please don’t fucking—
“How can you say that?”
No tears, not yet, thankfully. You’re shaking, though.
“It’s true—“
“It’s not true, Steve. I- I can’t imagine how awful this all feels, how heavy this weighs on your heart every time something terrible happens, but you can’t believe that.”
“Well, I do, so deal with—“
Rage shoves sorrow into the backseat, takes control before your mind can catch up with your mouth. You slam your hand on the steering wheel.
“Don’t you dare tell me to “deal” with you feeling so hopeless like it’s… like it’s some fucking chore. I know you feel awful, you have every right to, but I’m not going to ignore the way you’re talking, either.” Resting your head on the wheel, you sniffle harshly. “Eddie is dead, an- and Max… she’s barely hanging on. I am not trying to guilt you, but goddammit, Steve, this group can’t afford to lose you, too.”
You take a deep, shaky breath, sitting up again.
“Dustin looks up to you and Eddie, you’re both practically older brothers to that kid.” Steve slinks down in his seat, almost trying to make himself small, picking away at the callouses on his fingers. “Don’t make that harder on him.”
A mirthless laugh bubbles out of his chest. “Now you’re definitely guilting me—“
“Fine! Maybe I am! A- and maybe that’s fucked up, but we all need you. We need you here.”
“Always needed, but no one ever wants me to need them.”
You’re balancing on a line between empathy and anger, a very dangerous, thin, wavering line. So, you don’t respond, you only reverse his car away from the fissures, find a safe enough spot to park it on the street, cutting the engine. 
“Get up. We’re walking.”
“What?”
You’re already out of the car, slamming the door behind you; rounding the hood, you tug his door open, hand outstretched towards him.
“Out.”
“Just leave me here.”
“I—“
A shrill static flows out of the walkie on the floor of his car, followed by a tinny voice.
“Hey… what’s the status on your house, Dingus?”
Dustin cuts in, “Robin, you’re supposed to say ‘over!’” He sighs dramatically.
The sound of the kid’s voice— somehow strong enough to still be a little shit after the traumatic night— brings tears to Steve’s worn eyes, fixated on the floor. He can’t bring himself to grab the walkie to respond, so you do.
“Uh, we have to park a few houses away, the street’s all torn up. I think his house is safe, though.” You’re quick to add, “Over”, before Dustin can scold you. While Steve rubs his glazed-over eyes, a hint of a chuckle escapes him. It gives some relief; an ounce, but it’s relief, nonetheless.
While you give the others the rundown, you watch Steve disconnect from the present, face blank and weary stare off in the distance. They agree to meet at his house, since everyone else’s are blocked off by carnage, or completely uninhabitable from the destruction.
Next step: convincing Steve that rotting away in the car isn’t an option.
“Do you want me to help you out? Or do you want to wait for Robin? Because she might drag you out.” You feel like you’re trying to bargain with a child mid-tantrum. He scoffs, crossing his arms; how fitting. “And if she doesn’t, you know damn well Dustin will. Do not make that child drag your grown ass out of this car—“
“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Cautiously, he climbs out, hands gripping the door’s frame. His stare flits to yours, only for a moment; it falls to the cracked ground. “I’m sorry. This— I can’t stop thinking— it just feels like…”
Steve trails off, unable to either find the right words, or unable to speak them into existence. You give him a moment, but he just runs his hand through his hair with a sigh.
“C’mon.” Gingerly, you wind your arm around his torso, tucking it under his arms to help him walk. It’s impossible to remember where his wounds are under his shirt and jacket, so you do your best to keep a gentle hold; he winces as your hand brushes against a raw spot. “Sorry, should I let go?”
It embarrasses him how quickly he responds, swallowing down his pain as he gasps, “Please don’t.”
“S’okay, I got you.”
What should be a five minute walk feels like an hour long trek, weaving around the fissures and splits in the ground; illuminating red, the sweltering heat radiates out, while thick smoke billows out of a few. Some neighbors are missing their cars, or parts of their house have been swallowed by the ground beneath them. You wonder how many of them were home when this happened.
You wonder how many of them are still alive.
Steve has to pause every now and then, catch his breath and assess the surroundings; one wrong step could be fatal for the two of you. 
“God, I can’t wait to sleep,” He murmurs as his house comes into full view. A sigh of relief spills out at the sight of his house completely intact— at least, from the front, it seems. “Gonna crash as soon as we get in.”
“You can’t go to bed like that, you’ve got…” You give him a once-over, grimacing, “… Upside Down gunk on you.” He snorts as you make your point. “And you have to clean your wounds.”
“Yeah, do I? Thought I’d let them get gross this time around.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
The rest of the journey is uneventful, much to your relief; you get Steve inside and help him up the stairs. He begins to wander to his bedroom, but you gently redirect him, hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the bathroom. 
“Nope. You’re gross. I’m gross. I can guarantee we’re both still covered in each other’s—“
Steve groans, more out of disgust than anything.
“God, yeah, okay. Yeah.” He carelessly shrugs his jacket off onto the tile floor. Dirt, soot, and dried blood sprinkle off the leather, tainting the pristine surface. “I’ll… tomorrow.” He’s too tired to care about complete sentences right now.
Removing his shirt is another story; the fabric catches on his bandaging before he can pull it over his head. He winces, hissing in pain. 
Blood soaked through his makeshift bandaging from his wounds— which really should’ve been re-dressed by now, but there were bigger concerns at hand. Now, it’s been— and still is— seeping through the fabric, through his shirt, sticking it uncomfortably to his skin as it dried over, and over, against the gashes on his torso.
The discomfort makes his head spin, like he hadn’t paid much attention to the severity of his injuries until this moment; he reaches for the edge of the bathroom sink, breathing shakily.
“Did it— is it kinda hot in here?”
“Hm? No, I kinda think it’s a little cold— shit—“
Steve’s knees buckle, and you don’t completely catch him in time, but you attempt to anyway. Quickly, you throw your arms out behind him as he falls; you lose your balance as he stumbles back against your chest, slamming against a wall.
“Okay,” you groan, holding onto him tightly. “You need to be at the hospital, not here—“
The fear in his eyes reflects in the mirror before you, breaking your heart.
“Yeah, no, that’s not an option—“
“It’ll have to be if you’re just gonna bleed out on the floor—“
“Well maybe that’s for the best,” he grumbles, finding his footing again only to lower himself clumsily to the floor. “The room’s spinning like I have the worst hangover, I have a headache the size of Alaska, and—“ He squints up at you, frowning. “There weren’t four of you before, when did that happen?”
“Yeah, I’m calling 911–“
Steve uses the little strength left in him to grab your ankle, anchoring you in place to the floor.
“Don’t.” He forces himself to sit up, wincing with a sharp hiss. “M’fine, and there’s no reason for me to take up a bed a the hospital when someone else might need it more.”
You drop back down to the floor in front of him, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Sounding more wounded than pissed, Steve can’t meet your gaze; he averts his stare as he tilts his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “For once, can you stop putting others needs before your own? You mean well, I get it, but you need help, too.”
“I can’t go.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
That’s when you notice a tear cascade down his face, then another, and another.
“I’ve never seen anyone outside of our friends deal with this shit. What if I— shit, this is so stupid—“
You take his hand in yours, embracing it with a reassuring squeeze.
“If it upsets you, it’s not stupid at all.” 
His eyes screw shut, attempting to stop the tears, but his body betrays him, only letting them flow freely.
“I can barely handle seeing any of our friends getting hurt, and I just know if I see anyone else we know, it’ll make all this shit more real. A- and I can’t see Max. I know we should visit, but—”
“Steve, it was only a few hours ago. They’re taking care of her, and probably wouldn’t allow visitors anyway, and you’re in no condition to check on others right now.”
His shoulders jump as he suppresses a sob, but it’s no use when the dam breaks. He blankets his face with his empty hand, splaying it over his spiraling expression. He shouts into his palm, voice raw from agony, “We shouldn’t be living through this shit- why the fuck are we living through this shit?!” 
Sliding closer, you keep your voice calm, even as it wavers with the threat of your own cries; somehow it’s easier to push your emotions aside to take care of Steve, though.
“We shouldn’t… and I don’t know why, but we’ve survived it this far, so we gotta keep going.”
Steve shakes his head, his cries steadying into full-blown sobs. Hand falling away from his face, you notice how swollen his eyes are already.
“I don’t want to, I don’t fucking want to!” He removes his hand from your own, glaring back at you. “I don’t want to be strong, or brave, or any of this fucking bullshit.  I just want to go to sleep, and never wake up. I want th- this shit to go away. I want to go away.”
It’s years of turmoil, torment, and trauma, all spilling over into what he believes to be a last ditch effort to end the suffering.
“Can’t help my friends—“
“You do, Steve—“
“One of them is dead!” He’s inconsolable; while it’s better to let out the emotions than bottle them up, you’re scared of the way he’s spiraling so rapidly. “One of them is dead, one is barely alive, we all got hurt one way or another— I couldn’t— I just want everyone to be safe, but I can’t even protect anyone.”
“It’s not your job, and realistically, you can’t protect everyone. No one can. We do our best to watch each other’s backs, help out where we can—“
“And you,” his bottom lip curls into a trembling pout, while his bloodshot eyes bore into your own. “You could’ve been killed, and it’s my fault you were hurt to begin with. Then those— the fucking vines, god, the more I think about it, the more I realize how insanely fucked up that was.”
“But we survived, Steve. I’m okay, I promise.”
“That shit was against our will,” voice cracking, he runs his hands through his hair, tugging with stress. “Wh- what the fuck do you mean you’re okay?!”
You scoot closer, hands softly grabbing his face on either side. 
“I’m okay, ‘cause it was with you. I wish you never went through that, never even saw what happened, but you saved me anyway.” Calmly, you reassure him you’re fine. Granted, you’re not, you’re far from fine, really, but you’re more stable than he is right now; if he won’t take care of himself tonight, you will.
His grip slips out of his hair, expression softening with your touch. 
“We’re beat up, and mentally, we’re fucked. For life, probably, just from those stupid fucking vines.” Tilting your head forward, you rest against his, sighing. Steve shudders with a small, broken noise, face twisting up with grief. His tears drip onto your cheeks while he reaches out to you. “But we’re alive, we’re home.”
He brings you closer, cautious of the physical state you’re both in. The moment he ducks his head into the crook of your neck, the cries build back up.
“I don’t want this to be home anymore.“
“I know, sweetheart,” you hold him close, choking back your own tears. 
There’s no bright side to look to, no silver lining hiding in the clouds; you have no words of comfort that’ll actually relieve his pain. Reassuring he’s not alone won’t do much here either.
What the fuck do you do? How do you convince him surviving this tragic, reoccurring, living nightmare is worth it?
Instead, you let him sob it out, whisper anything you can think of to remind him you care, his friends care, that it’s worth sticking around than disappearing forever.
 Time is lost on the both of you, and if he needed all the time in the world to cry on your shoulder, you’d let him. When he starts calming down, he begins to murmur something into your shoulder, but makes a frustrated huff.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Will you… would you mind… helping?” He nervously asks, face still squished against you shoulder, breath tickling your throat. “Helping me, I mean… with the- in the—“
Steve has put everyone first for so long, it’s as if he forgot how to ask for help for himself. You realize it’s not that he doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t really know how. Not without feeling like a bother to others, or that his problems are minuscule to anyone else’s.
“Of course, I’d help you with anything, y’know.”
He slides back, loosening his grip with a teensy, tiny, fraction of a smirk, “Anything? You’d rob a bank with me?” 
“I’d even bury a body for you,” you joke, but cringe at yourself; the timing isn’t the best.
Read the fucking room.
Yet he allows his smile to grow, not much, but enough for it to be visible. “For me? Not with me?”
Snorting, you roll your eyes teasingly, rising to stand with your hands held out. “Can you stand?”
It takes patience, soothing encouragement, and keeping him upright to get him undressed and into the shower safely. Unfortunately, that’s not the hardest part of this process.
Steve leans against the shower wall while you strip quickly, worried to watch him collapse again. As you fiddle with the water temperature, you hear his breath hitch; you glance over your shoulder to check on him, still facing the shower head.
“What’s wrong?”
His gaze is fixated on your back, eyes wide with concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
Your brows scrunch together, turning to him as the water finally feels comfortable enough. “What are you talking about?”
Trembling hands gently spin you around by your shoulders while he examines your back.
“Shit…” He breathes, fingers gliding along your skin. “Your back is all scraped up.”
“Goddammit.” Poking your head out of the shower, you glance down to your shirt on the floor; sure enough, there’s blood stains on the back of the garment. “Is it bad?”
“The marks don’t look deep—“
“Then I’m fine.” You push past the sharp stinging in your wounds as water rolls over them. 
“Bullshit.”
“Fine, okay, yeah. Compared to you, though, I’m okay, so let’s clean you up first, alright?”
Steve’s first instinct is to argue, but one glance at the look you give, and he bites his tongue instead. Allows you to guide him under the water, murmuring for him to take his time. You brace yourself for his cries as the blood and grime washes out of the gashes on his body, but they’re nonexistent.
It hurts, it really, really fucking hurts, more than any other injuries he’s had in the past— and that’s saying a lot after everything he’s endured, yet he can’t react. His emotions feel frozen, stuck in between bottling them back up, and breaking down all over again.
“I hate that you’re quiet right now,” you suds up soap between your hands. “If you need to cry, or scream, or whatever helps, you can.”
Steve shakes his head, stare far away in some distant thoughts, exactly like earlier, while trying to coax him out of the car.
“Okay… well, you’re safe with me. You know that, right?”
“Don’t want to scare you after… all of that.” He means the outburst he had— minutes, maybe hours, who fucking knows— ago.
“After tonight, you’re the farthest thing from scary.”
The light teasing leads him back, just enough, to the present, to you; he snorts, and it brings you some relief.
“Was I scary before?”
“Oh, the scariest,” you quip, careful to keep your touch light as you massage soap onto his forearms. He groans as you sweep your fingers along his biceps, aching from exertion. His limbs feel heavy with pain and grief, but your touch is a soothing balm amidst the suffering. “Never met anyone as scary as you.”
He’s not used to this, being doted on with extra care and precision, and the bonus hint of playfulness, too— but maybe he can get used to it, as long as it’s with you.
You take your time, washing around his wounds, trying to avoid and divert any soap slipping into his wounds. It surprises you how still he stays, but you notice the way his jaw tightens when your fingers wander too close to some of the gashes. 
“You doing alright?”
“Kinda, y- yeah, nothing I can’t handle,” he mirrors your words from earlier, after the vines finally released you. 
“Can you turn around for me?”
Steve’s eyes snap wide open, “What? Why?”
Your brows knit together, “So I can clean up your back too?”
“Oh. Right.” He turns, hands planted on the shower wall for support. You continue your meticulous work of cleaning away dried blood and soot from the Upside Down off his skin. In time, he’s free of any filth that hell left behind.
Tenderly, you massage any areas far enough away from the wounds, hoping it brings some relief.  It’s relief in itself to watch his shoulders relax, while he releases a soft sigh. It goes on like this for a bit, until you get closer to Steve’s hips. That’s when he tenses up again.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” he strains out.
You’re not buying it. “Steve, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer you, rather, mutters to himself, “Christ, am I really—“ Steve forces a laugh, hair flopping forward as the water weighs it down. Sighing, he leans his head against the wall, eyes shut. “Ah, fuck.”
“What’s up?” Your hands wind around his hips, fingers brushing low against his hard-on. “Oh. Well, I guess you’re up.”
It bubbles a laugh out of him, a real one; it’s weak, but you’ll take it.
“Wow, that was—“
“Smooth, right? I know.”
He doesn’t answer, only turns slowly, hand splayed out against the tiled wall for support.
“Second time in 24 hours I’m hard when I shouldn’t be. That’s fucking embarrassing,” he mutters, shaking his head with a bashful smile. You quirk a brow at him, a smirk curling along your lips.
“Second time? When was the first?”
Steve’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder, before looking away. He murmurs, “When I found you.”
Oh. Duh.
“Why are you embarrassed? It happens. The— getting hard part, I mean. Not the whole… weird mind-controlling pollen that turned us into insatiable freaks thing, that… that doesn’t happen. Often. Ever. At all.”
The two of you hold one another’s stare for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter. He’s caught up in the brief moment of joy, he doesn’t notice you step closer, eyes pinching shut as he snorts. Not until your hand slides around his shaft, then the laughter dies abruptly; his breath hitches for a moment, then he shakily exhales.
In a languid motion, you stroke him with one hand, while the other finds his face, palm resting on his cheek. His head lolls into your touch with a whimper.
“Hey, you don’t— it’s— don’t feel like you have to do this.”
“I know I don’t. I want to.” Your thumb rolls over the head, catching a bead of pre from the slit. You laugh softly, hand sliding down to his neck while you kiss the opposite side.“Actually, what I really want is to get on my knees for you, but there’s no way I’d get back up right now.”
Steve begins to smile, but you stroke him just right, enough pressure over that prominent vein to lure out a beautiful, breathy moan.
Without disturbing his injuries, you lean as close as possible into him, head resting on his shoulder to gaze up at the pleasure written all over his face. The blush on his face has crept down his neck, spreading along his chest; you can feel the heat under his skin turning red. His eyes screw shut as he bites his lip, muffling the sweet sounds you’ve grown to love in the last 24 hours.
For a split second, Steve appears tortured in his expression, but sinks deeper into bliss. Your hand on his length slows, while the other lets go of him, concerned.
“Are you alright? Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head frantically, managing to look down at you without losing it right there. 
“N- no, it— pl- please keep going.”
 His back arches off of the wall, reminiscent of the way he writhed on the floor for you earlier. Now, though, he’s not bound by vines, nor is he in a frenzy, looking for a way to put the fire out. It’s your gentle touch turning him to putty; a drastic contrast from the way you treated one another in the Upside Down. One hand slides around your waist, holding you even closer, while the other cradles the back of your head, kissing the top and lingering there. His moans are quieted while he nuzzles into your wet hair.
 God. This man is un-fucking-real.
“When you said no one ever wants you to need them… that just isn’t true,” you mumble into his neck. “I need you, and I want you to need me, too.” You’re trying not to get emotional while giving your friend— boyfriend? whatever— a hand job, but the vulnerability won’t stop pouring out. “I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always needed you. And I’ve always wanted you to feel the same.”
Steve tucks his head against your shoulder, “Close…”
“You’re so good, Steve. So good to everyone. So good to me.” You wish you could shut up, you’re probably ruining the moment, but it’s true. It’s all true. The praise seems to spur him on, regardless; he’s thrusting into your fist and panting. “Shhh… let me take care of you, for once. I got you. Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I- I do,” he’s whining into your skin, sucking marks along your shoulder. “I trust y- you, I  really—“ He chokes back a wavering whimper.
“Don’t be afraid to be loud with me,” you reassure him, stroking him at a steady, delicious pace. “S’okay, Stevie. I got you.”
Just as Steve finally reaches his peak, about to release some of the most sinful, beautiful moans you’ve ever heard, the front door slams shut.
“Hellooooo?”
Eyes clamped shut, he bucks wildly in your grip, whimpers building into those sounds you were oh so lucky to hear earlier. You already know from experience he is loud, and you just encouraged it, but you’re forced to mute his audible bliss, throwing your hand over his mouth.
Steve’s eyes spring open, glancing down at the hand over his mouth, trailing his gaze to you, only to nearly cross as they roll back. The vibrations from his moans shake you to your core, but never mind that. He spills over— your hand, the shower floor, his stomach, your leg— it’s all a mess, matching his demeanor. 
“Good boy,” you whisper, rewarding him with soft, slow kisses, planted along his neck, under his jaw. He shudders, your hand still guiding him through the last of his climax, but then he jolts under your touch, squirming and panting under your palm. Barely finished, another wave of pleasure rolls through him, and he’s shooting pearly, thick ropes everywhere again.
“Is that really all it takes to get you off? Just some praise and kisses?” Steve nods aggressively, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps against the wall. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“Are you guys here?!”
His head falls back against the tile, catching his breath. “Ah, shit.”
“Yeah… um, sorry for the whole ‘be loud for me’ thing… kinda got carried away and forgot they’re coming over.” When your hand slips away, he gives a drained, yet content smirk. 
“Thought this whole time—“ He holds a finger up, trying to ease his breathing steadily. With lids still hooded, he glances over your way, smirking ever so slightly. “— You weren’t into taking control.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“I thought it was just that pollen and the vines earlier.”
BANG!
“Christ on a fucking—“
“I hope you’re not dead in there!”
“We’re actually far from it—“ Steve slaps his palm over your mouth this time, glaring as you whine.
Well. This is horrible timing.
“We’re alive, just— just give us a minute!”
“Us?” Nancy’s tone would pair well with a pearl-clutching expression. “Are they—“
“You two are gross!” Robin chastises through the door, kicking it for emphasis. “Wasn’t once enough?!”
 Dustin gasps, “Once? Wait, are you saying—“
“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Steve grumbles under your palm, head falling onto yours, sighing. You pull his hand off your mouth, rolling your eyes.
“Steve was bleeding out, and I was trying to— ugh—“ Frustration overwhelms you while calling out your defense; to be fair, you’re not lying, just… not telling the entire truth. “— can y’all for once, just once, not make it weird?!”
Though they don’t sound like they’re buying it, Robin, Nancy, and Dustin murmur apologies through the door before walking away.
Sighing with relief, Steve’s arm slides around your waist, reeling you in closer. Water continues to tumble down between your bodies, rinsing away evidence of his arousal. Under calmer, lighthearted conditions, you’d be happy to clean him with your—
“Hey,” Steve’s hand cradles your face, leaning in to kiss you softly; it’s quick, but reassuring, breaking you from your thoughts. “Thank you. For taking care of me, I mean.” He’s got a dazed smile on his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s content, just enough in this moment.
“Not sure if you’re thanking me for making sure you didn’t bleed to death, or for the handjob, but you’re welcome—“ He clasps a hand over your mouth again, eyes wide.
“Shhh!”
“Not even 24 hours ago, you were railing me with a buncha’ fucking vines—“
“Oh my god.” With a groan, he glares at you, “Please shut up—“
“And now you’re too shy to talk about a handj—“
Both hands fly up to cover your mouth, which you only giggle under them.
“You’re so lucky we’re not alone right now.” It’s cute, watching him try to take control all on his own; he’s a flustered mess without the pollen running through his system.
“Oh, please, like you’re in any state to fuck me at all.” You slip out of his grasp before he can pathetically try to silence you once more. He rolls his eyes, but again, a hint of a smirk lingers.“Lemme bandage you up before we go downstairs.”
“Hang on,” he grabs your hand, stare falling to your back again. “Gotta take care of your back, first.”
“It’s fine, really—“ Hands flying to your hips, Steve gently leads you under the water again. His forehead rests against yours, lips brushing together.
“Let me take care of you, too.” 
He sounds so broken, desperate to repair something within him by doing what he knows best— putting others before himself.
You don’t have the heart to deny him right now; with a simple nod, you allow him to dote on you, too.
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“Fucked up we can’t order food right now,” Robin grumbles, digging through the kitchen cabinets. “Could really go for some comfort pizza.”
Dustin frowns, “Robin, people died.”
“Like I don’t know that— I’m trying not to think about how many people we might know that didn’t survive tonight, so let me whine about pizza, okay?!”
“Pizza would be in the freezer, not the cabinets,” Steve, fighting sleep that he needs in the worst way, counters. He’s leaning against the kitchen island, chin in hand, elbow on the table, falling asleep every so often. It’s when he begins to fall over that he wakes up, and repeats the process all over again.
“Okay, y’all just go— go be comfy somewhere, I’ll make something.” When Steve lingers while everyone else files out, you narrow your eyes. “Steve, babe, that means you too.”
“You don’t need help?”
“With what? I still know where everything is.”  You begin opening cabinets and drawers, not looking when you name the contents correctly. “Plates, silverwear, mugs on the bottom, glasses on the middle shelf, top shelf has the nice glass—“
“How the hell do you remember this?”
“— The really fancy glass is in that hutch,” you throw a thumb over your shoulder in its direction, rummaging through a drawer. “The one your mom hated us running around when we were kids.” Steve’s silence catches your attention, finally looking up. “You alright?”
He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but can’t find the words he needs. He loses them, like a dream slipping away after waking up, just dissolving the longer he thinks about it.
“Steve? Did I say something wrong?” You step closer to him as he shakes his head, running a hand over his face with a sigh. “Is it weird that I remember this stuff? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, you don’t,” his voice splits with despair as he gets up suddenly. “I— I need to lay down.” You don’t get a chance to comfort him as he rushes to the stairs, wincing and hissing from the deep aches and stabbing pain all over his body. 
Instead, you’re left standing alone, stumped, and a little hurt.
What did I do?
“What happened?”
Nancy’s soft voice, laced with curiosity, startles you out of your thoughts.
“Sorry,” She grimaces, but notices how tense you are. “Are you okay?”
“I… don’t know. Not really, I guess.” You still stare where Steve was moments ago. “I have no clue what’s going on. I think I upset him,” You tell her what happened, slumping into a chair nearby, sighing with defeat. “He just… froze, and left.”
Nancy seems to catch on immediately, nodding with her lips pursed. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
She slides into the chair next to yours, sighing with a shake of her head.
“He’s been pretty beat up the last four years, but the damage left behind is worse than he likes to let on.” She glances down at her hands, folded in her lap, speaking carefully. “He’s still himself, but sometimes he— he has these memory lapses, and gets really frustrated with himself, even if it’s out of his control.”
You feel sick. This is a detail he shouldn’t have left out while reconnecting with you. You’d never judge him for what he can’t control, and of course one could only take so much damage before there’s heavy consequences.
“I think the trauma kicked it off, because it’d happen at times when we—“ She cringes, pausing, not wanting to cross a line, but you’re not bothered by the past they have.
“S’okay, you don’t have to tiptoe around it, Nancy.”
Offering an apologetic smile, she continues, “He’d forget things here and there, when we were dating, but it wasn’t enough for the alarms to go off, at least not for me. It changed quite a bit after Billy nearly beat him to death. We weren’t really close anymore at that point, but it was still noticeable, even from a distance.
“Some days seem to be better than others… at least that’s what Owens said. Then last summer, he was even more roughed up, and this time has to be the worse yet.”
Yet.
God, you want to vomit.
“It’s the trauma and head injuries combined,” she explains, voice wavering. “Steve’s still Steve, but sometimes he just… loses himself for a bit. It’s not so life-altering that he can’t be independent, but it’s gotta be terrifying just… forgetting your own life, even for a second. Especially while we’re still young.”
“So that’s why he left,” you realize aloud; Nancy nods solemnly. You need to check on him. “I— do you care if I go—“
“I got it under control, it’s all good.” She rushes over to the pantry, pulling out boxes of pasta— angel hair’s easy enough to make with low energy. 
“Thank you so much, Nancy.” You wipe your eyes as you head for the doorway, but she calls your name, spinning you back around.
“I’m glad you two found each other again, even if the timing is shit.” Her sincere sentiment eases any lingering tension. “He needs someone like you.”
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The door to Steve’s bedroom is ajar, and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, looking through a book.
“Steve?” You call out softly, poking your head through the door. He whips around, dropping the book, facing you with a bloodshot stare. “Shit, sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
He gives one, dismal laugh, “I think you know the answer to that already.”
You step inside, gently shutting the door behind you. As you move closer, you notice he wasn’t holding a book, but a photo album; when he dropped it, some of the photographs spilled out onto the floor.
Most of the images are of you and him throughout your childhood years.
You crouch down, collecting and handing them back to him. Your eyes meet his own, soaked and swollen in sorrow.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the memory loss?” It’s not out of anger, or hurt, it’s out of concern, if anything at all. 
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?” He chuckles, but again, it’s lifeless. “I wanted to say something, but I kept pushing it off, and really did just… forget.”
Shuffling next to him on the bed, you wind your arms around him as he continues.
“When you brought up that old memory, it scared me that I couldn’t remember. The photos help, and shit eventually comes back to me, but those moments where everything dissolves away is—“ He chokes up, “It’s fucking terrifying.”
Steve rests against you, head on your shoulder as his arms lock around you, like you too, would dissolve at any moment.
“I scared you enough earlier, didn’t wanna do it again.”
“It scares me for you, but really, I could never be afraid of you. This is out of your control.” You kiss the top of his head, fingers running through his hair, gently scraping along his scalp in soothing, slow repetitions. “But you can’t get rid of me that easy, Harrington.”
The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, holding onto one another for dear life.
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After managing to stomach some food and water— all five of you weren’t hungry in the slightest, but needed something in your systems before sleeping— you finally get Steve alone again, cozying up to one another in his bed. Clothes strewn around the room, you burrow under the covers, tangling around one another without fabric barriers— aside from bandaging, wanting to feel as close as possible.
You figured the two of you were both far too exhausted and depressed to fool around, but he’s determined to try and return the favor; you’ve tried telling him there’s nothing to return, you were happy to distract him, make him feel good, even for a little bit, but he wouldn’t have it.
“As much as I want this right now, we both really need sleep.”
“Please? I jus’wanna be good for you,” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, sporadically leaving kisses on your skin. “Please…”
It pains you to say no, but you shake your head anyway. “Steve, you were ripped apart earlier, a- and flung around like a damn rag doll. I need more than anything for you to rest, okay?”
Silence hangs heavy above the both of you, buried beneath the sheets of his bed. Steve’s the first to shatter the quiet, barely above a whisper:
“What if you leave? What if I go to sleep and wake up and you’re gone?”
You lean up on your arm, trying to get a better look at him, but it’s too dark to make out his expression.
“Why would I leave?”
“Everyone always leaves.” He shudders a breath, adding, “You did.”
“Whoa, wait…” You’re baffled. “Steve, you left me behind. You walked away from our friendship for some—“
“Earlier, I mean. When you ran off. You just… left.”
“Because you were saying awful shit to me—“
“‘Cause you didn’t need to get tangled up in this mess!”
“It’s too fuckin’ late to argue that, Steve. It’s said and done— why the hell are you upset over this now? I don’t get—“
“I could’ve lost you!” His voice breaks into a pitchy rasp, trembling against you. “All of this has been so… so… confusing. Do you know how relieved I was to see you come through that gate, but how badly it pissed me off you’d even put yourself in danger to begin with?!”
“We talked about this—“ The sheet covering your naked form falls as you abruptly sit up, scoffing. “I was scared, and you never even asked what I was afraid of. Did it ever cross your mind I was scared to lose you?”
Steve shakes his head with a mirthless, forced laugh. “You said you were scared because everyone left—“
“And you never let me finish that thought, ‘cause you were too focused on being some… some know-it-all dickhead.”
“Yeah, yeah that’s real mature,” He sits up, close to you, but it’s still too dark to make out the details of his expression, whatever that may be right now. “Did it ever cross your mind that I never wanted you to see that place? That maybe I never wanted you to experience a hell like that? That— this— all of this has ruined my life. I’d never want you to feel what I feel— or what I don’t feel sometimes.”
“I’d follow you into hell, any form of it, if it meant helping you stay alive.” You say it so calmly, like it’s a no-brainer, and it is. 
To Steve, it’s just another display of your well-intentioned naivety. He grabs you by the shoulders, hands shaking through his grip.
“What don’t you understand?” His voice cracks, weakened by exhaustion and hopelessness. “Why would I want you to do that? I want you safe. Not down there with me. I wanted to you stay here. Stay safe.”
“Well, sometimes, when you care about someone, you do stupid shit for them—“
“No, no way, you don’t get to use that as an excuse,” He flatly laughs. “You don’t see me pulling stupid shit ‘cause I love you.”
Your ears ring, nearly drowning him out as he begins to nervously ramble.
He what?
“A- and look, I get— I’m sorry. I really am. I know we said earlier we’d leave that shit behind, but I need you to know it was out of—“ He pauses, catching himself before letting the word slip again. “It was never a mistake fixing our friendship. Not for me, at least, but you’ve always deserved better. Fuck—“ His hands leave you to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sighs; that much you can tell from the sliver of moonlight creeping in through the window. “I never wanted you down there ‘cause you deserve better. You always have. If anyone deserves to live a normal life, it’s you.”
“Oh, fuck normal, Steve.” Pulling his hands away from his face, you lace your fingers between his. “When has normal ever been my thing? I don’t care how much it pisses you off— I love you enough to follow you into hell, and did.” 
This is the version of you he knew all those years ago, before leaving you behind for a chance of a higher status that never would matter in the real world. A version so unapologetic your own skin, to defend what and who your heart embraces the most.
You’re climbing onto his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle him, and all he can do is watch you with a perfect balance of hearts and stars in his eyes.
 One hand leaves his to cradle his face, skin tingling as he turns his head, kissing your palm. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble, with the— y’know—“ Talking about the vines is a little difficult without the intoxication of that sinful, stupid, demonic plant you found. “But I’m not sorry for loving you.”
Steve’s struggling to find the right words, eyes searching your own for any doubts, any signs to keep his guard up; all he can find is the sincerity you’ve always shown him, but it’s deeper now, rooted in love. 
His hand reaches to the back of your neck, fingers splaying out and up to clumsily pull you towards him. You gasp once his lips meet yours, matching the hunger he kisses you with. It’s passionate, but slow, at first; in mere moments, he’s pressing his free hand to your back, pushing you even closer into him, whimpering into the lip lock.
Bucking up against you, his bare length glides along your slick heat; you’re caught off guard, completely forgetting the two of you never bothered to get dressed before bed.
“Shit—“ You throw your head back and grip tightly onto Steve’s shoulder. He hisses in pain, pulling you from the haze you’d began to lose yourself in. You immediately release your hold, realizing he was bruised badly. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry.”
“S’okay, I kinda— I forgot the vines did that,” He rests his head back against the headboard, wincing as the burning ache lingers. “You were right, we should just go to sleep. Neither of us are in the best shape right now, and—”
“What if I do all the work?” Your offer catches his attention as you run a hand through his hair. “I’ll be gentle, I promise, and you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing, ‘cept take it like a good boy.”
Steve shudders, cock kicking underneath you, still nestled between your folds. He wants it. Wants it bad. Real fucking bad. But, ever the gentleman that he is, there’s still concern over your current state.
“Yeah, but you’re not… you’re pretty beat up, too.” He swallows a gasp, hips twitching as he holds himself still. “Don’t wanna hurt you just to make me feel good.”
You shrug, like the pain’s not a big deal, and really? It’s not, not one bit. All you feel is love and heartache all at once, and you both need a distraction, to channel out the energy built up in that confession.
“I’ll let y’know if it’s too much,” You kiss his forehead, leisurely making your way down to his lips, only ghosting yours over his own. “But I’m gonna be so real with you, Steve—“ When you shift your hips, sliding tauntingly slow along his length, he whimpers, biting his lip to muffle what would’ve been a beautiful sound. “Can’t stop thinking about fucking you since yesterday.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“Shh, gotta be quiet for me, honey.”
It’s a surreal sight, having Steve writhe underneath you with overwhelming desire, whimpering again with his eyes rolling back as you call him honey.
That’s when it clicks; all Steve’s ever wanted is someone who can be as soft with him as he is with them. He just wants to be seen as precious and important as he sees you— wants to feel as treasured as he tries to make you feel.
And god, Steve Harrington is the most precious, important soul in your life. He’s so treasured, every fiber of his being— everything, even the stubborn, bitchy moods— you love all of him. Always has been near and dear to your heart, and always will be.
“Do- don’t think I can,” He pants, desperately trying to keep his voice at a whisper as the head of his cock catches at your entrances. Bucking up into you, he’s rushing out, “Just need t’be inside you. S’all I want, all I need— I- I need you so bad, angel.”
“I know, Stevie,” You grind down onto his cock, biting your lip to mute your own pleased sounds. “It’s all I want, too.”
His arms wind around you, reminiscent of the vines in their selfish urgency, but otherwise, his embrace is filled with a tender adoration.
Eyes flicking down to where your bodies meet, you glance back up at Steve, and oh, what a fucking wreck he is already; stare hooded with lust, mouth parted as he pants, the anticipation of your next move has him on edge, to say the least.
You search his expression for a final grant of consent, and he offers it in the form of a frantic nod, whimpering, “Mhm.”
The stretch as you slowly impale yourself onto him will take time getting used to; it was easier under the spell of some fucked up aphrodisiac, but completely tuned into reality has you taking it slow.
“Fuck. Fuck— Were you this—“ A moan attempts to leave him, until he strangles it into a grasp while you sink further onto him. “T- this fucking tight yesterday?”
Jaw falling open, you keep the cry of bliss to yourself, fully sheathing him while your breaths fall shallow. “M’sorry, I— give me a—“ Steve surges forward to kiss you, hoping it calms at least one of you. 
He breaks the connection, just barely, to whisper against your lips, “I know, s’okay—“ The way you scrunch your eyes shut catches his attention, drags him out of the fog of lust, just for a moment. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Gently, he holds your face. “If it hurts we- we can stop.”
Your gaze is glassy as you open your eyes, shaking your head as your body trembles.
“I- I don’t know how to— it’s like you’re—“ You take a deep breath, then another, for good measure. “Yesterday was… intense, but you… you’re here, we’re both here.”
Steve’s puzzled. “Well, yeah, f’course we are—“
“I thought— shit, m’sorry, I was trying so hard to— I didn’t want to fuckin’ cry.” You mirthlessly laugh at yourself; the action flutters your walls around him, but again, for your sake, he finds the strength to ignore it, pushes back a throaty groan. “S’like… knowing we’re somehow still alive makes it I- I sound insane—“
“Not even close, honey.”
“I feel— you feel closer, somehow. I- I- don’t know how to describe it, but I feel you everywhere, and now that I know y’feel the same, it’s— you—“
“Shhhh, sweetheart, just breathe for me,” You take a deep breath, inhaling rapidly and constricting around him; with a sharp gasp, his cock throbs inside of you. “Okay, not— fuck— not like that, or I’m gonna lose it.”
The lapse of restraint gives you a step up, helps you regain control over your emotions. With a few more slow breaths, you settle down, anchor yourself into the present.
“Are you okay?” You manage to ask, and Steve, in need of rest more than anything, smiles dopily at you.
“M’good, you?” He grabs your hips, lazily guiding you back and forth on him. 
“Uh-huh.” When you discover a rhythm gratifying enough for you both, he moans out, too tired to react in time to quiet down. “Steve.”
“Can’t help it,” He leans into your neck, kissing and failing to keep his mouth busy. “Not with a pussy like this.”
Flexing his hips into you, there’s nothing you can do in time to cover the quick yelp you make,“A— ah! Oh my god…” 
Steve tries his hardest to hold back his needy sounds, but has to bite down onto your shoulder to muffle the noise somehow. 
You rush out in a whisper, “Oh, fuck, Steve! Shit…” Riding him with a steady pace, you pant, “Wish I had something to gag you with.”
“M’sorry, m’so sorry,” He whispers frantically as you bounce on his cock. While you keep a gentle hold on his face, he parts his lips, turning his head towards your thumb, inches from his mouth. A brilliant idea crosses his mind, “Shit… use those.”
“Use… what?” He manages to flit his tongue out to the pad of your thumb, whimpering some more as his taste buds hit your skin. “Oh. You want this?” You bring your hand closer, and happily, greedily, he sucks your thumb in, tongue lapping around your digit.
“More,” He mumbles around your thumb. “Please… more.”
How could you deny his simple, yet sweet, request?
Sliding your thumb out, you replace it quickly with your pointer and middle fingers; selfishly, Steve takes in your ring finger, too, sucking sloppily on all three. With his mouth stuffed, just enough, he begins to drool a little at the corners of his mouth, while gazing up at you so lovingly.
“You’re fucking perfect, Steve.” You praise him, grinding down into his lap. He twitches, desperate to fuck up into you, but holds his composure. “So good for me, so, so good… this feel okay?”
Tears prick his lash line as he nods wildly, still gagging himself on your fingers as you fuck him.
“Here I was, trying to make love to you, but you still need it to be filthy, huh?”
“Mhm,” is all he can manage to reply with, but nearly loses it when you remove your fingers. “N- no, wait—“ The noise of protest dies on his lips as your hand curls around the back of his head, guiding him toward your chest.
“Would this help?”
“So fuckin’ much— mnph!” You push his face into your chest the moment he latches onto your nipple. He laps and sucks with abandon, drooling all over your breast as you lift and fall over his length.
You push his hair away from his eyes, running your fingers through it softly a few times. A rosy blush dusts over his cheeks, watching you watch him; he’s a bit embarrassed by how turned on he is just from this alone, but that’s clearly not stopping him.
“You’re so pretty like this, Stevie.”
Against your fluttering walls, he pulsates over your sweet words. He paws at your chest, toying with your neglected nipple, still swirling his tongue around the other.
“Can’t wait ‘til we’re alone so I can hear all those pretty moans you make,” You murmur to him, feeling him twitch inside you again. He’s whimpering again, stifled by his oral fixation. “I wanna take care of you, all of the time… would y’let me?”
He nods feverishly, teeth grazing along your nipple, earning a pitchy gasp from you. Lips glistening as he pulls back, a thread of spit still keeps him leashed to your skin.
“You’ll let me do the same, ye- yeah?” Steve asks, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet a groan; you lean back, arching yourself into him and finding a delicious angle for you both while you still ride him. “Jesus… you’re unreal.”
“Mhm… just gotta…” You trail off, biting down on your fist as a squeal threatens to form. “Gotta heal up for me first, okay?”
Steve shoves your hand away, holding your face again; he whispers his promises of healing, ones he plans on keeping. As he babbles on, drunk off the shared bliss while you meld together, he begins to get emotional. “I promise, yeah, I really do, I mean it, m’gonna get better, gonna be okay,” He whispers, kissing up your neck, avoiding any heavy bruising from the vines left behind. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“Sorry? For what, Steve? Nothing’s wrong—“
“I fucked up, saying I didn’t wanna be here anymore. It’s so… fuck, it’s so hard sometimes to find reasons to stay.”
Your thrusts begin slowing to a stop, “Don’t ever apologize for telling me how hurt you are. I want you safe, and happy, but if you need to get it out, you get it out—“
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t—“ Steve attempts to guide you back into your steady pace, needing the physical connection to steady his train of thought. “I really wasn’t thinking—“
“I love you, and I mean that.” You’re as careful as can be, but wrap your arms around him, leading him to rest against your shoulder as you start grinding on him again. “This has to be hell… to relive over and over…” He can’t help it, bucks up into you, taking your breath away. 
“Y’got every right to want the pain to end,” He’s going to leave aching bruises behind with the grip he’s got on your hips, fingers digging into your curves. “B- but it can’t end like that.”
What an emotional rollercoaster to ride while fucking.
“It won’t, I swear,” Voice wavering, he lifts his head. His eyes, filled with endless emotion, meet yours; pain, adoration, fear, passion— it’s all on display in his bloodshot, spent, tear-lined gaze. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Never, ever.”
“Good, ‘cause I- I— o— oh— kay—“ Steve finds your clit with ease, toying with it slowly. “If I c- can’t disappear, you can’t either— christ, Steve, don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.” Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his body. His hips jerk up, slamming himself into you, so he plants his feet on the bed, intentionally fucking up into you. “Shit, you’re close, huh?”
You barely nod as your jaw slacks, body trembling as pleasure hits you all at once. Steve kisses you, just in time to muffle your cries of bliss. Your high racks through you in convulsing waves, coaxing him to the edge of his own climax.
He practically swallows your moans and mumbles against your lips, “M’gonna— I’m— honey, please—“
“Let go, Stevie,” You manage to tell him through pathetic whimpering. “I got you, a- always.”
Returning the favor, you smash your lips against his, muting his symphony of ecstasy, much to your disappointment. He forces gravelly groans down your throat while he sloppily runs his tongue over yours, sucking softly on it. With a borderline violent grip, he pins you closer to him, as close as physically possible, spilling over into you. Your aftershocks are enough to milk his cock for everything he’s got; he better sleep well tonight after this.
You’re so lost in the moment, drunk on passion, it takes a moment to realize he’s babbling something between kisses and winded breaths.
“Don’t let me go.”
Shaking your head, your nose brushes against his, feeling the dam of your emotions finally crumble. Your tears mix with his, holding him with great care.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”
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Sleep breaks itself apart for you both; if one of you has a nightmare, the other stays awake to provide comfort. Steve’s taken more painkillers than his stomach lining can handle, and still continues to toss and turn from the deeply embedded ache in his bones. You have a harder time falling back asleep than he does— after all, it’s not his first rodeo.
Maybe, at most, you gain an hour or two of continuous rest, but daylight breaks far sooner than either of you would prefer it to.
It’s a little bizarre, hearing birds chirp outside among the never-ending sirens that have droned on through the night; the early morning skies paint the world outside his window in soothing hues of orange and pink.
You don’t dare to look longer, fearing the billowing smoke will break the little bit of illusion left that things are alright. If you avoid peering through certain windows in his house, you can’t see the bleak reality; you stay put, shielding yourself from the truth, just a little longer.
“Hey, Steve?” You’re draped over him from behind, cautious of where you rest your body onto his. You’re quickly learning you like any position where you’re wrapped up in one another, but being the big spoon for him might be your favorite yet.
“Hm?” His voice is gravelly, and you wonder if it’s always like this in the morning, or if it’s just free of charge with the suffering he’s endured all night.
It’s a naive question to ask, but you still want to know how he feels; after all, he is the seasoned veteran out of the two of you. “Do you think the world’s really ending?”
He exhales roughly through his lips pressed together, falling into a pause. “… I don’t know, honestly. It’s, uh, pretty scary, huh?”
Burying your face into his neck, you shrug. “Yeah… but it’s not as scary as it’d be going it alone.”
Squeezing your hands, holding them close to his chest while carefully pulling you closer against him, he sighs. His lips meet the backs of your hands, warmth lingering as he keeps them close.
“I take back what I said last night.” He whispers into your skin, “M’really fuckin’ glad we made it home alive.”
“Even if home’s hell right now?”
“Yeah,” Rolling over, Steve’s hand embraces your jaw, resting softly on your neck. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, stunning hazel stare holding your own; it’s still bloodshot, but there’s now faint traces of rest, at least. “‘Cause it’s still home with you.”
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stevieswhore · 1 month ago
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Oh my gosh DO IT. Art bends the girl over so he can look Tashi right in the eyes while he fucks the girl on their bed.
-🍑
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Bend Over
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. Art x Reader x Tashi
Cheating, drinking, is this voyeurism? I actually don't really know and I dont feel like googling but yeah youre fucking and someones watching-- cuck chair. cuck bed? implied consent, unprotected sex w strangers, p n v, fingering, oral f receiving, threesome, revenge sex
Art can barely see the road when he's driving, tears building so much it blurs his vision. He's in no mental state to drive but he also can't stay in that fucking hotel.
He gave her his grandmother's ring. Her ring. Tashi knew what that meant to him. They were getting married in two months. Did it mean nothing to her?
There was Patrick again, swooping in to grab her attention. Why could art never win against him? He's not just thinking about tennis.
Art slams his fist against the top of the steering wheel, letting out a short sob with a hiccup. Fuck her. Fuck him. Why?
The tears are swept in the rearview mirror, smeared against his wrist as Art takes a deep breath. In, out. He never saw them kiss, maybe it was nothing.
It wasn't nothing. It was Patrick. Art's crying again.
It takes him a couple minutes to gather himself, eyes bloodshot when he pushes open the doors to the dingy local bar.
One drink, then another, then another. How many fucking drinks will it take? It blurs together like the road did. There's something at the other end of the bar, a pretty thing. You look as miserable as he does. Do you have a fiancee getting pummeled by an old friend right now? Art almost hopes so. Make the pain less singular, more plural. Someone else needs to hurt like he does.
Your name tastes like sugar, a chaser for the shots you order and split. "Let's be miserable together." You whisper against his lips. What a fucking dream. This has to be a hallucination.
Cab ordered, lips on necks in the backseat. Art's barely registering anything. It's like floating. Legs he didn't have any control over took him to the car, to the bar, to your chair, to the cab. Lips that don't feel like his own kiss at you, kiss on you. His name on yours is unfamiliar, it doesn't feel like his. It's all Tashi's.
He doesn't realize that by the time the two of you are at the hotel room, Tashi's back from her mistake. Eyes wide as she takes in the sight of her husband-to-be fumbling with the button on his jeans as another woman mouthes at his neck. She's on the bed, head in her hands while she called herself every name under the sun after coming back from Patrick's hotel. Maybe this was her karma.
When Art does look up, he gasps. Your eyes follow, a curse fumbling from your lips in shock. "Who- who is that!?"
Trembling and clumsy fingers push his curls back, taking a tired breath in. Something about the look of Tashi right now makes his jeans tighten more than they already were. "My fiancee."
Your head whips to him, then back to her. You feel like you should leave, but Art grabs your hand.
"The one that just slept with my best friend."
"He's not your best friend." Why'd she even say that? She wants to slap herself. Art scoffs. That made up his mind-- he'd almost turned and left.
"Fuck you."
It's almost self-serving for you, staying. You were also just cheated on. This feels like something you both deserve, getting back at the person who hurt you so completely. But, fuck, a best friend? You were almost grateful now that yours chose a coworker instead. You let Art push your shirt up, skirt down. You do the same for the stranger. Tonight, you'll be the only one loyal to him. A last fuck you to those incapable.
Tashi doesn't even know what to say or do. The guilt eats at her too much to move. He deserves this. She deserves this. She was weak enough to let Patrick get in her head and break her, weak enough to let Art pick up her pieces for her, weak enough to cheat. She'll be strong enough to watch her punishment.
He's pushing you over the edge of the bed, chest first. It's a nice hotel-- a great one. The thread count on these sheets probably costs as much as your rent. To defile them feels like another act of revenge on something greater.
You push up on your forearms when he bends you over, the carpet on your knees quite plush. Tashi looks you straight in the eyes. You close yours, though, when you feel her husband's tongue push into your entrance. "F-Fuck!"
It's sobering, the taste of you. It mixes with the taste of Tashi that he's so familiar with. He'd kissed her reassuringly before leaving her with her thoughts earlier. Then Patrick--
You almost jolt forward, head dropping to the mattress as two digits push into you, curling slow and deep. Your moans melt to whispers of a sound, fingers clenching the sheets. "Oh my god, please,"
Something's wrong with Tashi. She can't look away. Her eyes burn into the top of your head, flittering from your face of ecstasy to her fiance tongue first in your ass. It's like she's been stuck in a state of shock and something else ever since this all started. Thighs press together in discomfort and heat, her fingers clenching the sheets just as you do. Art's staring right at her over the swell of your ass and arching back. His biceps flex as he finger-fucks you, the sound so wet in the otherwise quiet room.
It's no time until a messy orgasm is pulled from you with his tongue and fingers and Art laps everything up. Arousal drips from his chin when he pulls up, grinning at Tashi. "Fuck you." He says again, and Tashi whimpers, curling back against the headboard.
With a squeeze to your ass and a hand rubbing up and down your spine as you come down, Art tugs off his jeans and boxers at once. He's already fully hard, red and leaking. Tashi almost wants to reach out, but no. She doesn't deserve to. Stay strong.
You're about to lift your head again when he's already sliding into you, the slick of your orgasm making it easy despite his size. Another small sound pulls from you, biting your lip. Your eyes lift back up to the woman again, making her feel what you feel. You almost say 'fuck you' to her, but it's not your place. Besides, you've forgotten all words by the time he starts snapping into you.
The sounds you make are bordering on pornographic, pressing your face back into the mattress, grasping onto sheets for something, anything. "Ah, ah, fuck, she's so fucking tight," Art groans, hands gripping your hips to thrust into your cunt. He's hitting that spot so deliciously you could cry. It's a miracle that you're able to push back up to your elbows, giving Tashi the perfect view of your fucked-out expression.
"Art-" Tashi doesn't even know what she's trying to say but she can't stay quiet any longer. His hips snap harder and you yell. There you flop back down again.
"Fuck you," He's breathless and moaning out the words now, "Fuck you, fuck Patrick. Have him-- you can, ah, ah, you can have him," His eyes turn to you, "Are you close?"
You can only nod. Your hands, by no means of your own, slide closer to Tashi as you grab the Egyptian cotton. She's fucking crazy. Your eyes snap open when you feel her manicured fingers wrap around yours, the weight of the stone on one of them pressing slightly against yours. You don't pull your hand away.
He's hitting that sweet spongy spot in you with every thrust and you tell him again that you're close. In a swift move Art pulls you up, your back against his chest, head leaning back on his shoulder as your knees try and hold you up along with his arms around your waist. He's still staring straight at Tashi while he whispers dirty words in your ear. "You're gonna fucking kill me, so fucking warm and tight. I can feel you're close, gonna squeeze me till I'm empty baby? In front of her?"
Tashi crawls forward on the bed and you can hear Art's breath catch. He wants to stop her, you can tell as much, but he can't. This is a bravado for him, she's taking back power. You're too whimpery and gone to do anything about it yourself.
You feel fingers slowly, timidly ghost your clit. You can still feel Art's arms around your waist, so you know they aren't his, and something about knowing that they're Tashi's makes you shiver. When you don't stop her, too, she starts moving them. Fast. Her free hand comes up to cup your face, a thumb sliding back and forth against your cheek.
"Fuck, oh my god," You'd lurch forward if it weren't for Art's arms. It's barely thirty seconds of her hands on you until you're crying out, clenching around him as muscles contract and fireworks go off in your head. Your hands dart out for anything to support you and they land on Tashi's shoulders. Words or sounds barely come out as the two of them help you ride it out, and then, before you know it, Art's thrusting once more, twice more, and spills.
He fills you to the brim in front of Tashi and she loves it.
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stevieswhore · 2 months ago
Text
don’t delete the kisses - 5/?
landing page
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a camboy!steve au
this installment contains: camboy!steve; confessions!!!; heavy petting/making out!; a rude interruption!
authors note: we made it to the chapter besties! hope you likey :) more to come ofc! as always feedback slays and is so important to me and my menal healf
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you’re still alive when steve checks on you an hour later. you’re laying sideways, head pressed into his pillow, looking at your phone. his heart skips, slides up and catches in his throat. he’s quiet when he shuts the door, and you sigh loudly, an acknowledgment of his presence.
“you doin’ okay?” he asks softly, approaching. he grabs his streaming chair and pulls it in to sit close.
you groan and throw your phone down face first. “ugh.”
“that good?”
“i’m gonna kill him,” you mumble. “so embarrassing.”
“hey,” he says, hand twitching to touch yours. “no one’s even talked about it.”
you squint at him. well, you’re already squinting, but you squint harder. “don’t lie.”
“honest,” he says, holding out his damn pinky.
you begrudgingly take it, and you both hold on to the other for a moment too long. your stomach flips - you’ve been awake for about ten minutes and already had to talk yourself out of an anxiety attack. you never could have dreamed of being in steve’s bed. but being in steve’s bed because you can’t handle your weed? that never ever crossed your mind.
it was disorienting. you only remember a few fragments of being in here, of steve tucking you in. you don’t know how much time has passed. “everyone go home?”
steve laughs. “it’s been an hour.”
you sigh. “explains why i still feel like shit.” you want to roll your eyes at his worried expression, but it’s still incredibly sweet. “i’m good, promise. probably can go home toni-“
“no.” he says it so confidently. “jesus, i knew you were going to say that.”
“well, i think i can!”
“absolutely not! no. no. you can have my bed-“
“don’t be ridiculous,” you huff. it’s still hard to speak without slurring. “if you stole my keys-“
“i did.”
“then i’ll sleep on the floor.”
“well, we can just share the bed.”
a silence falls over the room. it feels like you’ve been dunked in cold water.
“it’s a king,” he adds sheepishly.
you’re still quiet. you hate when he’s right, and you hate that you can’t go home, and you hate that you might have to share a bed with him. you hate yourself for smoking so much when you should have listened to him. and you hate not knowing what happened within the last hour.
“i hope i didn’t say anything stupid,” you say suddenly. you need confirmation.
and you truly expect to get a brushed off “no” or a scoff. but steve pauses. opens his mouth, then stammers a little. “n-no, nothing stupid.”
you’re panicking now, forcing yourself to sit up. “steve,” you urge, “what did i do?”
“nothing! nothing bad -“
“what did i say?”
you can tell his mind’s running too quick for his voice to catch up with. “you - uh. mmm. you - well, you said something about my bedsheets.”
“your bedsheets?”
steve swallows hard. he seems just as panicked as you. “you said they used to be checkered.”
you’re not totally sober, so you’re not entirely sure what the implication is. because his sheets were checkered and now they’re this boring navy -
“oh.” it’s more to yourself than him. you remember how you knew that now.
“and - and something about my dumb bowling pin?”
you’re frozen. you swallow anxiously. you don’t know what to say.
“how did you know about those?” steve scoots his chair in a little closer. he’s stressed, too. and you know you should tell him the truth, but how could you?
“you’ve told me about ‘em,” you say nervously. “i’ve seen pictures.”
“i went through our texts. i never sent any pictures and i’ve never told you about them.”
“in person, then.”
he purses his lips. “i don’t think so.”
you’re gnawing on your bottom lip and it’s right about to bleed. steve leans forward and gingerly pops it out from between your teeth. his hand lingers on your cheek. “did you watch me?”
his voice is low and soft. it’s an accusation, but it doesn’t sound like it. he just seems confused - maybe a little hopeful.
your panic increases, especially with his skin on yours, but you’re stuck. trapped. you swallow again before tears spring up in your eyes. “i’m sorry.”
“hey,” he says, putting his other hand on your face, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over. “it’s okay. i told you to, didn’t i? pestered you for weeks, ‘course you did.”
despite his comfort, he’s panicking. he’s damn near incriminated himself of jacking off to you, and you might’ve seen it. “just a peak, huh? no way you paid. right?”
you just stare, a few more tears falling.
his face falls. “right?”
you take in a deep breath and push his hands down away from your face. his closeness is overwhelming. “i just got curious. okay? wanted to see, so i - i paid for the basic access and i watched a few.” you’re such a fucking liar, but he doesn’t need to know how much money you’ve spent. how you’ve egged him on. he doesn’t need that right now. if ever. “i know - i’ve totally broken your trust and i’m so sorry. i feel so gross about it, steve, i haven’t watched in a month. christ, that sounds so pathetic -“
“a month?” he interrupts. he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “well - wait, when did you start?”
your lip’s between your teeth again, but this time he doesn’t nudge it back out. “remember when… when i started to act weird at work?”
he processes the time before slowly leaning back in his chair, exhaling heavily. he runs his hand through his hair. “how much did you see?” he asks after a moment.
your face feels like it’s caught on fire and you look at the collar of his shirt to avoid his eyes. “a lot.”
“how much is a lot?”
you look at him pathetically. “i’m sorry.” you almost sob. “i know i’m a pervert and it’s so fucked up of me, i never should have looked, steve. just got - fuck, i just got so - i don’t know. i don’t know.”
you wish he’d say anything. that he would kick you out or yell at you. but he just stares until you’re about to scream.
“i’ll go,” you start, sniffling, but steve suddenly leans forward again. he rests a hand on your thigh.
“do you know what i think about?”
you blink. “what?”
“do you have any idea what i think about when i touch myself?”
you pause and shake your head. you feel so small when he’s looking at you like this.
“i think about you.”
you blink again. “i’m sorry?”
“if anyone’s the pervert,” he says, voice low. you have to lean in to hear him, your noses almost colliding, “it’s me. i’ve been fucking myself on camera to the thought of you for months. i’ve tried, i have - i’ve tried so hard to not think about you, but - well, you’re kind of all i think about, anyway.”
it’s as if all the air in your lungs was sucked out. you can’t even think of what to say. you’re so shocked and god, you’re aroused by it, by the confirmation that the coworker he was moaning about was you. “wow,” is what you come up with.
“yeah,” he says, laughing nervously. “wow.”
you spend some time evening your breathing. you’re thankful steve isn’t pushing, as nervous as he looks. he opens his mouth to apologize, but you speak over him.
“i’ve touched myself to you, too.”
it makes him shiver, skin pebbling. he can’t fucking believe it. “say it again,” he whispers after a beat.
you want to die. “i’ve touched myself to you.”
“like -?”
“like. i watched you and i’d….”
another silence. downstairs, you hear people cheering. they must be playing a game.
steve’s chair squeaks as he shuffles in it. he licks his lips. “are you high?” he asks.
“a little,” you admit. “but - it’s all true.”
he nods. “are you okay?”
“i’m fine, i think.”
he nods again, his eyes flicking down to your bitten lips. “tell me you want me.”
your brows furrow. “what?”
he leans in further. your noses finally bump. he smells like hairspray and coca cola and that stupidly expensive cologne he bragged about last week - the one you’ve been missing since you first smelled it. “i’ll give you everything. just tell me - tell me you want me. please.”
your foreheads touch. his breath is hot against your lips. you’re scared, terrified, but you know the truth. “i need you, steve.”
kissing steve is the opposite of what you’d dreamed of. you thought it’d be rough and fast and instead, he’s slow and gentle. certainly knows what he’s doing. you sigh, hands reaching to rest around his neck. he pulls back after a moment, pupils blown. “say it again.”
you giggle, high now on his attention and affection. “i need you, steve.”
now you’re on your back, and he’s kissing you like you’d imagined. still methodical, still calculated, but harder and faster. it’s hard to keep up, but you do, months of admiration catching up to you both. you can’t believe it, not even entirely sure this isn’t a hallucination. half convinced that you’ll snap out of it and be laying in his bed fucked up all over again.
“you have no idea-“ he says against your lips. “-how fucking long i wanted to hear that.” he climbs over you, helping you scoot back so he can place a knee between your thighs. “when did you stop watching? tell me, please, gotta know.”
“i - oh my - when -“ he cuts you off with a kiss and you squeak, speaking when he pulls back enough. “like a month ago, after the stream - when - oh my god.”
his knee’s pressed right between your legs now, giving you enough to grind down on. he’s moving like he’s insatiable, his lips now trailing down your jaw and to your neck. “tell me,” he repeats.
“i was on that st-stream — mmm — when you didn’t get to cum - trying to hit your goal -“
“fuck,” he moans, pulling back. “when you texted me? you were fucking watching?”
you feel evil. “sorry i ruined your orgasm.”
“holy shit,” he breathes. “honey - you should’ve kept watching.” his lips are back on your neck, hands pawing at your shirt. “came to you so many times. just about said your name in some of ‘em. had to bite it back - felt so fucked up after. i think i’m addicted to you.”
steve sucks a hickey into your skin and you moan loudly. he puts a hand over your mouth and you’re shocked at how hot it is. “shhh, gotta be quiet, don’t want someone to walk in, huh?”
you shake your head and he shakes his, too. “can’t believe this. thought you hated me or something.” he takes his hand away for you to answer, moving back to your neck.
“i - no, i - how could i? i just - i was worried, didn’t think - didn’t know - and i was b-breaching your p-privacy.”
“i wanted you to,” he mumbles into your skin. “so bad. y’know how hard it was that night when we almost-? after i took you out?”
“that’s being very generous,” you breathe, “considering the company th- that was there.”
“only wanted you to come,” he admits. “didn’t want to make you uncomfortable - i really didn’t think - blowin’ my mind that you’re under me right now. that you -“ he laughs. “that you sabotaged a stream.”
“hope i can make it up to you.”
steve grins. “think you will.”
he’s kissing down your neck again, to your collarbone, nipping at it. “eddie made me so fuckin’ mad,” he continues, “touching you like that.”
you gasp as his thumbs roll over your nipples. you feel lightheaded. “i know. you’ve got an expressive face, y’know.”
he scoffs. “no i don’t.”
“whatever,” you smile. your fingers move to dig into his shoulder blades. “eddie - he told me you talked to him ‘bout making me uncomfortable.”
steve looks up, sheepish again. “well, didn’t he?”
“not at all. it was hot watching you get irritated.”
he rolls his eyes.
“like that,” you smile.
“you played so hard to get,” he murmurs, pressing his knee against you harder, making you gasp. “come on, show me how hot.”
you throw your head back as you grind against him, his hands moving under your shirt. “wasn’t intentional.”
“i know.” his hands stop right below where you want them. “you can trust me, okay? i really like you. too much. robin’s been riding me about it forever. i - honestly, i felt a little crazy without having you.”
your stomach flips and you grind down on his leg again. “yeah? me, too.”
a sudden bang on the door. it makes you both jump. “harrington!” eddie’s shouting.
steve squeezes his eyes shut. “do you ever shut up?” he shouts over his shoulder.
“emergency!”
“what?” he snaps.
“we’re out of beer!”
you burst into laughter at the look of shock and anger on steve’s face. he looks back down at you and starts laughing with you, anger melting.
“i’m dying out here!”
“don’t you have some fucked up weed to smoke instead?” you shout.
you hear eddie gasp. “they live!”
“your shouting woke them from the dead!” steve admonishes.
“guess we have to cut it short?” you ask, cradling his face in your hand.
“guess so,” he sighs. “might be a good thing.”
you falter. “why?”
“need you to myself,” he mumbles, leaning forward, nose on nose. “wanna be the only one hearing the sounds you make.”
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482 notes · View notes
stevieswhore · 2 months ago
Text
for @bluesontheinside - thank you for voting!!
contains: real handsy reader; lovestruck steve; two idiots in love in a car what can i say
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“Steve!”
He could never get tired of that. A grin breaks across his face when he sees you. You’re so happy. Giggling, wiggling while you make your way over to him. He grunts when you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his freckled neck. You smell like chlorine and shampoo, green apples and coconut. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.
“Hi,” you sigh, melting into him.
“Hi,” he grins. “You have fun?”
“Mhm.” You bury your face in his neck, sucking at his sensitive skin. His hands grip your hips a little tighter, looking past you to give your friends an awkward smile and wave.
“Come on,” he coos, trying to steer you away and towards his car. You stand on the tips of your toes instead and plant your lips against his greedily.
Steve’s hard in two seconds flat.
He feels your friends’ eyes on him and it makes him blush bright red. But he doesn’t pull away from you either. Lets you kiss him for a little, til you’re satisfied, pulling back and looking up at him like he put the stars in the sky.
“Okay, needy,” he teases, wrapping his arm around your waist and spinning you to face his car. “Tell your friends bye.”
“Bye!” you call over your shoulder.
“Have fun getting laid!”
Steve turns bright red.
“I will!” you shout back.
You giggle while stumbling, wrapping your arm around Steve and leaning into him. He sits you in your seat and wraps the belt around your chest.
“Don’t get handsy,” you say, swatting his hand and laughing more. It’s Steve’s favorite sound.
He kisses your forehead quick, ducking back out of the car before you pull him in.
“I don’t think I’m the handsy one,” he says, slipping into his seat.
“Oh, please. ‘s the first time ever you haven’t copped a feel of my tits when y’had the chance.”
Steve rolls his eyes - he knows you’re right - and pulls back out onto the road.
“I missed you,” he says, reaching over to grab your hand. “You have a good day?”
“I missed you.” You avoid his second question, turning to face him and pouting. “Steve. I missed you.”
It inflates his ego. “What’d you miss?”
“Pull over and I’ll show you.”
Steve wants to. But he’s not even a mile away from your friend’s house and there’s streetlights all around. “C’mon, be good for me. You can wait.”
“Uh-uh.” You sound so serious, though you slur. “No, Stevie, wanna feel you so bad.”
Steve’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”
“‘ve been wet since I called you and told you when to come get me.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat, spreading your legs. “Thought about you… fuckin’ me in your pool… want it so bad, Steve.”
He’s about to swerve off the road, cock straining against his jeans. “Yeah?” he says again, so stupidly, but his brain’s making its way down to his dick.
Your head rolls to the side to stare at him. “You’re so hot.”
Steve laughs at the abruptness, at the change of pace. “You really think so?”
“Mhm.” You reach for him, tracing you finger along the bridge of his nose and down to his lips. You trace them, too, before running the pad of your finger down his throat. You connect the moles dotting his neck, humming to yourself.
Steve’s about to call you handsy, but then your hand falls to his cock, palming it through his jeans.
“Honey.” His voice is rough, strained.
“Stevie.” You’re smirking. “Don’t y’want me? I’m so wet for you, baby. Missed you all day.”
Steve takes a deep breath. Tries to focus. But your hand applies such perfect pressure to his cock, and you’re staring at him, so pretty in the dim light of his car, the radio illuminating your face. He sighs, then reroutes, heading towards one of his favorite make-out spots.
You giggle, gleeful.
188 notes · View notes
stevieswhore · 4 months ago
Text
After Dark
S.H. x F Reader
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Summary: After a death scare, Steve is terrified to lose you, and is determined to take care of you.
CW: MDNI 18+, angst, fluff, injuries on arms, softer smut
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The frigid breeze of a cold, autumn night nipped at your skin, the usually cozy sweater you were wearing not helping one bit.
Kid after kid, with bruised knees and scraped elbows gathered into a van to be taken home after another traumatic, yet all too familiar event in the Upside Down.
Eddie had graciously offered to take them home, his van having plenty of space in the back for everyone to huddle up, tired heads resting on shoulders and nodding off from exhaustion.
You stood by Steve's car, goosebumps on your skin and a split lip quivering from the unwelcoming chill of the night, and watched him as he exchanged a few words with Eddie, thanking him before he drove off.
Your arms didn't hurt anymore at least, and you didn't know if they were numb from the cold, or if you were still in shock.
You'd been caught off guard by a demodog just an hour ago– it came running after you in the dark, and lept on top of you, toppling you onto the hard dirt.
It'd slashed both of your upper arms in the process, tearing through your sweater, and there was a fleeting moment where you were going to scream, cry for help, but you opted not to. You knew that after countless times of battling Russians and bloodthirsty creatures, you were bound to eventually die at some point.
You'd accepted your fate and squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look into its mouth before you became its latest meal, when you heard a loud smack, the weight and pressure of its hold on you suddenly gone.
You forced your eyes open to see Steve, holding his infamous baseball bat, and smacking it against the creature's head over and over again while he screamed and shouted, willing it to die, until its movements finally stilled.
He dropped his bat then with a thud, running up to you with frightened, wide eyes, a blood splattered face, and he knelt down next to you and slid his arms underneath you in one swift movement, holding you close to him as he took in sharp breaths, asking you if you were okay, asking you where it hurt, begging you to respond to him.
You hadn't responded, only staring at him with confused eyes, chest heaving, unable to find the words to tell him you were okay. One moment you'd accepted your fate, and the next, Steve was holding you close to him, a hand roaming over the sleeves of your sweater where it had been torn, heavily sighing with relief when he'd realized that your slashes in your arms were your only injuries.
A silver tear glistened in the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek as he apologized over and over again for not getting to you sooner, and choked back a sob, telling you he thought you were a goner.
Once you'd returned when the battle was over (for the time being), Steve made it abundantly clear that you were not going home, that you were staying with him so he could take care of you, not wanting you to go back to an empty house to lick your wounds alone.
You'd told him that you were okay, that it wasn't life threatening, that you could take care of yourself, but eventually accepted his request when he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his soul wavering and shaking life a leaf, and grabbed your face, pressing his forehead against yours, and kindly but sternly whispering, "No."
Steve was making his way back to you now from Eddie's van, the chilly air breezing through his long waves, and hastily took to taking off his jacket when he saw you shivering, thoughtfully draping it over your shoulders as to not hurt you any further.
He looked at you up and down, studying your body language and crossing his arms before he met your gaze.
"You sure you're okay?" He asked for the tenth time, distress still in his voice.
"Yeah," you nodded, softly smiling, "I'm okay. Just cold."
"Oh shit, yeah," he sighed, "come on, then."
He rested a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the passenger side door before opening it for you, helping you to get in and make sure you were comfortable, and carefully shut it closed, stepping over to the driver's side and sitting down in a hurry, starting his BMW and cranking the heat before driving off.
You stared out the window, burning, hooded eyes closing in relief as the heat kicked in, almost forgetting the thick tension in the air, like a drawn bow waiting to be released, before Steve broke the heavy silence.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.
Your eyebrows furrowed, confused by his apology as you looked over to him.
"Why are you sorry?"
"I don't know," he huffed, "it's just that... if we never became friends, you would've never had to deal with this shit, get hurt, ya know?"
"Oh my god," you scoffed playfully, "how were you supposed to know that King Steve asking a girl out in 8th grade would lead to this?"
"I'm not King Steve anymore," he frowned.
"I know you're not, but I'm just saying, it's not your fault. Okay?"
Steve wiped his nose with his sleeve, and cleared his throat, not replying.
"I'm okay, and it's not your fault," you reassured him.
"When I saw you under that– that thing," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper, "I really thought you were... dead."
He spoke the last word as if it was something forbidden to say, and honestly, it felt like it was.
You inhaled, exhaled a short breath, and your mind played the flashbacks like a bad horror movie, making your stomach do back flips, then fill with dread as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not knowing what to do with your hands.
"Me too."
Steve glanced at you then, his brown eyes drowned in sorrow, remorse, and even grief of what could have been.
He averted his eyes back to the road, a shiver going down his spine, and reached his hand out to you, his palm facing up.
"C'mere."
You looked over to see his hand open and waiting for you, and you pursed your lips, before accepting and resting your hand on his.
That wasn't enough for him, and he quickly intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed it with tightly, holding onto you for dear life, his other gripping the wheel with white knuckles.
You both sat in a much more comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, not letting go of the other's hand as Steve kept his eyes on the dark road in front of him, some streetlights flickering, some broken entirely, and you stared out the window, eyes heavy and tired, trying not to fall asleep.
He pulled up to his driveway and let go of your hand to put it in park, turning the car off and focusing on you for a moment, his eyes just as tired as yours.
"Don't move," he instructed softly, before opening his door and getting out.
He quickly moved to the passenger side door, opening it for you and taking your hand in his, pulling you up gently and then placed his hand on your back again, leading you to the steps of his front door before unlocking it and insisting you go in first.
Steve shut the door behind him and switched the lights on before turning to you as you took off his jacket and kicked off your shoes, and he cursed and ran a nervous hand through his hair at the reminder of your bloodied, torn sleeves, slashes on the skin underneath it.
He took a slow step towards you as you gazed up at him, his eyes burning into yours, and he gently smoothed your hair out of your face, making your heart skip a beat.
"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
You nodded and smiled briefly, and he grabbed your hand again, motioning his head to walk up the stairs, and guided you delicately up to his room, as if you were fragile glass that could shatter any moment. You knew it wasn't necessary, but decided it was better to not say anything.
He let go of you as the two of you walked into his bedroom, soft plush carpet under your feet, and you smiled as your heart bloomed with nostalgia at Steve's all too familiar bedroom.
He was quick to advance to his dresser, pulling out the drawers and fumbling through them to find clean clothes he thought would be comfortable enough for you.
You waited patiently, admiring the details of his bedroom, before he approached you, holding up a black t-shirt, basketball shorts and a pair of his boxer briefs.
"Are these, uh, okay?" Steve asked sheepishly.
"Yeah, perfect, thank you," you smiled as he placed them in your hands.
"Okay, cool," he stammered, his face flushing a shade of pink and his hands on his hips, "are you on your, you know, period or anything? Cause if you are, I can try to find something in my mom's bathroom–"
"No," you chuckled, "I'm not, thank you though."
He nodded awkwardly, seemingly regretting asking you such a question, though you didn't mind, you thought it was quite thoughtful of him to mention.
"Here, come shower in my bathroom, and I'll take the guest bathroom."
You followed Steve into the bathroom adjacent from his room, and he looked into the shower, making sure there was enough shampoo, conditioner and soap, before turning it on for you, his hand feeling the water to make sure the temperature was to his liking for you.
"Okay, um," he paused for a moment, thinking, "oh yeah, shit, a towel–"
He opened the cabinet and handed you a neatly folded, fluffy towel and an extra toothbrush, and you were reminded how wealthy his parents were when you felt the overly soft fabric.
"Alright, I'm gonna go shower in the other bathroom now," he motioned his hand somewhere behind him, "if you need anything else, let me know, I'll be quick and I'll be in my room waiting for you."
"Okay," you replied with a small voice, and he nodded, staring at you for a moment before walking out the door.
Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your heart was heavy as you watched him walk away, like you didn't want him to leave, like he needed to stay with you and never be far away from you ever again, like not being right next to him felt scary all over again.
Suddenly, he felt like a lifeline.
"Steve," you blurted a little loudly, not meaning to.
The way you said his name made him halt, and he turned around to look at you again with wide eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Uh... thank you. For everything. I appreciate it a lot."
It was all you could manage to say.
He flashed you a small, but loving grin, and gave you a slight nod, before turning back around and closing the door.
You sighed heavily as you set his clothes on the counter, and looked into the slightly fogged mirror, your reflection showing your blood stained shirt and your dirtied face, and you grimaced at the sight.
You peeled off your clothes carefully, as to not hurt your already sliced up arms, but you realized it didn't matter when you stepped into the shower and the warm water hit your wounds, making you hiss in pain.
You watched as hints of blood mixed with water went down the drain, washing your hair with great care, not wanting to tangle it further, brushing your teeth and wincing a bit as you lathered yourself in Steve's body wash, the soap stinging your arms.
You rinsed yourself off and stepped out of the shower, dried yourself off with the towel and slipped into Steve's clothes, smiling to yourself as they smelled just like him, breathing in his scent, and took it upon yourself to use his hairbrush and comb out your knots, knowing that he wouldn't mind.
You opened the door to walk back into his bedroom, and just like he said, he was sat on his bed waiting for you with his hands clasped, his hair damp and tousled, his face cleaned up, and he smiled softly at you.
Suddenly, for some unknown reason, he'd never looked more handsome than right there, showered and sitting on his bed, patiently waiting for you, and you smiled back.
"You feel better?"
"Yeah," you responded, voice hushed, "I do."
"Good," he patted the comforter, motioning for you to sit with him, "come here. It's time to fix up those scratches."
You noticed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton rounds and bandages next to him, and you groaned, begrudgingly stepping towards him and sitting down on the bed next to him, facing him cross-legged.
"I know, I know," he cooed, "it sucks, but we have to do it. Let me see."
You hesitantly rolled up the sleeves of your shirt and sighed as Steve inspected your wounds, his fingers tracing around them giving you goosebumps.
"These probably needed some stitches," he mumbled, "but all I have are butterfly bandages."
"That's fine," you assured.
"Well, alright," he said cautiously, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and dowsing the cotton pads with it, "this is gonna hurt, okay?"
"I know," you breathed, "it's okay."
He began dabbing at the slashes with the cotton, and you winced and cursed at the sting, him muttering 'shit, shit, sorry, shit, I'm sorry', in between.
"There," he leaned his face towards your arm, "I think that's all disinfected now."
Your heart fluttered when his gaze met yours, Steve only now realizing the close distance of your faces.
His big, brown eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth, lips parted as he lingered there for a moment longer, before leaning back and clearing his throat.
"Sorry, let me get these bandaids," he stuttered, his face blushing.
"Don't be sorry," you insisted softly, "I like when you're... near me, ya know?"
He tried to hold back a shy smile at that, and grabbed the box of bandages.
"Me too."
Your chest grew warm at his words, feeling bashful, and you watched as he gingerly began placing the bandages on your skin, doing his best to close the wounds tight.
"You know," he said quietly, tapping your other arm to continue, "I just wanna tell you... I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you in middle school."
"Steve," you scoffed, rolling your eyes, "it's okay, it was years ago–"
"Yeah," he interrupted, "but I was a real douche then. So, I'm sorry."
"Well... you're not a douche anymore, so I forgive you, if forgiveness is what you're looking for."
His lips curled into a smile of gratitude, and he turned to grab a roll of compression bandages, wrapping both of your arms with them to ensure the ones underneath stayed put.
"There," he exhaled, "all done. I know it's probably not great, but I'm not a doctor, unfortunately."
"Considering that most doctors don't even take women seriously," you smirked, "I think it's perfect."
Steve chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair, sucking in his bottom lip.
The room went quiet as he sat a minute longer, timidly taking your hand in his and rubbing soothing circles on it, and there was a pull in the air, a pull that felt like a rubber band waiting to snap.
You gazed at him with half lidded, brand new eyes, studying his face, and you decided Steve was perfect– his lips, his eyelashes, his freckles, his hair– and his touch set your skin aflame.
There was some kind of mutual understanding buzzing between the two of you, that words didn't need to be spoken to know exactly what was going on in that moment, but neither of you had the bravery to say something about it.
You might have seen this coming had you paid attention, but you'd been too busy spending time with him and your friends in the Upside Down to even notice a change. He soon became your closest friend, someone that you missed anytime he wasn't around, someone who could change your stormy days to sunny ones with his smile and presence, someone who put himself in danger on a regular basis to protect you.
"Alright, well," he smacked his hands on his knees, standing up a bit awkwardly, "I better go. You sleep in my bed, it's more comfy than the other one."
You watched as he walked warily to the door, as if there was something inside of him telling him not to leave your side either, and your heart was heavy again like stone, yearning and aching for him to stay.
"Steve," you called his name, and stood up abruptly, taking a step towards him.
His steps came to a halt at the sound of your voice as he approached the doorframe, turning around to avert hopeful eyes back to you.
"Yeah?"
"Don't leave," you said faintly, voice cracking.
He sucked in a sharp breath of air, his heart beating fast, and lingered by the doorway as he stared at you, looking for any signs that maybe you'd misspoke, then realized you were serious by your gaze, and gently shut the door closed, switching off the light.
You both took slow, careful steps to each other, heat rising to your cheeks, until your faces were mere inches apart, your breath shuddering as you peered into each other's eyes, the moon being your only light and witness in the room as the pull in the air finally snapped.
Steve lifted a thoughtful hand to brush through a piece of hair, tucking it behind your ear, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips, and butterflies danced in your stomach.
"So pretty," he whispered, cradling the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your lips.
"You are."
He leaned forward then, your name escaping him, hands splayed messy along your cheek, and captured your lips easily in the dark, kissing you gingerly, his mouth warm and soft against your own.
You kissed him back just as quickly, a wave of relief washing over you, hands resting on his chest, and he suddenly broke the drawn out kiss, eyes closed, leaning his forehead against yours as he inhaled shallow breaths.
"You have no idea..."
"Steve–"
He kissed you again, his lips gentle and probing, each one faster and more needy than the last, like he'd never had the chance to do it again because of the hellish world that lie underneath, and you snaked your arms under his, slipping them under his shirt and feeling the soft skin of his back.
His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, a silent way of asking for more, and you obliged, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, tongues gliding over one another in harmonious sync, and you both sighed into the kiss, chests heaving, and a sense of desperation washed over you as you tried to pull him in impossibly closer.
You gasped when you felt Steve's length brush against your thigh, and he embraced you deeply again, swallowing the sound as he roamed his hands under your shirt, humming at the discovery of skin he'd never touched before, warm palms smoothing down your ribs and resting on your ass, squeezing it.
The kiss slowed and your lips stuttered, breath hitching as his touch, and you stopped to press your lips to his cheek, before whispering to him.
"Take it off."
Steve's eyes went wide for a second, mesmerized by your request, and he muttered a quiet 'okay', and grabbed the hem of your shirt, helping you to slip it over your head, tossing it somewhere unknown.
He swore at the sight of your bare chest, glossy lips parted as he sighed deeply, his eyes dark and hooded as he traced his hands up your abdomen, stopping when he got to the swell of your breasts, and his thumbs smoothed over your hardened nipples, making you quiver under his touch.
"Steve," you whined, "need you."
He immediately got the hint and was quick to pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and crashing his lips on yours again, pressing his bare chest against yours, and you felt lightheaded, dizzy at the feeling.
He cradled the sides of your face, licking into your mouth, before taking your bottom lip into his, sucking on it feverishly, and letting it go with a pop.
The action made you huff, and the sound made Steve abruptly grind his hips against yours, and before you could react, he captured your lips and guided you to his bed easily in between eager kisses, gently holding the back of your head as he laid you down on his mattress, anticipation and overwhelming excitement coursing through your veins.
He hovered over you, giving you one last long embrace, his hand pressed into the pillow beside you for leverage, as he made his way to your jaw, pressing sloppy kisses along it, then moving to your neck, his lips ghosting the delicate skin there, and you keened softly, your hands raking through his waves, giving it a gentle tug.
He hissed then, and he licked and kissed along your neck, finding the sweet spot under your ear, and your knees fell apart for him, Steve fervently sucking a pretty bruise there as a reward.
You sighed his name– a prayer, a plea, a beg– and you arched your hips against his, your inner thighs aching for him, making him groan at the sudden movement, murmuring to himself.
"Need you so bad," you whispered against his lips, reaching a hand in between you and lightly stroking his length, finding him hard and heavy for you, and Steve's breath stuttered.
"I got you baby," he pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, his voice husky, before leaning back, "it's okay."
He grasped your shorts and boxers, tugging at them as you lifted your back, helping him slide them down your legs, and he placed them on the side of the bed.
"Fuck," he rasped, gazing at the sight of your heat, face flushed, hair messy, "you're gonna kill me, sweetheart."
You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together for friction, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, 'cause you needed to feel his touch more than anything else.
Steve got the hint and traced his fingers down your thigh teasingly slow, his other hand on your knee, and swiped them through your soaked folds, praising you when he found how wet you were for him.
The touch sent an electrical shock through your body, and he easily dipped a finger in, curling it, his wanton eyes locked on your heat, and you gasped, arching into his touch.
He slipped in a second finger, curling both of them now, and set a languid, yet senual pace, your slick taking them in easily as he brushed against the spot you desperately needed, and you became a mess of quiet moans and expletives.
Steve used his free hand to further spread your knee, then squeezed the soft plush of your inner thigh as he bit the side of his lip, and he couldn't help but lean his face down, licking a broad stripe over your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, and you softly cried, his tongue feeling like velvet as you pulled at his hair again.
He pushed his fingers in and out of you faster then, circling your clit long and slow with his tongue as you held onto his hair for dear life, arching into his mouth and he groaned against your heat, the vibration alone making you huff, heat beginning to pool in your lower back.
"Steve," you warned, "I'm gonna cum–"
He squeezed your thigh harder, and you were sent over the edge, your legs shaking, your gut tightening as your orgasm bloomed within you, panting as he continued devouring you through your high until you twitched.
Your body relaxed, limbs liquid as Steve pulled his fingers out, sucking your juices off of them before sitting up, and his mouth was wet with your slick as his chest heaved, face flushed, gazing at you through half lidded eyes, and you reached your arms out for him, begging for more.
He yanked off his pants and boxers hastily and crowded into you then, hand cradling the side of your face, and kissed you passionately, slipping his tongue through your parted lips, and you hummed at the taste of yourself.
"Wanna feel you," he rasped against your mouth, body trembling above you, "can I..."
"Please," was all you managed to mutter.
He reached a hand in between you then, lining himself up with your entrance, and glanced at you for any signs of regret, not finding any, and he pushed himself inside you, your walls taking him in with ease.
You both keened loudly in unison at the feeling as he bottomed out, jaw slack, and you wrapped your legs around him, caging him in as he began a slow, but deep pace, pressing all the way into you, 'cause he just couldn't help himself when you looked like that, felt so good.
You brushed your fingers through his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck, the moan leaving his lips so soft, you decided it was the prettiest sound you'd ever heard, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him and swallowing the sound as he rocked into you, stretching out your walls in a way you didn't know you needed.
You tightened around him, and he groaned, suddenly snapping his hips into yours, and your wounded shoulders brushed against the pillows roughly, your arms stinging at the feeling, and you winced at the twinge of pain, making Steve halt his movements quickly.
"Shit, shit, shit, I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he cradled your face, pressing apologetic kisses to your cheeks, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed, "I'm fine, don't stop."
He held your face, gazing through you with worried, remorseful eyes.
"We should stop, I don't wanna hurt you–"
"No, please," you pleaded, a single tear rolling down your face, wetting your hair, "keep going, I need you."
He chewed on his lip, the pad of his thumbs swiping away the tears under your lashline, and stared at you, seemingly deep in thought.
"Okay," he sighed, "here, sit up."
You looked at him through glossy, curious eyes and Steve leaned back, grabbing your hands to help you sit up, guiding you over to where he was sitting, then relaxed his head and upper back against his headboard and pillows, his knees slightly parted.
"C'mere baby."
He motioned for you to sit on his lap, and you eagerly obliged, crawling over him, your shaky legs spread over his, and he held a hand on your hip, the other one on the back of your head to pull you into his face, kissing you roughly, tongue gliding along your lips, and you sighed contently.
"S' okay, I'm gonna help you," he whispered against your lips.
You didn't respond, only humming in agreement, and Steve grasped your hips as you rested your hands on his chest, and he gazed at you with loving, lust filled eyes as he guided your hips down, sinking your aching heat onto his hard length.
You both gasped, and breathy, loud moans escaped your mouths simultaneously at the feeling as you sank down on him fully, reeling in pleasure at the new angle.
You gripped his shoulders, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed as you grinded into each other in perfect sync, Steve holding your sides tightly for leverage as he rolled his hips into yours, setting a sensual, deep pace as he watched himself disappear inside you.
"Just like that, baby– fuck," he rasped, "you feel so fucking perfect."
You only whimpered in response, his thick cock stretching out your walls and hitting your spongy spot with every roll of his hips, and he grabbed your face, pulling it towards him to kiss you as he continued to thrust up into you, his eyes half lidded and blissed out, and embraced you eagerly; sloppy, open mouthed kisses brushing against each other's lips lazily.
"You look– so pretty," he panted, "look so pretty like this."
"Fuck, Steve," you breathed, "feels so– good."
He gripped your hips then, rutting into you quick and harsh, and your movements stuttered, the both of you gasping and throwing your heads back in ecstacy, Steve hitting his against the headboard.
"Don't stop," you cried, "harder."
He enthusiastically accepted your request, gripping your hips so tight, they would surely bruise as he couldn't contain himself, and rutted into you again, starting a faster, even deeper tempo, hitting your cervix every time, and you began to lose composure.
You grinded into each other with desperation, bodies slick with sweat gliding over one another, and you grabbed his face, kissing him passionately as you moaned into each other's mouths.
"I love you," he murmured against your lips, hooded eyes burning into yours, still thrusting into you, "love you so much."
His words sent an electrical current through you, and your heart bloomed with overwhelming warmth and adoration as you rolled your hips against each other with unrelenting need, and you gazed into his eyes, tears brimming at your lashline.
"I love you too, Steve," you breathed, "fuck, I'm not gonna last much longer–"
"Me neither," he panted, "cum for me, baby girl, please–"
Your walls clenched around him and your hips stuttered as you dug your nails into his back, the coiling tension inside you snapping, becoming a blubbering mess of gasps and his name, and Steve wasn't far behind, licking and biting at your lips through your high until he couldn't anymore, kissing on your neck to hold back loud moans as his vision blurred, spilling himself deep inside of you as his movements stilled.
You both slumped into each other, chests heaving as you rested your face on his shoulder, and he brushed a soothing hand through your hair, pressing gentle kisses on your cheek.
"Hey, look at me."
You lifted your head up lazily, and he cradled your face, kissing you long and slow, like his life depended on it, and you smiled, smoothing away the hair plastered to his forehead and kissing it gingerly.
Steve smiled back, resting wide hands on your sides to lay you back down on the bed next to him, sliding himself out of you, and you shivered at the loss.
He laid down next to you, pulling the comforter over your quivering body, and pulled you in close to him, liquid limbs entangled, the both of you blissed out, and he held your face, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek as you gazed at each other, his body warmth comforting.
"I don't wanna lose you," he whispered, a look of concern on his blushed face, "ever."
You reached a hand out, brushing your hands through his hair, and grinned lovingly.
"I can't promise that," your voice hushed, "but I'll try my hardest."
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790 notes · View notes
stevieswhore · 4 months ago
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contains: steve x reader; no pronouns used for reader; reader with a vagina; very high and very needy steve; high reader; blowjob
steve’s eyes are crossed, hooded, pupils blown out. he lounges back on the couch, locked into it. his legs spread wide, one hand gently resting on the top of your head. he has no energy to actually grip it.
it’s like he’s in a trance. a real one. a trance that you and a beautiful woman named mary jane have put him in. he’s so high, higher than he’s been in a while, but he’s content. so happy and god, does he love you.
you’re so pretty kneeling before him. bobbing your head real slow on his cock and gently cupping his balls, rolling them in your palm. your throat makes the most disgusting noises and it drives him wild. you’re being so messy, high as hell too, and all he can think about is how hot your mouth is, how tight your throat feels, how wet his cock his, from the tip to the couch under him. when your soft eyes look up through your lashes, he moans, all love-struck.
he wants to say so much. that he loves you, that you’re so pretty, that you feel so good, that you’re his best friend. and he sort of misses you down there - wishes you were in his lap, weighing him down, keeping him on earth. but he can’t really talk. just babbles, groans and moans, throwing his head back. those pretty moles on display. a few hickeys on display, too. he’ll worry about covering them up in the morning.
he’s so close and he keeps whining and pushing your forehead back when he gets like that, because he wants to prolong this. that tight feeling in his stomach, the sensitivity of his cock. he doesn’t want to cum and he wants to cum so badly at the same time. when he stops you, you always give him a minute, while he gasps for air and mumbles some more. til his hand is gently pushing you back in, groaning loudly when he’s back in your mouth.
“oh…. shh…. oh… fu-shhhhh….”
you giggle. he loves it. he’s a little jester for you. loves being it. wants to make you laugh all the time.
“ah!”
you pull off and use your hand on him instead. your voice is thick when you speak. “steve, you’re so goddamn hot.”
he nods. he knows it. sue him.
“want to taste your cum, baby.”
he whimpers.
“let me get you off, please? wanna see your face when you do. so pretty, such a pretty baby.”
steve keens, hips lifting off the couch. all you have to do is talk and he’ll cum. but you take pity, enveloping his shaft with your mouth again, playing with his balls and — holy shit — steve doesn’t know how to think. he makes noises that sort of sound like words. bites his lip so hard it starts bleeding. fingers squeezing the couch and your hair as hard as they can, though it isn’t much. he’s heaving, mouth open, making such beautiful noises, and then he’s spilling down your throat so hard his body shakes.
you’re smiling when you pull away. steve’s still reeling. panting, eyes literally crossed, so hooded it looks like they’re closed. you hop onto his lap, his cock pushing against your shorts, and he’s ready for more. you could take his soul and he’d be so happy about it.
“you okay?” you whisper, pushing his hair off of his sweaty forehead.
his hands creep towards your shorts, tugging at them. “ride… ride me.”
“think you’ve had enough, yeah?”
he shakes his head. grinds up into you and groans. “fuck me,” he moans. “h-hard.”
you kiss the tip of his nose. “i love you.”
“i love you. i love you i love you i love you i love you:”
you giggle. “say it again.”
“i love you.”
you push the crotch of your shorts to the side, sliding your soaked cunt against his soaked cock. “good boy.”
when you sink down, his brain melts.
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stevieswhore · 5 months ago
Text
adidas (18+)
a continuation of this blurb from july.
contains: steve x reader; shy reader; no gender descriptors for reader, word ‘hole’ is used; car sex! my fave; oral (steve receiving); heavy petting; make outs
hope u likey 🫶🏻
=====
“steve?”
he jumps when you talk to him. like he wasn’t expecting it. his face flushes a bit, matches the maroon of his shirt. “uh-huh?”
you’ve been working yourself up for this for a week. well, actually, for the last three months. since he’d parked his car in that abandoned lot and sent you home a changed person. “eddie can’t take me home tonight.”
because the plan of steve starting to pick you go and take you home fell flat on its face. robin didn’t want to ride with anyone else, which was fair. and you both weren’t exactly keen on everyone knowing. what you both wanted eventually fizzled out, and instead manifested itself in longing looks and some occasional, “accidental” touching.
the bastard still hasn’t given you your underwear back.
steve blinks once. twice. his adam’s apple bobs. he runs a hand through his hair, flustered much more than you’ve ever seen him. “good thing i know where you live, huh?”
it really has been the most aggravatingly long three months of your life. nothing has been the same and yet nothing has changed. steve still treats you like always - a friend on the very outskirts of his circle. you still stare down at his adidas when he’s a little too close to you, talking to you and someone else about work or a new movie. and eddie has been at every. single. hangout. picks you up and takes you home and you never once tell him (or robin, for that matter) to fuck off so you can get laid again.
but tonight, eddie has a gig, and no one passed the motion to reschedule.
“when?” steve asks, moving closer. “jesus, never thought you’d ask.”
your breath shakes when you inhale, looking up from the neck of his shirt to stare at his big brown eyes. you wonder what the look he gives you means. “couple minutes? up to you.”
“do you - want to?” he asks as his head tilts.
“yeah,” you whisper. your face turns hot. “want proof?”
there’s no one else in this corner of nancy’s kitchen. steve nods, almost imperceptibly so, and you gently take his wrist before guiding it towards the core of you. he takes a sharp inhale and looks around, his hair bobbing. you don’t know if you want to laugh or scream. he looks back at you and licks his lips. “now? we go now?”
“rob,” you’re saying two minutes later, “i’ve got a hell of a headache - steve’s gonna take me home. can you get a ride from nance?”
maybe you’re paranoid, but the smile she gives you is a little irritating. you’re relieved when she doesn’t argue. “hope you feel better.”
it’s quiet and tense when steve gets the passenger side door for you. you slip into the soft leather of the seat and open your mouth to say thank you, but steve’s lips are suddenly on yours. it shocks your brain - in fact, you feel a little sick, want and need rushing through you.
you shouldn’t be kissing a guy like him. and he shouldn’t be kissing you, you think. but his soft hands cup your heated cheeks, pink tongue caressing your bottom lip. he pulls away quickly, swipes his thumb across your cheekbone and nods with a little smile.
“sorry,” he whispers, eyes wandering your face. “had to.”
“that - that’s okay.”
steve jogs to his side of the door and slides in quickly. turns the key so fast the engine stalls for a second before purring to life. he giggles and reaches towards you, letting his hand fall on your thigh. again. it’s burning your skin.
you have to roll down the window.
you’re both silent. overthinking, certainly. steve bites his cheek while you stare out the window, and for a minute you think this will go nowhere. but then he speaks, his thumb rubbing circles on your leg.
“i missed you. y’know how hard it was watching you? i didn’t - i, uh, i didn’t know if you’d want to do this again. do you want to?” he asks again.
“please?”
he grins. “well, when you ask so sweet… you like the car? i can take you to a proper place, if you want.”
the car sort of invigorates you. it’s a little dirty and perverted. you aren’t either of those things - it makes you feel like a whole new person. “i kind of liked the view last time….”
steve snorts. “you’re funny.”
“so’re you.”
“hmm. how about you take a compliment without giving one back?”
it makes your skin crawl and you don’t really think before you say, “what else should i take?”
steve groans. it’s music to your ears. you’ve dreamed of it, tried to remember it at night - hell, during the afternoon, the early morning when the thought of him won’t let you sleep. you’re addicted. you’d say the sluttiest things imaginable if it kept getting that reaction.
you knew exactly what you wanted to do for him. got your lips all soft and red with cherry lip salve. you know how much he loves cherries. you’ve watched, hungry, while he bit off the flesh of one from a stem, covered in whipped cream. watched him add it to his coca cola. smelled it on his skin.
yes, indeed. you’re tasting him tonight.
his car veers off to the usual spot. at least, you’d like to call it that. the usual spot. you want to utter it to him when those tight levis break your imagination. when his big hands distract you as they slide into a bowling ball.
you’re desperate for courage when he parks, though steve feeds it to you. “can i kiss you?” and a second later, his soft lips are back on yours. he’s so good at it it makes you dizzy.
“such a pretty thing,” he whispers. “is that cherry?”
you nod, hands grabbing his shirt. as if he’d stop you from floating into space. you can’t even open your eyes. the sight of him might kill you.
“did you know i love cherries?”
“i know a lot about you.”
steve’s big hand slides up your thigh, playing with the sensitive skin on the inside. “oh, yeah?” his lips press against yours but he still talks. “like what?”
your face is so hot it’s embarrassing. you’re not even aware that you’re grinding against the seat below you. so goddamn needy for him. you speak between kisses. “like - you - suck - at - pool.”
“that - a - deal - breaker - for - you?”
you giggle. you can’t help it. “least you - can kiss.”
steve surges towards you, his chest pressed i’m against yours. you’re on fire. you might suffocate. it’s delightful. you want to feel this claustrophobic because of him all the time. your hands tangle in his hair and you pull him towards you while his fingers finally find you needy between the thighs again.
“you been thinkin’ of me like i’ve been thinkin’ of you?” he asks, pulling away. his lips are tinted red now, too. he looks a little pathetic when he asks it, excited, eager, but ready for rejection.
“of course i have,” you breathe. “every night, every morning.”
“what a romantic,” steve teases. he applies a little bit more pressure to your sensitivity. “y’know how much i’ve been thinkin’ about you? jerked myself sore after every hangout. but i’m starting to forget the taste of you.”
you’re so wildly out of your depth here. he talks about this like it’s second nature. “that’s too bad.” you’re perpetually out of breath. “i….”
steve raises his brows and inclines his head towards you, a teasing smile tugging his lips. “you….?”
you’re dizzy. “i don’t even know what you taste like.”
“huh?” he genuinely did not hear you. you’re mumbling, scared to say the wrong thing. it really riles him up, though.
you don’t want to repeat yourself, so you instead reach across the console to rub his erection with your hand. he gasps and bites his lip while his puppy dog eyes squeeze shut. “oh!”
“can i taste?” you whisper.
steve’s eyes snap open and he looks truly surprised. “oh,” he says, less slutty. “i - uh - i - are you -?”
you nod. “want to feel you in my mouth.”
it sounds so lame when it comes out but steve groans, head falling back against the window. “don’t say shit like that,” he moans, rutting up against your palm.
okay, now you’re on fire in a very different way. “like what?” you don’t really have to make yourself sound innocent. “like, i wanna feel how heavy your cock is on my tongue?”
“oh my god,” he groans. “baby - jesus christ. christ. shit. where have you been?”
“waiting,” you answer. “will you help me?”
steve gets his pants down his hips in record time. he blushes heavily, waiting for your reaction. which - your face is probably blank to him, because conceptualizing the size of him is a difficult task. he’s thick, long, the tip gently slapping against his tummy. your pipe dream of getting him in your throat is out the window. for now, you’ll have to start small.
which, he is not.
“is it okay?” steve asks.
“what?” your head snaps up to see his disheveled face and messy hair. “its - yeah. i - i might not be able to -“
“of course!” he says quickly, shaking his head. “you don’t have to do anything - kissin’ you’s more than enough - and - and you know i love tasting y-“
you lean forward and it shuts him up. he shifts so he’s facing you, so he’s closer. your hand reaches out experimentally to feel him. steve sighs when your fingers wrap around the velvet length. he’s so much warmer and harder than you ever imagined.
“and you’ve never…?” he asks hoarsely.
you look up at him through your lashes and he almost combusts. “no.”
steve shivers. his hands gently scrape through your hair, pushing it out of your pretty face. “go slow, okay? you want to stop, we stop.”
it’s almost annoying. “steve, be quiet.”
“i’m not known for th-aaaaaaaah!”
his head falls back against the window again just from you licking the tip of his cock. the salt of his precum makes your mouth water. his nails scratch gingerly at your scalp in the same way your fingers try to find purchase in his shirt when he kisses you.
you feel powerful. really, truly.
he’s saying nonsense above you when you really start your work, taking him further and further into your mouth. he’s so heavy on your tongue. tastes clean and inoffensive. you adore the way his shaft tenses up when you run your tongue over a vein or focus on the head.
“you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, watching you with hooded eyes. “so good at that, honey, y’sure y’never did this?”
you pop off of him and use your hand to leisurely jerk him off. it’s much different from his ferocity when he ate you out. “why? you jealous?”
steve’s chest heaves and he tries to find words. “sometimes when eddie’d take you home i - i’d get - thinking about him touching you -“
“please don’t mention him right now,” you beg, though you’d be lying if the idea of him getting pissed over you and someone else didn’t do it for you.
he changes the subject quickly. “touch yourself.”
you pause. “i - might be hard -“
“ugh, right,” he moans. “wish - wish you - had more room. could finger that - that pretty little hole while you suck me off.”
you moan now, and lean back forward to suck him off again. you’re messy with it, letting yourself drool on him to account for what you couldn’t take. you wish he’d make you take it, his fingers bullying into you while his hips buck up. you want it so bad it has you drooling harder, your core aching. it hurts.
“miss it,” he continues, voice strained. “miss how t-tight y’were on my tongue, shit! oh, honey, we - we - should s-sixty-nine, that’d be so hot.”
you moan and, against your better judgement, take him a little deeper. you gag when he hits the back of your throat but the mini freak-out steve has when you do is so worth it. he gasps and thrashes, a long, guttural groan filling the car. “yes, fuck! fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck i’m close so close-“
and you don’t really know what to do with your hand, so it reaches down to fondle his balls, which feels dirty and makes your heart beat fast and hard. steve’s pulling you off of him so quickly you get whiplash, and then he’s cumming in thick spurts, gasping and arching and whining. you reach for him to help him finish, his big hand finding yours and helping you jerk him off. his mouth open in an “o”, his eyes staring at you with adoration, brows furrowed.
your pristine hand is covered in his cum. it’s pretty, pearlescent in the moonlight. you want to taste it but you’re not sure if that would make things awkward. your fever has vanished and you’re thinking a bit more clearly now. anxiety creeps in - but steve’s lips quickly quell it, soothing you as they move against yours.
“sorry,” he whispers. he’s very giggly. “got y’messy.”
“you’re prone to doing that.”
he laughs louder. “cute and funny?”
“and good at head?”
“that’s not a requirement.”
“an added bonus, certainly?”
steve pulls you towards him again. “you want my dirty underwear this time?”
you feel lightheaded when you say yes.
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stevieswhore · 5 months ago
Note
idk if this is gonna make sense but do yk the game twister? like with the colourful mat and you always end up tangled with each other?
so hear me out- you and art are playing together with patrick being the person that spins and tells you guys where to move.. but instead hes just trying to put you guys into sexual positions since he knows art has a fat crush on you😵‍💫
just ends in either you teasing art while playing or patrick getting you guys to fuck eventually (like making up his own rules - if you fall you take off a piece of clothing - etc.)
I RLLY HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE IM SORRY ITS KINDA LONG
FUUUUCK USER YOU'RE A GENIUS.
You're genuinely so into the game, and end up squatting with your arms crossed in front of you, while Art's face is like directly behind your ass. He can see the lace of your panties where your shirt rode up with the stretch of your back and he has to physically resist the urge to kiss the soft skin there.
Patrick, seeing it all, smirks and spins the wheel, but completely ignores whatever it lands on. "Right hand on green, Art."
"Oh, okay," Art gasps with almost child like innocence, searching for the right spot. And the only suitable one seems to be on the front of your own hand.
So he does the only possible thing, extending his right arm to place his palm on the green circle, completely enveloping you from the top. His chest presses into your back and you catch the tiniest hint of his boner pressing into your ass.
"Left foot on yellow, Y/N," Patrick commands, not even bothering to spin the wheel.
You try to do so, the top of your head bumping into Art's chin, and your back practically molds against his chest as you extend your left leg behind yourself. "Fuck, I'm gonna fall."
"Just hold it, Y/N, don't be a pussy," Patrick mutters with a roll of his eyes, loving the way you two are pressed together. "Ready for another round, Art?"
Eventually, the two of you end up tangled in a mess, limbs intertwined. At one point, your crotches rub together, like really really hard and Art thinks he might cum right there. Luckily for him, your legs give up under you and you fall straight on your bum, complaining about a lost game.
The boys know how much of a competitive girl you are, and evening something as simple as twisted is able to ignite the fire that burns on your heart. And the good friend Patrick is, he decides to give you another chance to prove yourself.
"How about a new rule, hm? If you fall, take something off," he offers, crossing one leg over the other were he's sitting. "We can continue until you're both naked."
He's an asshole, a proper fucking asshole. But Art makes sure to get on his knees and thank him next time when they're alone, because - fuck - the moment your bare boobs bounce in front of his face is like seeing a real angel descend from the sky. He's almost naked as well, just in his boxers now, his boner very much waving hello at you.
The positions you end in are even more awkward. At one point, Art end up on all fours, but in the other way, so his bum is just barely lifted off of the ground, with you hovering above him, legs spread on either side of his head. His cock is throbbing in his pants and his eyes are so wide at the sight of a wet pool of arousal soaking through the pink cotton of your panties.
"Art," Patrick hums, an amused expression on his face as he keeps studying the scene in front of him. "Mouth on pink."
Art's eyes snap towards his friend. "What?"
It's obvious what Patrick is referencing. And he's so fucking proud of himself for it. "You heard me, man."
"C'mon, Art," you almost whine impatiently, wiggling above him. Your full thighs jiggle and Art has a back time holding back a moan.
"Oh- okay," he swallows heavily, with a hesitant nod pressing his lips to the pink cotton of your panties. A breathy moan is heard above him, such a calm sound.
Art really can't help himself. He can't wait for any other instruction from his friend, he can't even hold himself back now that his face is smushed against your arousal. He licks a thick stripe and sucks in the sticky wetness that has soaked through the fabric, slowly losing himself in the sweet taste. Patrick chuckles at the eagerness and you do too, but with much less harshness. The sound is almost sweet, caressing Art's fluffy, fuzzy brain and encouraging him to keep going.
"Left foot on green."
Patrick announces and Art feels your thighs squeeze tighter around his head as you reposition yourself. His whole head is buried in your lap, the tip of his nose rubbing little circles over your clit as he breathes in the moisture. Little beads of sweat glisten on his pink cheeks, the feel of your plush skin against his ears making him feel like he's drowning. Like he can't breathe.
"Mhm, Art," you moan above him, grinding your pelvis down to meet him halfway. By now, his lips are fully latched onto your cunt, suctioning it into his mouth and sucking and sucking and sucking.
Locked in the awkward position, his hands and feet somehow remain within the colourful circles, and so do yours. It's almost admirable how you manage to stay unmoving, only the subtle grind of your hips and nodding friction of Art's head happening.
The smug bastard Patrick is, he's enjoying the whole thing, the sight something so beautiful and downright pornographic. He's almost tempted to whip out his phone and record the two of you, because he's sure there's not a single video like this on the hub. That could be a hit!
But he's not that much of a bitch. So all he does it palm his dick and dost it through his pants, the sight of his best friend's angel curls drowning between your plush thighs being just enough to get him hard.
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stevieswhore · 5 months ago
Text
last nite
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art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader !
art and patrick aren’t exactly subtle, and you are the push they didn’t know they needed.
(18+ pls!!)
author’s note: that one bitch (me) who doesn’t play about homoerotic friendships… this is mostly artrick but they all get nasty trust!
the swishing of the cheap beer from art’s mini fridge overlaps the song playing from the radio. it was something you recognized from this new york band you really liked—your friend had gifted you that record for your birthday a few years prior—you hummed out the tune as you sat on the desk chair of your friend’s dorm room, periodically lifting your gaze to the two boys also sharing the space.
you and patrick met at a local band’s show, that same night ended with you being pushed into the dark bathroom of the bar it was held at and you nearly swallowing each other’s tongues. he whispered into your ear about how good you tasted, how nice your ass felt in his hands, how fucking sexy you looked dancing out there. and after he bent you over the sink to get a taste of your sweet cunt and you returned the favor, the brunette gave you his number—it surprised you, that he wanted to continue seeing you and maybe take it further. it wasn’t until a couple hangouts that you met art.
he was by definition a good boy. always respectful and cordial around you, sweet, and even bashful at times. you coincidentally attended the same university—even shared common friends other than patrick. the three of you became well acquainted quickly. movie nights in art’s dorm when patrick came to visit, night drives to the beach, it was all simple and fun.
of course you and patrick hooked up whenever he came around, which seemed to frequent as he was on a month-long break from tour. on one of those particular nights, as you were riding him, somehow the topic of art came up.
“saw him at practice last week,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and slightly tug, “he’s really good.”
patrick stutters his hips and unwillingly twitches inside of you, as if images of his best friend playing flashed through his brain in those few seconds, “fuck, yeah he’s always been good.” his brain is too foggy to comprehend that he’s given away something you’ve been suspecting for a while—and you’ll keep digging to find what you really want.
you look down at him on the bed and notice how his mouth has dropped a bit further and his eyes become more slanted, you push your fingers into his mouth which he automatically starts to suck, and you ride him until he’s whimpering around them and filling you up. you’ll get something else out of him soon.
the next time happens to be the night right after, you’re at your favorite ice cream place and decide it’s the right time to keep prodding.
“you and art—you seem pretty close—how long have you known each other again?” you scrape the sides of your cup from the melted treat and look at him eating his.
“well, we went to boarding school together,” patrick speaks with some waffle cone bits crunching in his mouth—a horrible habit of his you have come to detest from the few months of knowing him—“we shared a room since we were 12, i think i’ve mentioned this,” he swallows everything in his mouth down and continues, “we are pretty close. we’d get teased for it a lot in school—i never really gave a fuck but you know art. he takes things to heart.”
“right, i can see that,” you didn’t exactly plan out how you were going to lead him to where you wanted but you get an idea, “i wanna know more. tell me some fun stories, i can imagine you two got up to a lot of trouble,” you fully turn to face him in your seat.
he racks his brain for a while and eventually, “one time i got caught with porno magazines under my bed and i blamed art. it was this whole thing—his grandma gave him an earful over the phone—god she was pissed,” a chuckle leaves him as he recalls the story, “anyway, we almost got kicked out and he didn’t speak to me for weeks. can’t remember how we made up or how i even got in possession of those magazines but we definitely learned our lesson.”
you’re giggling, “god you’re awful, what else have you put poor innocent art through?”
he turns to face you now, “i taught him everything he knows,” a smug smirk slowly takes over his expression, “ taught him how to kiss and how to jerk off. poor thing didn’t even know how to handle morning wood before i showed him.”
and there’s your chance, “so you two have like…”
he pauses and takes in your assumption, “oh god no, not like that,” a hand runs down his face quickly as a laugh of disbelief leaves him. “we’ve never—would never go there, you know? no shame to anyone who does we just—it was practice before we started dating and all that. was just helping him out.”
and well, that gave you enough of an incentive.
now you’re all in art’s dorm, a little buzzed from the alcohol and tired from a day at the beach. patrick sits on a small couch with his legs spread. both boys have decided to forgo their shirts, only in their swim trunks—patrick’s much shorter than the blonde’s. you still in your bikini top and tiny jean shorts.
“what about that girl you were seeing, what’s her name again?” patrick interrogates a clearly agitated art who sits on the floor rolling his eyes.
“i told you that’s over, she wasn’t looking for anything serious and i found out the hard way.”
“he means he saw her making out with one of his buddies at a frat party,” you add smirking over your bottle.
“okay, fuck off first of all—“
“hey, man calm down, look—“ patrick interjected, “there’s lots of chicks that would bang you, i’m sure a pretty boy like you has no problem getting laid. go charm up some nice girl that volunteers at the soup kitchen on her free time and—“
“fuck you patrick.” there’s no malice behind his words though—and you can spot the blush that takes over his pale complexion at the previous remark as he shakes his head. “it’s easy for you to say,” he looks up at you as he says it, “you guys fuck like rabbits any chance you get.”
“is that what it is then? you being pent up?” you cut in. “there’s lot of girls here who would love to fuck you, artie. you’re telling me none have caught your eye?”
art is silent, looking to see what patrick was thinking, but the latter simply looks curious—excited almost— and so he just sits picking at the hem of his shorts.
“oh i get it,” you continue, “you’re jealous. you think i’m taking your precious best friend away, don’t you?” you slide down from the chair to take a spot right next to him and whisper the next thing so only he hears, “you are jealous. don’t worry, we can share him.”
you pull back to see his pupils dilated and his mouth slightly parted, in shock and arousal—maybe even in acceptance. you can’t help the small grin as you look from him to the other still sitting on the couch, you can see his chest rising a bit heavier now.
you feel that as an agreement from both as you perch on the bed and call them both to follow at each of your sides. you can feel them eyeing you and for a split second, you see them staring at each other in a way that surpasses anything platonic they insist on having.
when you feel them both lean in to opposite sides of your neck you halt their movements. a look of confusion passes through their faces as they wait for you to explain.
“i think you guys have some making up to do,” the look on their faces creases further, “art, aren’t you curious to feel what his lips are like again? i have a feeling he has improved greatly since you were 13.”
art’s face falls, he looks at patrick in annoyance, “you said you would never tell, dude what the fuck.”
patrick just shrugs, still wanting to proceed. “i told you, that was only for practice. we’re grown now.”
“sure,” you pretend to let it go and you have on a stupid smile that he just wants to kiss off your face. you start leaning towards patrick and grant him that wish, using your hand on his jaw to give you access to his tongue. it quickly becomes heated, you land on his lap and grind yourself on the hard bulge in his trunks. his big hand gropes your ass and he moans greedily in your mouth. you pull away and let him suck and nip on the length of your neck before looking at art, who looks pitiful with his mouth hung open and his eyes lingering on the spot where patrick is occupied. a smirk returns to your swollen lips.
you tug on patricks hair and swivel even harder on his dick, leading to him groaning out a fuck me baby, and you swear you see art’s cock twitch under the layer of thin clothing. you leave patricks lap despite his efforts to keep you there, now sat on the pretty blonde who can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. you stop his stressing when you place both of his palms on your hips, trailing them up to your barely-covered tits where he gives a soft squeeze and lets out a little whine. you finally lean down to kiss him and it’s as you’d expect from him—tentative and soft. a kiss you’d get from a boyfriend after a nice dinner date—not from whatever this was.
he lets out hums and low moans, but you can tell he’s getting desperate. god knows how long it’s been since he’s fucked something other than his hand. you pull away and return to your spot between them. they instantly both try to catch your lips, it’s messy with all three of you licking and sucking and kissing. at this point no one knows whose mouth is whose, and it doesn’t even matter because suddenly you’re pulling off. you lean back to catch your breath and then you see them.
they lick into each other’s mouths, art is mewling and patrick grips his curls to hold him in place. they seem to catch on after a ridiculous amount of time but when they do, they stare at you while they’re heaving breaths.
“are you guys gonna take care of that?” you look down at their laps, both having matching leaks of pre bleeding through their shorts. “come on get them out, you’ve seen each other plenty before right? nothing to be shy of.”
they both listen, each erection slapping up and standing on its own. it’s obscene and you dont think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. art’s cock is so pretty—you think—pink and curved. he is smooth, you always had assumed he would be anyway. you can tell he takes good care of himself, his balls the same flushed pink he gets on his cheeks when you tease him. the tip of him is so red, a dribble of white streaming down when he notices your attention on his cock—you almost coo at it when it twitches.
then you look at patrick. that same cock you love and worship. he’s thicker in girth, your pussy pulsates when your mind trails to the stretch he gives you. his balls are heavy, and he doesn’t ever fully shave them. you like them like that—the musk and how they give friction to your clit when hes fucking you. he’s also drooling from his tip. you decide to start off slow.
you scoot forwards and extend your arms to their laps. each one of your hands holds them and at the contact, they can’t help but buck their hips. you think it’s adorable to see them synchronized like that.
“ah, shit!” patrick throws his head back and looks down at you jerking him off, then looks to his right at the other cock in your hand and shakes his head in disbelief, “i can’t—fuck—i can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“i see the way you look at him, pat,” you quicken the speed of your hands and both of them cry out, “i gave you both what you wanted, handed on a silver fucking platter. i think you should be a little more grateful. in fact, my hands are getting tired,” and with that, you cut all contact with them and you can quite literally see them wilt.
“wha- no, please,” art manages to get through a whine, “my hand doesn’t—it doesn’t feel as good i’m so hard it hurts, please—“
“who said anything about using your own hand?”you cut him off.
patrick hesitantly stretches his arm over his friend’s lap, “we’re just,” his fingers make contact with art’s dick and he almost drools, “helping each other out.” an experimental tug has his back arching and makes him shut his eyes tight.
“pat-patrick—oh fuck.”
one would think art already came by how much he’s wetting his friend’s hand, and patrick seems to be mesmerized by the sight. “holy fuck art, look at how much you’re spilling,” as if on cue, that makes him squirt out more. art is gripping his sheets and his eyes dart from the hand stroking him fast and the boy in front of him.
“i’m—don’t go so fucking fast,” art tries to get out, “it’s been a while if—nghh—if you don’t slow down i’m gonna—fuck!” patrick clearly enjoys this as he can’t help laughing at his state.
“don’t tell me you’re a virgin, artie,” he slows down but continues teasing, “thought i taught you how to hold off better than that.”
and while you’d love to keep watching art squirm under his torture, you stop him, “i got an idea.”
patrick reluctantly pulls away and they both now stare expectantly, “push both of your cocks together, here like this—“ you direct them to sit with their legs spread in front of each other, overlapping and then you position them how you want them.
they can’t even speak, they’re just panting and looking down at the contact until you continue, “come on pat, hold both of them together,” you watch as he does so and grimaces trying to hold off, “look at that, your tips are kissing—how cute.”
they both whine and patrick mutters a shut up under his breath.
after a minute of heavy breathing, patricks large hand slowly strokes down on both of their cocks. it’s so wet, the sound of the slicking lewdly filling up the room but the sound of their cries is almost enough to drown it out. art is almost sobbing at this point, you’ve never heard someone sound so desperate. they almost can’t bare the friction of each other, their tangled legs twitching and shaking.
you almost start to get annoyed at how slow patrick is going for the sake of making the feeling last, but in a way you think it’s sweet. the years they’ve held off on each other finally leading to this—they deserved it. you’re still annoyed tho.
“go faster,” as the words leave your mouth they both mewl and shake their heads, “you look so hot like this, i’m so wet. i’m thinking of letting you both fuck me—at the same time. just like this, both in my cunt,” patrick’s hand loosens his grip he is almost shivering now, he has to hold off, “why’d you let go, hm?” you pull his hand back on, “i want you both to imagine it, it’s gonna be a tighter fit than this,” you pull your hand over patrick’s and tighten the grip hard, “there you go.”
art can’t even make out words anymore, the second he heard you say you wanted them both at once, his ears started ringing. as if that wasn’t enough, the tightened grip made him moan out pleas over and over. when he looks down, he knows he can’t hold longer and he lets you both know, “i’m gonna, i can’t it’s too much, too much, too tight i—“
you take this as your chance to do what you wanted since you saw the tent in his shorts, you lean down to where they are connected and suckle on his tip and that does it. he sobs out a curse and starts twitching, he cums all over your lips and patrick, you can’t believe how much is coming out of him.
patrick just about loses his mind when he sees it all happen. it’s a miracle he lasted over two minutes like this and he’s about to pass out, “oh fuck me, yeah fucking soak that dick—oh god— you’re so wet—how do you get this fucking—“ he suddenly yanks art by his neck and fucks his tongue into his mouth again, and even tho he is still dizzy from his orgasm, he kisses back just as messily. that’s the final straw for patrick to cum all over them and squeeze their tips together for the last time that night.
you watch it all happen with a lazy smile. they both lay down, still out of it while you scratch their heads gently and murmur sweet affirmations to them. you’re between them and it feels just right. you don’t need to talk about what happened just yet. just sleepily kiss each other until you knock out.
they’ll make up not making you cum tomorrow, you can picture them both licking between your legs and when they take turns suckling your clit, you’ll pretend not to notice how they’re jerking each other off out of your sight <3
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stevieswhore · 5 months ago
Text
handprints, footprints all on my glass
Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.6k wc
minors dni please and thanks, this is hag business
summary: it’s a short ride from the afterparty to the airport, theoretically
cw: shameless smut, she comes first 💪, dry humping, dom reader sorta, pathetic simp Jack enjoyers make some noise!!!, oral (f receiving), fingering, we’re degrading him a bit whoops, accidental vabbing (?????) girl idk, reader wears the pants not the panties, they’re in one of those Mercedes vans, wear your seatbelts everywhere but here
The jet lag was undoubtedly winning. As luck would have it, the busiest weeks of the year for you and Jack overlapped nearly entirely. It had been nonstop flights, engagements, meetings, press releases, dinner parties, galas, openings of buildings for charities for either dogs or orphans, orphaned dogs maybe, for so long you’d entirely lost track and were ever thankful that most of your speaking assignments were behind you. This last afterparty had fried you both; you didn’t have a single networking conversation left in you. Collapsed opposite you in the jump seat, Jack looked just as spent as you felt.
Of course, he still looked too good. It was fucking sweltering in that venue, and he had loosened his evergreen evening tie and slightly unbuttoned his dress shirt the very second you were shielded by the limo tint. Faint wisps of chest hair peered out from the opening, a fresh tan making his teeth look even whiter. Gun to your head, he’d had his pants taken in too much at the hips, but you’d never say anything that would threaten such a view.
There wasn’t time for that; you were in the home stretch of this hell month and had a packed 16 hour day tomorrow. One last email once over, and you could abandon your work iPad and pass out for the flight back to New York.
“Have you been like that all night?” he asks tentatively.
“Like what?” There’s no immediate response, so you look up from checking tomorrow’s agenda to see Jack shamelessly staring up your cocktail dress at your lack of underwear. The spell breaks when you recross your legs and playfully kick his shin.
“Eyes up here. So what if I was?”
Jack blinks dumbly at you and clears his throat. His eyebrows draw together out of confusion.
“But I saw you get dressed this morning. Where’s that pair I just bought you?”
“They’re wrapped in your pocket square. Did you forget to switch it out for a dry one before lunch?” you ask, holding back a shit-eating grin.
It’s hard to deny the rush you get watching Jack go pale and fish the handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his discarded suit jacket, still sticky from cleaning you up a few hours ago. Sure enough, there’s a crumpled La Perla thong cradled in the middle. You interrupt his stuttering protests when you kick your pumps off and slide a foot up his leg.
“Oh please, like you don’t love walking around smelling like me.”
“I do,” his ears are turning red. “but I hugged like twenty people today!”
“Page six has been trying to pin down that musky “cologne” you use for ages. I think you’re safe.” You briefly wonder if you’re leaking onto the leather seats, but that train of thought is halted by Jack’s hand reaching to remove his tie.
“Keep it on.”
He snaps to attention at the direct order.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I like my handle.”
“Do you come with an off switch?”
Break lights flash on in the surrounding lanes. Just your luck; it’s complete gridlock in the few miles between here and the airpark. Maybe there was a little time.
Your foot slides higher, and Jack hisses through his teeth at the contact.
“Why don’t you try and find it?”
There’s barely a millisecond of hesitation before he falls onto you, licking stripes of sweat off your skin from your cleavage to your cheekbones. As always, he’s loud in the way that only a guy who never gets told to shut the fuck up can be: every breath shudders its way out, and he’s basically whimpering into your mouth by the time he gets there, louder when his right hand finds you, in fact, dripping all over the seat. You doubt you’ll ever get used to how thick his fingers are, or the vulgar noises they make when he’s showing off his grip strength knocking on your g spot.
He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up for the afterparty, but his watch was still squarely in the splash zone, and for the briefest of moments you wonder if it’s as waterproof as the cheaper ones he wears surfing. The thought is quickly pushed aside as Jack works you until you’re jolting off the seat trying to get his fingers deeper.
One good yank on his hair gets him off your neck, and he’s so dazed and fucked out already that you almost cum right there.
“Someone looks hungry,” you tease.
“Fuck, please let me-“ He’s cut off by the van suddenly lurching forward and throwing you both off balance, leaving only your vice grip on his tie keeping him in place. There’s a filthy squelch when he pulls his fingers out to suck them clean as he sinks down to his knees. It’s so warm that your dress is sticking to your thighs, and he rapidly loses patience trying to slide it up to your waist.
“This is a rental!” you squeal when the fabric rips, spraying sequins all over the floor. Jack doesn’t even flinch and wraps his lips snugly around your clit.
“Whatever, I’ll buy it,” he mumbles without breaking contact. You find yourself sliding down the sweat slick leather to grind against his face, and he has the nerve to lean back to watch your hips buck desperately.
“I love when you chase it,” he grins. Without missing a beat, you lock your legs around his head and shut him up against you.
“Don’t fucking tease me. I’m not the one humping the floor like a dog.” The mumbly, docile “sorry” that vibrates through you is the hottest thing he’s said all day. And he really is, if his overly enthusiastic slurping indicates anything. Those rapid, precise little strokes of his tongue always froth you up like he’s got a mouthful of soap. By the time you get tired of spelling your name on his nose and shove him to the floor to straddle his face, he’s completely lathered in you.
He lets out a little bleat of surprise when you roughly grab his hair and start manhandling him as if he’s a wet wipe, though he really should expect it by now. Normally, you’d be distractingly aware of the very real possibility the driver can hear the way you’re snarling his name, but time is not on your side right now. The last break lights recede, leaving the compartment only lit by dim blue under-seat bulbs. Your movements grow more frenzied; you’re totally disregarding Jack’s lung capacity and not even aiming for his mouth anymore, just using his whole face like it’s all he’s made for. Right as you begin to worry you have nothing left in the tank due to the lunch commute, a muffled, drawn-out “please” from beneath you sends you tumbling right over the edge. Your orgasm hits you more like a tranquilizer than anything else as the last dregs of your energy drench his face.
As soon as he feels your contractions lessen, he’s tossing you off to sit on his thighs and fumbling with his belt buckle. The van makes a hard right turn onto the final road to the airpark, and Jack lets out a frustrated groan knowing the clock is ticking. Still, he knows not to get in your way when you shove his hands away and slide right back on top of his dick, so hard you can feel the heat radiating through the fabric. You know you’re fucking up his dress pants grinding on him like this, but if nothing else, the linen will dry fast.
“I’m sleeping on the plane whether you finish or not, so make it work.” He doesn’t have enough time to be pissed at you, and he knows it. The sight of him so desperately rutting up against you is nearly enough to get you there all over again. All the tendons in his neck stand out as he presses his lips together trying to focus. His legs splay frantically in an attempt to ground himself, one jet black Oxford wedging under the jump seat and the other pressed flat against the far window. Jack’s head tips back and his eyes screw up in concentration, but you can’t have that, no matter how tasty his Adam’s apple looks. You loop his tie around your hand one more time and yank him back to earth,
“Uh-uh. Look at me when I’m making you cum.” That’ll do it. His expression softens then freezes as his eyes unfocus and his mouth falls open. He sounds downright melodic when he cums, just one long note that gets bounced up and down the scale before trailing off to a whine, and you relish every little twitch of him spilling into his pants, so far from you but certainly close enough.
The van rolls to a stop, and suddenly it’s a fumbling nightmare of you both trying to fish your shoes out from under the seats and smooth each others hair. You snatch Jack’s blazer to cover the rip in your dress, shove the iPad and pocket square-thong mess into your work bag, and throw the door open with what you hope is a believable amount of nobody-get-between-me-and-my-lie-flat-seat urgency.
Wobbly legs insist you grab his hand to step out of the van, and, of course, there’s a fucking pap pressed to the tarmac fence. Jack’s reflexes don’t stand a chance at turning him away in time after what you’ve put him through. When the flash catches his face, you can only look horrified as it perfectly captures the shine you’ve left on him.
Gossipy headlines and vague, tasteful PR statement drafts are already zipping through your head. Add it to the agenda: 16.5 hour day incoming.
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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ok ok ok so i have a thought for pats sister au, i mentioned it a while ago cuz someone was talking about something similar
this isnt like that smutty and slutty, but i need them to also just be a little bit happy. and as much as i love love love mean art, i do need him to be a little bit sweet to her now
but im thinking now that he's like fucking her at every chance he gets, that means hes spending a lot of time with her in general. including parties!!!! they start going together instead of just leaving together. not officially or anything because it would undoubtedly get back to pat, so they're just going with a few mutual friends and pretend its a group thing. its also easier for art to pretend like he doesnt just want to be with you and only you. maybe this party is at a sorority instead of a frat, so art lets his guard down a little. there arent as many guys who art knows, meaning even less guys who might happen to know patrick. and hes not too concerned with all the girls considering girl code or whatever.
so he lets himself party more than he usually would, lets himself drink that extra drink (truthfully a few extra) and stand just that bit closer to her (very much closer, practically leaning against her), he even dances with her, something he's never done with a girl. they lean in close when theyre talking, anyone who didnt know them would assume they were a couple, or at least well on their way to becoming one. TIHI!!!
its a pretty rowdy party, art is shocked he thought the frat parties got out of hand but this was wild. before either of them realize it, theyre both wasted, having the time of their lives, but definitely drunk. their friends have started heading home, but they decide to stick around and keep the party going. his arm is around her, hand on her waist slowly but surely wandering down to rest on her ass, accompanied by the occasional squeeze just to make her fidget. hes letting her get close to him. its nothing too suspicious though, no kissing or outright sexual touch, with the right words it could be explained away as friendly, in case patrick should hear about it.
BUT art is drunk, and drunk stanford art is a party boy, i believe this in my heart and core. he is getting reckless, forgetting about patricj and that he's supposed to keep discreet. he is doing shots, hes making her do shots, hes making any- and everyone do shots with him. and im thinking its one of, or both of, 2 things.
hes taking a shot and then spitting into pats sisters mouth
i see this happening like spontaneously, maybe there's only one shot left in the bottle and art has the genius idea that you'll just share it. she doesnt get what he means but he'll just show her. takes the shot, leaves it in this mouth, grabs her jaw and brings her real close to him. she thinks hes going to kiss her, but he pries her mouth open instead, tilts her head back, and spits the shitty liquor right into her mouth. hand tight around her jaw to keep her in place, eyes on hers, just like when he spits in her mouth fr
OR/and later in the evening
2. tequila body shots
this i see happening as just a sudden idea art has. and hes insisting its a great idea, and he'll even let her start so it doesnt seem like hes just trying to get her naked. so he lays on like a sticky, honestly downright nasty, bartop. he takes off his shirt and ugh he just looks so fucking good. pats sister is getting so possessive with all these girls around ogling at her man lol, shes all too eager to mark her territory. so the way weve always done it where i live is tequila poured in the belly button, salt in a line up the chest and lime in their mouth so you have to kiss them to get it. ive learnt from going to international school that thats apparently not universal? let me know about that cuz confusing? how else?
anyway. she takes the shot off of him, taking her time lick up his chest and even longer to get the lime from between his lips. its not like people are really looking at them, but even if they were those two are too drunk to notice or care. when its her turn hes really making a show of it, gets her to take her shirt off, but lets her keep the bra (its practically see-through with all the lace anyway), but he insists that she has to unbutton her jeans because he also wants salt before the shot or whatever. hes making something up, he just wants to see what panties shes wearing and see if he can smell her sweet pussy. he knows she wet, he can tell. hes just as bad as her, if not worse.
then when the party is ending they're definitely going back together, theyre probably too drunk to even try to have sex. just sloppy and stumbling everywhere. they end up passing out in arts bed together, he only just managed to get them both into some of his clothes and decent for bed, boxers for him and just a shirt and panties for her. in the morning they wake up cuddled close. its the first time theyve slept in the same bed, the first time theyve cuddled, its the first time theyve slept in the same room since art first took her virginity. and now they'd spent the night together without having sex at all. it kind of changes things for them... but not too much :)
-🐞
GODDDDD THIS HAS LIVED SOOO RENT FREE. I'm fucking dead it's too beautiful, too perfect. Also body shots are The Same for me as well so ur so valid <3
You're surprised when the invite comes through your phone— when Art asks for you to come with him to a house party hosted by some sorority girl in one of his classes. He heard about it, heard that they can be fun, wants to see you there.
And, god, you pretty yourself up so much for it— a skimpy little tank top that he can see your bra through, a tiny little denim skirt, sweet, sparkly makeup that catches in the fucking strobe lights set up around the living room. You’re nursing a cocktail of pink lemonade and vodka, leaning against his side as he downs another fucking glass of jungle juice. He’s definitely on the wrong side of drunk, or else he wouldn’t be all over you the way he is.
And you’re fucking living for it, the way he keeps one hand slung around your waist, tugs you closer against him so you’re practically one fucking entity. He puts a fucking glowing test tube shot to your lips, eyes lighting up as you eagerly swallow it down. He could spit directly onto your tongue, in front of everyone and you’d fucking let him.
So he does. He downs a tequila shot, grabs your chin and you’re all wide eyed and eager as you look up at him. He spits it into your open mouth and you swallow it down, nose wrinkling at the taste. You like sweet things— fancy champagne, mixed drinks that are mostly juice. But you smile at him once you’ve swallowed down the tequila, giggling and buzzy.
But auuhghghgh body shots :((( he’s such a lecherous little perv, he gets off on the attention from you so bad. Wants everyone to see how bad you want him, how possessive and needy. Sucking the liquor from his naval, tongue flat as you lick up the line of salt you’d carefully tapped up his torso. He watches how your lashes flutter as you lick along his skin, the salt course on your tongue complimenting the sweaty taste of his skin. Maybe you linger there a little longer than what’s comfortable for anyone else watching. You take the lime from his mouth biting down so you can suck the juices from it.
It’s a little clumsy— you’ve never done one before, but you’d practically bouncing on your feet when you ask him to do one from you. He practically drops you on the table, fumbles his way to pulling off your shirt, tosses it somewhere neither of you will ever fucking see again.
He lines up the salt between your tits, in the pretty valley between the pink lace. You squirm when he pours the tequila into your belly button, he watches it slosh and spill as the muscles of your abdomen tremble. You bite your lip as he unbuttons your skirt, tugs it down just until he sees the pretty lacy pink of your panties, a perfect match to your bra.
God, you wanted him to fuck you so bad— you were practically wearing a sign around your neck that said it. He taps out a line of salt, licks from the waistband of your panties up to your naval, and sucks the liquor from it. His tongue laves at you— a long line between your belly button up to the hollow of your throat.
The rest of the party falls away— it’s just you and Art and you’re honestly pretty convinced he’s going to just fuck you on the table— stake his claim, lick into your mouth until all you know is salt and tequila and citrus and spit.
He bites into the lime and you taste the juice as it sprays into his mouth and drips back onto yours.
You hear people, absently, far in the back of your mind. You’re so fucking gone— you’re embarrassing yourselves, both of you. Art tugs his shirt over your head after the mindless, three-second search for your tank top comes back fruitless.
“Wanna go home?” He asks, his breath hot and his words clumsy against the shell of your ear. Home. Yeah, his dorm pretty much is home to you at this point. His hand’s in your back pocket and you’re waving a tipsy goodbye to your friends, clinging onto Art as you start the trek back to the dorms.
He presses you against a tree halfway back, kisses you hot and urgent and needy. Then again in the stairway up to his room— pins you against a set of windows, smiling and laughing against your mouth as some unfortunate soul catches him with his fingers between your thighs.
By the time you get back to his dorm, you’re basically buzzing with need, want, giddiness, affection. Art can’t get hard because he’s so fucked up, ends up giggling about it against your shoulder, mouthing against your salty, sweaty skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He collapses into the bed, tugs you against his side and falls asleep with his face buried in your hair and warm, possessive hands on your body.
You’re both asleep in minutes.
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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Puppy art squirting 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫
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art’s laid out on his back with your hand around his cock, three loads pooled and shot out over his toned abdomen, and you’re still stroking him.
he’s whining and letting little punched-out gasps escape his chest, but it’s no use.
he knows you won’t stop.
i think the words you had used were ‘milk you dry’ when you had explained what your plans for him were tonight.
the blonde’s hands stayed behind his arched back, right where you told him to keep them, and tears pricked at his eyes as he squirmed and bucked his hips up into your first. sweat dripped down his trembling thighs, but you ignored it from where you sat between them.
“shh, puppy,” you coo, “relax for me… a lil bit came out last time, so you still have at least one more in you, ok?”
he shakes his head vehemently, trying his best to protest, but his swollen cock is doing most of the talking as it throbs and jumps.
your hand strokes him a little faster, and he all but wails.
“noo—! oh, god, please—” he sobs, tears threatening to spill over.
you only stroke him faster at the sound of his cries and focus your attention on his oversensitive tip.
“Art,” you say lowly, almost a warning, and you swear that you can imagine a tail tucking between his strong legs just from the look on his face.
he’s withering, pouting even, and then he’s back to moaning. you knew how to push him back into his place, and he enjoyed that. even if it sometimes made his dick feel like it was being scratched and tickled at the same time.
pain and pleasure. he could, and would, take it all for you if it made you happy.
a few more moments go by, and you then move your palm to glide right over his leaking slit.
art’s body convulses like he’s being electrocuted and his eyes go from being screwed shut to flying open.
“AH—” his hands fly out from behind his back and reach down for your wrist without his permission, wetness finally dripping down his cheeks from his flooded eyes as he shudders and hisses with oversensitivity.
“no, no, wait— wait,” he pleads, shaking his head, and he shakily retracts his touch from yours, but his palms hover over his twitching length, “that’s gonna be too much, it’s too much, it’s so much—”
he’s babbling now, gasping and slurring like he’s drunk, while your hands stop for the longest (and first) time since this whole thing started.
you look to his eyes, one hand wrapped around the base of him.
“you’re going to be ok,” you say softly, using your other hand to lean forward and wipe the tears from his cheeks, “you’re just gonna cum again.”
he shakes his head, sniffling.
“no, no, that felt weird,” he tries to explain between breaths and jolts of his spent body, “like something was gonna happen..”
you quirk a brow and then your entire body heats up as you realize what he’s describing. you’d seen it once or twice online, but you had no idea that art was able do it. and now, you were realizing, maybe he could.
you smile softly and breathlessly, giving him one firm stroke up and down before you pause your hand again. he curls in over himself and keens.
“do you trust me?” you speak gently.
he whimpers, but he nods. there’s a bit of hesitation in his head’s movements, as if he’s processing that you’re about to make his body do something that he’s never experienced before.
“hands behind your back, please,” you hum sweetly, but authoritatively nonetheless, and he complies without question.
all it takes is that one little indication of obedience from him, and your other hand is gliding up to swiftly start rubbing circles over the very tip of his cockhead with the flat of your palm.
he instantly sobs and cries out, shaking his head and digging his heels into the bedding while his head tips back into the pillows.
this only goes on for about fifteen seconds before he's gasping and lifting his head up to look down to you.
“oh my god, oh my god— oh— OH— no, no, something’s gonna come out, i’m gonna— it feels like i’m gonna—!”
your hand squeezes his tip now, and you begin to swipe the pad of your thumb rapidly over his slit.
“OH F-FUCK!” he yelps.
his legs kick out frantically on either side of you, his whole body arching up towards the ceiling as the strange coil in his gut finally snaps. he lets out one long, rushed, strangled moan, and then he squirts.
your jaw drops open as you watch the clear, watery fluid gush and fly out of him like a geyser, and you chuckle breathlessly.
“holy shit,” you murmur.
your thumb continues to glide back and forth over his tip as he releases more liquid, your digit faltering the stream, and he sobs harshly as he grasps at the sheets under his curved back where his hands remain.
after a couple long moments, the rush of fluid tapers off and he moans and whines little dopey, fucked-out words that make no sense.
you stop touching his tip, and glide that hand down to meet the one still holding his base. you sigh breathlessly as you sit there completely in awe.
art’s body collapses and his chest is heaving like you’ve never seen; for a second you’re worried he might pass out or hyperventilate, but he comes around.
his cheeks are flushed a bright red, tears muddling his baby blues, and his mop of shaggy blonde curls is a mess against the satin cushion under his head.
“Wh—” he mumbles, clearly still in a haze as the liquid trickles down the sides of his torso where most of it landed, “what just happened to me..?”
a breath.
“did i just… did i pee…?”
he whines softly and you remove your hands from his cock to lean down over his shaky form and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“you just squirted, it’s fine,” you try to reassure him, but this only seems to embarrass and confuse him further. although, the kiss helps ease some of this internal discomfort, even if just slightly.
he removes his hands tremblingly from under his back and pushes himself upright a little to look down over his wet stomach. he drops himself instantly back down and covers his eyes with his hands.
“i just pissed,” he says, his soft voice cracking with humiliation and exhaustion.
you frown and shake your head.
“Art, no, i promise you that you didn’t,” you tell him, trying to further soothe him, “it can happen when you get overstimulated, it’s okay.”
he tries to process your words, he really does, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity for it yet. he just moves to wrap his arms around you and push his face into your neck.
“i’m sorry,” he wheezes.
you kiss him some more. twice on the side of his head and then once over his shoulder. he relaxes a little more.
you return the embrace and sigh, rubbing his upper back as you pull his heavy upper body into your arms a bit further.
“don’t be sorry,” you whisper, “you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all fine..”
he doesn’t say anything but you can tell that he’s too busy recovering to really take your words to heart.
you can take a quick shower with him, make him some dinner, cuddle and dote on him, and then maybe—just maybe—he’ll be open to talking about it. maybe he’ll even want to do it again.
who knows?
after all, he’ll do anything for you.
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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black eye trust (18+)
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summary: steve patches you up (and maybe a little extra)
contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina; canon adjacent woohoo!!; descriptions of blood and wounds; the L,,, the L word 🫣; mainly angst, lil bit of fluff, and a tiny bit of smut towards the end!
notes: as stated above, there’s discussion of blood and wounds in here, so please be advised! nothing crazy. hope you guys likey 🫶🏻
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You’ve never really seen Steve like this. You’ve seen him angry — spewing out the meanest things he can think of, popping his hip all bitchy, clenching his jaw. But tonight he’s quiet, kneeling in front of you in his bathroom.
You sit on the edge of his bathtub. Steve knees rest on the mat below. He has an impressive first aid kit, one you’re now very certain Robin purchased him.
You’ve seen his scars. You’ve longed to soothe them. You just didn’t know what they were from until tonight.
Sometimes, Steve will mumble under his breath or sniffle. But still, despite his anger, he’ll tell you softly to brace yourself when he pats at your open wounds and cuts with alcohol. The wipe comes away bloody and Steve simply throws it in the trash, the paper piling up. Its smell permeates the room — a godsend, in fact, as you were feeling rather nauseous ten minutes ago.
His hands are gentle on you. He’s soft when he picks up your calf gently, his hand wrapping around it as he assess your knee, the size of bandage it needs. You want to reach out and stroke your hand through his hair, but right now doesn’t seem like the time for confessions.
He places a wide bandaid on your knee, then finally looks up at you. His eyes are glossy, but they glare at you. “You’re so stupid.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I’d do it again.”
“I’ll never put you in a situation like this again.” His rough voice quivers. “Christ, what was I thinking?”
“Stop,” you say gently.
He sighs, stares at you for a long time, then continues his work. You know you look bad and it makes your blood rush to your cheeks. You glance at the mirror on the wall behind him and wince.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking up so fast his neck could have snapped.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He goes back to work. A clean washcloth turns brown as he scrubs gently at dried blood. Wet alcohol swipes across a few cuts on your hands. The pain hasn’t quite hit you yet, though you’re sure it’ll hurt tomorrow. The only thing really bothering you is Steve’s closeness and tenderness, and your absolutely killer headache.
His thumb swipes gently across your knuckles. He stares at them. “Your head hurt?”
“Mhm.”
“Mine always does after, too.”
It kills you that he knows, that it’s happened so many times it’s like a routine. You remember seeing him in town after Starcourt burned - if that’s even true - all beaten up with a black eye. You want to ask what that particular instance was, but you know better than to pry.
Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice he’s gotten you ibuprofen until he’s shoving four of them into your hand. “Trust me, you’ll need all of them.”
Steve’s already gotten you water. It’s the first thing he ordered when he dragged you inside, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan right on your heels.
Steve was so vocal before, a string of expletives falling from his mouth. Then he went quiet. And now, as he gets to the large gash in your arm wrapped up in Nancy’s scarf, he starts again.
“Can’t believe you did that. What the hell were you thinking? You think you could take one of those — those —“
“All you had was a bat.”
“I’ve used it before!”
You’re impatient with him. You’d honestly rather be out in the living room with Robin having a meltdown than with Steve right now. “I just wanted to help you.”
He sighs. Long, exhausted. He doesn’t look at you. “You could have died,” he says quietly.
You finally reach for his head, resting your hand gently on top of it, feeling the softness of his chestnut hair. “You could have, too.”
Steve’s eyes shift upwards. They’re softer than you’ve ever seen them. His pretty, long lashes are wet. And he just stares, and you stare back.
There’s so much you want to say. That you love him, that you care so much about him, how you didn’t even think before jumping in front of him. That you’d do it all over again, even if it meant he’d run his mouth at you. That he should never be in pain ever again.
His eyes turn downward again, and with a sniffle he reaches for the cloth keeping you from bleeding. He unties it slowly — you watch with bated breath. He peels the layers back. You can see blood after he unwraps just two layers. You watch him struggle, his brows twitching together, his hands pausing.
“Let me do it,” you say softly.
“No.” His hands lift, bloodstained. He holds them away from you. “I just — I just need a… I need a second.”
You’re a bit shocked he’s so squeamish, given his history. “Really, Steve, I can do —“
His hands reach for your face and he cups your cheeks in his palms. They’re so soft and warm, and his eyes match. He searches yours, hazel irises trying to understand. “You’re so stupid,” he finally says, barely above a whisper, and then he presses his lips to yours.
It’s slow and tender. Steve takes his time, lips subtly moving against yours. You let your eyes fall shut. This is the first moment of respite all day. This is what you’ve wanted forever.
But Steve pulls away. Your eyes open slowly. His are already looking at you.
“Okay?” he asks.
“I’m okay.”
Steve nods absentmindedly. “Okay. Good.”
His tender hands go back to your arm. It’s a bit of whiplash — the pleasure of his lips contrasts with the pain of the bandage peeling off of your skin. You’re not bleeding anymore, at least. The skin is already starting to heal. Steve assess it, turning your forearm over and back, then gets up to re-wet the washcloth.
“Drink some water,” he calls over his shoulder.
You do obediently while you watch him. He’s much less stiff than he was before. His shoulders relax; even his hair looks relaxed. But as his panic subsides, his exhaustion grows, and you can see his tired eyes as he moves back to you.
“I can get it,” you insist again.
“You gonna let me take care of you?” he asks. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.
You pause, then nod.
“Good,” he sighs, getting back on his knees. “Don’t make me beg.”
You bite your lip. You don’t have time to think about it, though, as he presses the cloth to you tender skin. You gasp, trying not to fall backwards into his tub. Steve takes your wrist to balance you, shaking his head.
“Don’t scare me again,” he says. “Last thing I need is for you to be concussed.”
“Sorry.”
He inspects the cloth as he lifts it from your skin. His eyes flick towards you, then back to your wound. “Don’t be.”
He fixes you up in silence. Spends minutes gently wiping your blood off of your skin and disinfecting you. He finishes with a few layers of sterile gauze and a strip of tape. And then he tops it with a small kiss.
Steve’s lips linger before he looks up at you. “Better?”
You nod, entranced. “Much better.”
He remains, then moves away, reaching for a cotton ball and more alcohol. He dabs a few cuts on your forehead, frowning when you wince. “Takin’ it so well,” he murmurs to you. “Just a few more, okay?”
You stare at him. He concentrates hard, biting his tongue while he tries not to hurt you further. You notice the slope of his nose, the pace of his breath, the subtle movements of his face. You want to know it all. You’d be happy to learn him here in his bathroom, but Steve always moves a little fast. He’s pulling away to pitch the cotton, leaving the space in front of you cold.
“Did I get it all? You hurt anywhere else?”
You stare at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Hm.” He gently taps your knee with his finger. “What about here?”
“Kind of hurts.”
Steve’s hand moves to the back of your calf. He cups it again, pulling your leg upwards. He kisses your knee while you watch with stars in your eyes. He lingers once again before pulling back, his cheeks pink.
“Where else?”
You point to your forehead. “Here.”
Steve leans forward and kisses it. His lips are soft and warm, a reprieve.
“Where else?”
Your lips twitch before you point at them wordlessly.
Steve smiles, his thumb moving to your bottom lip. “Here?”
You nod. Hypnotized.
“I can fix that,” he whispers, and leans in again.
This kiss lasts a little longer. You’re not as shocked this time, so you’re able to keep up with him and his lips. One of Steve’s hands rests on your cheek while the other rests on your thigh, keeping him steady. His lips swallow yours, all greedy and soft and angelic.
You could cry when he pulls away, but the hand on your thigh slowly creeps inwards and upwards.
Your heart stops. Steve’s eyes never leave your face, anticipating a reaction as his thumb rests against your clit through your cotton shorts. Your lips part when he rubs a little circle into it.
“What about here?” he whispers.
You blink slowly and spread your legs, giving him some more access as your hands brace on the rim of the tub. You nod.
Steve wordlessly moves his thumb in slow circles. This entire interaction has been charged and your clit is swollen, pussy needy. Two kisses and some gentle touches is all you need — that and the adrenaline from a near death experience.
“Steve,” you moan breathlessly.
“Feel good?”
You nod, fingers gripping the porcelain a bit tighter. “Mhm.”
“Gonna make you feel so much better,” he promises. “Want to help.”
Your head falls back. You’re teetering on the edge, literally. Your abs will hurt in the morning from the battle and from trying to keep yourself upright. And you really hope, if anyone else can hear, that they assume you’re moaning in pain. It’s hard to contain it. Steve’s thumb feels so good as it moves against your clit. Complete 180 from your throbbing head and aching joints.
“Wanna help,” he repeats again. Whines it. “Won’t let anything else happen to you. Gonna make you feel good, make you forget about it.”
You hope he’ll hold you later. You’re sure the shock will wear off after you cum, like a little brain reset. You hope he won’t send you home to take care of yourself — but as he leans forward to kiss you again, you feel certain he won’t.
His tongue swipes over yours. This kiss is greedier, a little rougher. And you get it. Things feel more desperate as the weight of your predicament sets in. It’s one thing to understand you both were in mortal peril, but it’s an entirely different thing to feel it.
You gasp and move your hands to his shoulders. You hope you aren’t hurting them. Steve groans, his tongue swiping against your teeth.
“I love you,” he breathes.
“Oh my God,” you gasp. That little band in your stomach is pulled taught in an instant. “Steve, I love you.”
He makes a sound, halfway between a gasp and a moan. And then you cum, fingers bruising his shoulders, his mouth swallowing your cries while your hips buck against his fingers and the tub. You pant, head spinning. It still pounds, and you still ache, but something has irrevocably changed.
It takes a moment for Steve to pull away. He does so with half lidded eyes. You want to say, That was crazy. Or perhaps, What’s wrong with us?.
Steve speaks before you, though. “Gonna get the guest bedroom ready, okay? Don’t worry,” he interrupts, “I’ll stay.”
Your throat aches. “You promise?”
He holds out his pinky, smiling at you softly. You take it.
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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contains: reader with a vagina; no gendered language used for reader; protected sex turning unprotected 🫣; allusions to breeding kink/creampies; steve just wants to cum in you but he’s trying to be good ;(
lately i have been thinking about steve who WANTS to cum inside of you, in a primal kind of way, and he knows he cannot. that it would be such a bad idea. convinces himself he’d regret it. and you have a hunch that he’s into it because every time you ask him to cum when you’re fucking with protection he gets all shuddery and shaky and gasp-y.
so you’re fucking with a condom on and you’re watching steve do his thing. and you sort of wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in and you whisper, “wanna feel you.”
he laughs. “can you… not feel me?”
you smile, out of breath. “bare, stevie. without the condom.”
he hesitates. god, does he hesitate. there’s gotta be a fifteen second pause while he works through his emotions and finds something to say. “we can’t,” he settles on, his hips coming to a stop.
you pout. “why?”
“that’s a bad idea,” he urges.
“why?”
“just is,” he grunts.
you leave it be for a minute, letting steve fuck you all romantic, before starting up again. “i’d feel so good bare, steve.”
“i know,” he pants. “christ, i know.”
“why don’t you want it?”
“i-its not — that —“
you turn petulant. “please? wanna feel your bare cock in me, want - want to cum on it. want you to… i want you to cum inside me.”
“stop.”
he’s never used that tone with you before. he glares, and you feel like you’re in trouble, which would probably make you cry if you didn’t feel his cock throbbing inside of you. if you didn’t realize your ruse is working.
“why?” you ask breathlessly. “you gonna cum about it?”
steve rolls his eyes and drops his weight on you, covering your mouth with one hand. he starts fucking you again, deep and rough, tries so hard to move you away from the subject. his resolve is simply not strong enough to hear you beg him to take the condom off. he only moves his hand when he wants to kiss you; but you’re right back at it, turning your head away so you can talk better he kisses you.
“cum in me.”
steve whines. his big hand grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. he’s trying to look mad, in control, but you see right through him. “what did i say?”
“don’t you want to?” you rush out. it sounds strange with your lips pursed. “take it off, steve, you can pull out if you want, just wanna feel you.”
“jesus!” he gasps. his hips buck deep. “stop saying that!”
“please?”
his hand falls from your face to the bed beside you as he props himself up on both of his elbows. “if i do, i’m going to cum.”
“don’t you want to?”
“christ — yes, want to so bad.”
you clench down on him, canting your hips to push him in deeper, wrapping your legs around his hips. he gasps, eyes rolling halfway back, lids hooded. “you better make it count, stevie.”
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: you have a not so platonic dream about your best friend, steve and you’re unable to lie about it.
cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, sex dreams, oral(f receiving), morning kisses, slight degradation?
wc: 1.8k
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“Steve,” you gasp, fingers tangling into his chestnut locks.
Back arching, legs trembling as they spread further and further. You can feel the languid strokes of his broad tongue against your folds, all warm and wet and wonderful. Small and pleased little moans escaping his throat as he licks up and down, sending minuscule vibrations straight to your pulsing, needy clit.
“Yes!” you cry out, tugging at his hair. It’s all heady and lovely and you’re so close, coil tightening in your stomach.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The grating sound of your morning alarm shocks you from your slumber. Tears a gasp from your throat as you sit upright and press a hand to your chest, trying to catch your hurried breath. There’s no way you just had a sex dream about your best friend. And even worse, your thighs feel all sticky and warm. You liked it.
A fist comes barreling down on your alarm’s snooze button and then he sits up next to you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Hair sticking up every which way, loose t-shirt a little sideways from the tossing he does in his sleep and the sight of him makes your heart skip a beat. Which is odd. This isn’t the first sleepover with Steve. It is the first naughty dream about him, however.
“Geez,” he stretches, mouth opening in a yawn as his arms extend above his head. “You good? Woke up a little abruptly, there.”
It’s all a little too much, forcing you to avert your eyes. God’s a cruel son of a bitch, uncovering these apparent romantic feelings for Steve Harrington when he’s in your bed in a totally platonic way. And suddenly, you’re met with vivid memories of what exactly you had just been dreaming about. Forces you to squeeze your legs together and clear your throat.
“Uh, yeah… just a nightmare,” you choke out, fixing your sleep mussed hair which on a typical morning next to your best friend, you wouldn’t care. But out of nowhere, you’re suddenly insecure and want to make sure you look presentable to Steve.
He pouts, lays back down against the pillow but he’s turned on his side, looking up at you with those big brown eyes. Blinks up at you and asks, “A nightmare about what?”
“You eating me out,” you blurt and then slap your hand over your mouth, horrified that you so easily admitted that. Then again, you’ve never been able to lie to your best friend.
Steve laughs, “What?” And then he looks offended, “You said it was a nightmare!”
“Oh, my god. I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” you groan, completely covering your face with your hands.
Steve tugs your wrists away, and he’s sitting up now. Far too close for comfort. Looks at you with his head tilted as he tells you, “Doesn't sound like a nightmare to me.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” you mumble and he smiles, looking so entirely handsome.
He gets himself between your legs, still clutching onto your wrists as he gazes down at you. “I’ve had dreams about that, too. Wouldn’t call ‘em nightmares, though,” he says, voice husky like you haven’t heard before.
“You have?” you ask and your voice sounds quiet and shy, nothing like it usually is with him.
Steve nods, slowly. Places his hand on your cheek, “Can I kiss you?”
Your face flushes, “But I have morning breath.”
“I don’t mind,” he smiles, moving closer and strokes his thumb against your cheekbone.
“O-okay,” you whisper, your lips twitching up into a shy smile.
Steve leans in closer, the hand not on your face falls to your waist and he tilts his head as he fits his lips against yours. And it’s like an electric shock, surprising and terrifyingly exciting. There’s no going back now. You’re both plummeting into the deep end, hand in hand.
He sinks you both to the bottom as he pulls away a millimeter and whispers against your lips, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”
“Then don’t stop,” you reply just as softly, hands grabbing onto his thin t-shirt and pulling him back into you.
Steve laughs, a soft but excited sound into your mouth. He lays you back down, covering you as the kiss develops into something a little more desperate and needy. Your arms wrap around his neck, caging him in place while your legs spread to accommodate him in between them. His lips are soft and plush, moving against yours before he slips his tongue along your lower lip. You accept his physical request for entrance, gasping once his tongue rolls against your own. Steve’s an amazing kisser, morning breath and all. Your head starts spinning, a warm buzz erupting all over your body as he steadily licks into your mouth.
He pulls back to look at your face, his own flushed and gorgeous. Your eyes are drawn to the moles that decorate his skin, scattering from his face and down his neck. Steve strokes your face again and then asks, “Could I show you?”
“Show me what?” you ask, blinking curiously up at him.
“That it’s… not a nightmare?”
You laugh, eyes squeezing shut as you tilt your head back. Seems silly to call it that now after the kissing. And well, you enjoyed it in your dream so it was truly unfair to call it a nightmare in the first place.
He smooths his hands down your sides and nudges his nose against your jaw before kissing along it. “S’that a yes?” he wonders, voice muffled against your skin.
“Yeah,” you breathe, hands falling to the mattress as you watch Steve inch further and further down it, pulling the duvet cover with him. He pushes the thin cotton of your sleep shirt up and presses his lips against the skin of your navel. All the while, his eyes are on your face, watching your expression carefully. Your stomach fills with overly active butterfly wings, flapping excitingly and nervously. Steve’s fingers hook into the waistband of your boy shorts, pulling them down your thighs and off your legs. He spreads your legs and rubs his thumbs against your pelvis, looking at you with this almost lovesick look on his face. An expression you’d only seen on his face with a handful of girlfriends from his past. It makes you nervous, unable to connect that Steve’s been harboring the same romantic feelings for you all these years.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.
He laughs, blushes even, “How am I supposed to look at you before I eat you out?”
You cover your face, “Oh, my god! Maybe this is a bad idea, Harrington.”
He tugs your hands away from your face and furrows his brows, “What? You want me to look totally disinterested? I can do that. Or! Or I could look scared, I guess maybe I should be. I mean, you were dreaming about it and well, maybe it’s a lot to live up to. But I think I’m pretty good at it. I love doing it.”
“I wanna punch you,” you mumble out, smiling softly.
“I better get to it then,” he says matter of factly, spreading your legs and then looking down at your exposed core. “Oh… you really liked the dream. Nightmare, my ass. Ya know, you can be such a bitch sometimes.”
“Do you always call girls bitches before you go down on them?” you ask and just then, Steve licks a broad stripe up your slit. “Oh!”
“Just the ones who call it a nightmare,” he says smugly, returning his tongue to your core a second later. It ultimately shuts you up, eyes fluttering shut as you lay back against your pillows. His tongue is better than it was in your dream. Real, mostly. But it’s so firm and determined. Licking patterns against your clit that make your mind go blank.
He seems to love it, grabbing roughly onto your thighs while he puts his all into it. Steve’s head bobs with the motions, shakes side to side and then his tongue circles around your entrance and you jerk upright, hands on his head.
“Fuck!”
He smiles up at you, tongue still pressed to your hole as your eyes meet and fuck, if it isn’t the prettiest thing you’ve seen. He moves his tongue back up to your clit, circling the stiff bud and then wrapping his lips around it. Next thing you know, you feel Steve’s finger grazing against your entrance and you whine appreciatively. It slides in easily, worked up from the dream and his tongue. He curls it up, drags it out and adds a second digit. Your hands grab at your own chest, fingers stimulating your peaked nipples as Steve’s tongue broadly licks against your clit.
“How is it?” He asks, licking his lips as he fucks you open with his fingers.
“I hate you so much,” you pant out, blinking down at him as he smirks and rubs his thumb in circles against your clit. Your eyes flutter shut again, writhing against him.
“I can tell,” he snickers, curling his fingers up against your g-spot and pumping them in and out. Returns his mouth to your pussy and you grab onto the back of his head as you grind up against his face.
He scissors his fingers, stretching you out as he teasingly licks through your folds. He mumbles against your core, “You taste really good.”
“You’re stupid, you’re so stupid,” you moan, spreading your legs further as you squirm against the sheets.
“Mmm,” he sucks on your clit, does that come hither motion with his fingers buried deep inside you that has you seeing stars. You’re mad he is good at this.
“I hate your stupid, hot face,” you babble out, unsure where this is all coming from but Steve seems to be enjoying it because he starts fucking you harder with his fingers as you continue, “I hate your sexy, annoying voice and those dumb, puppy dog eyes.”
“Keep telling me what you love about me,” he mumbles against your core, licking through your folds.
“Your hair is the worst,” you pant out, “So full and soft and— fuck…”
He sucks on your clit again and your body seizes, thighs closing to trap his head in as your orgasm slams through you harshly.
“Stevie…” you whine out, fingers tugging on his pretty hair.
Once you relax, he covers you again, kissing you forcefully and you wrap your arms around your best friend’s shoulders. He holds onto your jaw, holds you still while he licks into your mouth. You can taste yourself on him.
“Quite the nightmare,” he says, patting your cheek with his fingers.
“Shut up,” you mumble with a lazy smile.
“Wanna see my cock?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows and you slap his chest.
Then you say, “Yeah. Lemme see it.”
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stevieswhore · 6 months ago
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drinking game
steve harrington x fem!reader
18+ minors dni, drinking, smut
wc: 4.4k
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As far as first dates go, this is the lamest one you’ve been on. Which you’d somewhat anticipated when you agreed to it. Steve Harrington is a couple years younger than you. The kid’s barely twenty. But he is incredibly handsome and well, it’s been awhile for you. Steve’s wooing skills haven’t graduated high school, like he has. He insists on picking you up, gets to show off the car his daddy bought him. It is nice. Must’ve cost a fortune when he was gifted it on his sixteenth birthday. The damn thing has a telephone in it. Power seats and windows. And the seats heat up, he tells you. Though in the middle of August, it’s not really necessary. It has great speakers, proven by the cheesy, 70’s baby making music he’s blasting from them. You can’t imagine Steve actually listens to this, but that it’s an attempt to get you in the mood.
He brings you to a diner for dinner where he tries to share a milkshake with you and then it’s a trip to the drive-in movies. It’s ripped out of the 50’s. Especially the part where he tries to make out with you, which okay, yes you indulge in until he grabs a handful of your breast.
“Alright, Romeo,” you laugh, pushing him back, “Cool it down a little.”
“Sorry,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and settles back into the driver's seat. His cheeks are ruddy, either with embarrassment or arousal, you aren’t sure.
“It’s fine—“ you tell him and adjust your blouse, “It’s kind of cute.”
“You’re really pretty,” he blurts out, smiling and it does make you giggle. But you feel a little childish right after, so you shove his head and tell him to keep watching the movie.
Must be a win for Steve because that saccharine smile doesn’t leave his face.
After the movie, he starts driving but not in the direction of your apartment. He glances at you, “I’m having a really good time. Would you be up for maybe coming back to my place? For a drink or something?”
“Your place?” you snort, crossing your arms but you’re already convinced.
Steve blushes again, “Well, I live there. My parents are like, barely home. Business trips and stuff.”
“Alright, Harrington,” you shrug, “It’s early. Let’s do it.”
“It’s called Flip, Sip or Strip,” he says, holding up a quarter and looking at you under hooded eyes.
You cackle, fingers delicately holding the crystal wine glass that’s definitely worth more than anything you own. You didn’t know Steve’s parents were so loaded, though the car should’ve been the indicator. The pair of you are sitting in the living room of the Harrington home. It’s so intricately designed, the entire house following the same decorative theme. And it’s remarkably clean for a place a young man lives alone 75% of the time. You wonder if there’s a housekeeper that comes and cleans up after Steve.
“You want to play a drinking game?” you scoff, crossing your legs and you don’t miss the way Steve’s eyes follow the movement.
“You’ve heard of it, then?”
“Not since freshman year of college but, sure, let’s play,” you placate him, leaning back in the chaise lounge. In the back of your mind you’re wondering why expensive furniture is so uncomfortable. Steve scrambles from the equally looking stiff couch, opening what you can assume is his parents liquor cabinet. Under the record player that plays that same cheesy, romantic 70’s R&B he was blasting in the BMW.
He sets two glasses and a bottle of tequila on the coffee table and then pats the cushion next to him on the couch.
You raise an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t it be better to stay here? So you can actually see me?”
“Good point,” he grins excitedly and then says, “You first. Call it.”
“Heads,” you slur in a sultry voice, smirking at the way he looks back at you all slack-jawed.
Then Steve flips the coin in the air, catches it in his palm and slaps it on his forearm. He uncovers it and gets this real mischievous smile on his face. He doesn’t even have to announce it, you know the coin is tails up. You laugh and lean forward to grab the bottle of tequila, pouring yourself a small shot and downing it with ease. Then you extend your palm out and Steve hands you the coin. You watch him expectantly until he says, “Tails.”
You flip it, catching it in your hand and flipping it onto your arm. You giggle as you uncover it, wiggling your eyebrows at Steve when you tell him, “Heads.”
He shucks off his coat, tossing it behind him and making grabby hands for the quarter. You roll your eyes as you drop it into his hand and tell him, “Heads.”
Steve flips the coin and then his face scrunches up in disdain, “Heads.”
You snatch the coin from his hand as you cackle triumphantly. A few more rounds go on, you take off your heels with Steve’s eyes glued to your feet and he takes a shot. Then you’re challenged again to either take a drink or remove another bit of clothing. And you’re honestly feeling that shot of tequila so you’d rather not take another so quick. Hence, your tights come off. Steve watches the motion and chews on his bottom lip.
“You a virgin, Harrington?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together.
He laughs, almost offended as he shakes his head, “Far from it. You’re just too good to look at. Anyone tell you that you could be a model?”
“Flattery will get you almost anywhere. Heads or tails, big boy?” you smooth your thumb against the warm quarter.
He guesses correctly, but you don’t on your turn. And so off comes your blouse. Steve spreads his legs across from you, hands smoothing down his jeans as he grins salaciously at you. He incorrectly guesses tails and then pulls off his polo, exposing this jungle of chest hair you’re shocked by. A smug smirk spreads across his lips as your mouth hangs open. And he’s got all these moles decorating his gorgeous skin like constellations. He combs his own fingers through his chest hair and leans back on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Still has his Nikes on.
You scowl as you throw the quarter at him, “Heads.”
And you lose, but you opt for another shot as you feel far more exposed than Harrington is.
A few more rounds leads to you both pleasantly buzzed and in your underwear.
“This game is stupid,” you decide when you incorrectly guess again.
Steve giggles and tosses the coin on the coffee table, “That’s okay. I’d rather take those off myself anyways.”
You hate that it works, makes your thighs warm up with dull arousal as you take your eyes over Steve’s body. He’s lean, soft but very faintly muscular. And those moles go all over him. All the way down to his feet. You heave a sigh and stand from the chaise lounge, stepping in between Steve’s legs and grabbing a hole of his square jaw. He blinks up at you, mouth ajar with fucking stars in those round, brown eyes.
“You have a really stupid, cute face,” you tell him, pushing his thick hair off his forehead.
“Uh, thanks?” he replies and you straddle his lap, pushing both hands into the waves of chestnut hair. You look at it, eyes narrowing.
“Do you have highlights?” you ask.
“Naturally— from the sun and—“ he starts but you interrupt him.
“Bullshit,” you grab onto his jaw again, “You get highlights in your hair.”
“No, I don’t,” he narrows his eyes and you completely seat yourself on his lap, feeling his erection press against your ass. You grind down on it and he lets out a gargled moan, his eyelids fluttering shut.
“You do,” you tell him and then get your lips on his jaw, feeling the subtle stubble against your face. You lick against his jawline, pushing your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back to give you more room. You begin kissing down his neck and his hands grab onto your hips, guiding you up and down against his strained, hard cock. The whole hair argument is completely forgotten by Steve, his hips jerk weakly as he leans his head back and lets out these pretty, soft sounds. The kind of sounds that make your stomach fill with excited, horny butterflies.
You mark up his neck, the skin purpling from your pleasurable abuse. Suck and bite until bruises form and Steve’s whimpering underneath you. You relent on his neck, pulling his head back to look at you as you writhe against him. His hands skate up your sides and back down, landing on your ass and pushing you harder against his erection. And you get a real good look at his pretty face. His eyes tilt down slightly at the ends and they’re so full of desire. Wonderfully expressive and beautiful. You look up at his brows, smiling to yourself as you notice they’re manicured, just ever so slightly. This man takes care of himself. More than most. His complexion is remarkably smooth. You drag your fingertip down the bridge of his nose to the tip, smiling at the sharpness of it. Then you settle your eyes on his lips as they quirk up into a smile, he likes how you’re looking at him. Admiring him. His lips are plump, pink from the way he’s been biting at them all night.
“You’re pretty,” you whisper, dragging your thumb across his bottom lip and he kisses the pad of it. Sending your stomach ablaze as you roll down on him a little firmer.
“You’re prettier,” he replies, voice husky.
“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” you ask, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I haven’t asked you, yet,” he tells you, smirking as he smooths his hand up your back to your bra. Unclasps it with two fingers, impressing a gasp from you and he smiles, straight and white teeth on display.
You help pull the straps from your arms and discard the lacy fabric aside, wrapping your arms around his neck again and then leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. You don’t think too much about what he’d just said, this is fun and you’ve just met. This is the first date, you barely know each other. But while this started out as a lame date, you feel uncharacteristically smitten at this point.
Steve kisses like he needs it. Hungry. Like his oxygen supply comes from your lungs and he’s been suffocating all night. Makes you breathless and dizzy. You whimper into each desperate exchange, sucking on his tongue whenever he slips it past your lips. His arms wrap around your middle, pulling you completely flush against him. Your hands get tangled in his hair yet again, a little obsessed with the way it feels between your fingers. Your noses keep bumping into each other and his pokes your eye a handful of times but it doesn’t slow either of you down.
You lift yourself up and Steve offers a whine until he sees you’re moving to take off your underwear, then he’s helping get them off and you’re situating yourself between his legs on the floor. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and peeling them down his thighs, gasping when his impressive length pops out and slaps against his abdomen. You give yourself a beat to look at it as Steve spreads his legs and writhes against the couch. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wrap your hands around the base of him. Your fingers don’t even meet when they’re circled around his girth.
“Christ,” you mutter and he laughs, a soft and almost insecure sound.
“I- I know, it’s kind of—“
“Huge?”
“Scary?” he asks, tilting his head as he gazes down at you.
It’s your turn to laugh, wondering how many girls have told him that. You’re not scared, no, the opposite.
“Not scary,” you tell him, “I’m thoroughly impressed.”
“Yeah? I’ve… I’ve been told it’s too—“ he swallows and his eyes squeeze shut as you stroke his length firmly.
“Too big?” you offer and work your hand up and down his gargantuan cock slowly, “I like a challenge, Stevie.”
He laughs again, but it’s a breathless laugh. He opens his eyes again and watches as you lick a broad stripe up the underside of his cock. His eyebrows furrow, lips parting with a sweet whine. You wrap your lips around the head of him, tasting the salty precum leaking from his slit. As you grip onto the base of him and attempt to take him into your mouth, you can feel just how hard he is. You lock your eyes on his, slowly sinking down on his cock. Drool slips past your lips and down the rest of his length, your hand slides up and smears the natural lube over him. You continue like that, fingers moving up and down where you can’t fit him in your mouth. You make a conscious effort to breathe out of your nose and use your tongue while you bob up and down on his cock.
Steve watches intently, thighs shaking as he tries his hardest not to buck his hips up. Just the size of him has spit pooling in your mouth and seeping down his length all the way to his heavy balls. His face looks extra pretty right now. Dazed and drunk on the pleasure, perhaps some of the tequila too.
His hands tangle into your hair, holding it out of the way as you continue your way up and down his cock.
“That’s it,” he breathes out, chest heaving as he praises you, “Doing so good for me.”
Those words hit you, make you moan on his length and wiggle your hips. You try to take him as deep as you can before pulling off, working your fist over his cock as you catch your breath. Once he’s not in your mouth, he bucks his hips and moans out shakily.
“Oh, fuck…” he seethes, his toes curling into the carpet.
You move your mouth to his balls then, still working his shaft in your hand and you start licking at his sack. Keeping your eyes trained on his gorgeous face. Steve blinks rapidly, rolling his hips up and spewing the prettiest little moans. And you’re kind of obsessed with his face at this moment, the absolute pleasure painted on it.
“So fucking pretty,” you tell him because you really can’t help yourself and Steve seems to like it, tugging on your hair and whining.
“C’mere… wanna kiss you,” he babbles out and you stand on shaky legs before crawling back into his lap and kissing him sloppily. He wraps his arms around your middle and thrusts his hips up, the side of his cock gliding through your folds and punching a surprised moan from you, which he swallows. Then his hands move down and firmly plant on your asscheeks. At first you assumed Steve was close to coming but the way he’s grinding you down on his cock tells you otherwise— he just really wanted to kiss you.
Then Steve pulls away, “Can I taste you? Please?”
You’re not inclined to say no to that, nodding your head emphatically and standing up from his lap again. You make a move to lay down on the couch, but Steve’s laying down first and grabbing at you.
“Sit on my face, please,” he whines and you flush, but do as he asks. Maneuvering your leg over his shoulders, you hover and look down at him. As if to ask if he’s sure. Which he answers by pulling you down on him, his warm and wet mouth meeting your dripping cunt. You moan out, hands grabbing onto the armrest to keep yourself upright as Steve devours your aching pussy. He’s moaning into you, seemingly loving the taste as he sucks and licks at your folds. Once you’re comfortable and downright desperate, you begin riding Steve’s gorgeous face. His hands are planted firm on your ass, guiding you through it.
“I’ve been dying to taste you all night,” he manages to tell you, pulling you off of him just the smallest inch before he’s dragging your pussy back down against his eager mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” you mutter out, “You’re so good at that…”
He really is, uses his whole face to do it. Nose rubbing against your clit, tongue teasing your hole while you drip all over his chin. You try to look down at him, lock eyes with his dazed, pussy-drunk ones but the pleasure gets overwhelming and your eyes start to flutter shut as you grind down on his expert tongue and really use his nose to get off. Your stomach fills with fire, your release gaining in ok you quickly. And once Steve’s tongue penetrates you, you’re a goner. Crying out his name in desperate pleas as you ride your orgasm out. You’re shaking when you pull off of him abruptly, worried that you’re about to suffocate him. And as you stand, looking down at him, you can’t help but giggle at the look on his face. Steve looks like he just came. Blinking slowly, a pleased smile plastered on his pink lips.
He stands with you, laces your fingers and kisses you softly. You can taste yourself on his lips but you don’t mind, giggling into it.
“Can I take you to my bedroom?” he asks once he pulls away.
You nod, shyly and looking up at him with stars in your eyes. He guides you up the stairs, stopping along the way to steal kisses. You’re not sure the last time you felt so much romance tangled in with sex. He presses you to the wall next to his bedroom door, swoops his mouth down to capture yours in a disproportionate chaste kiss. Again, linking your fingers and holding them above your head as he connects his forehead to yours.
“Don’t laugh— okay?”
You giggle, gazing up at him curiously, “Sorry. I won’t.” It’s unclear exactly what Steve’s asking you not to laugh at, but once he opens his bedroom door, you get it. It’s the ugliest bedroom you’ve ever seen. Everything is drenched in plaid, the wallpaper, the curtains, the bedspread. All so offensive. You bite your lip to stifle the laugh, but it all dissolves when you turn to watch Steve close the door and get a glimpse at his cock which is very much still hard. Then his bedroom doesn’t seem so silly anymore. Your hand wraps around his length as you press him against the door, kissing him filthy all over again.
Steve whimpers from the touch, muffled against your tongue as he places his hand on your face and holds you while he kisses back.
“I need you,” he slurs into your mouth and you nod, kissing him before you walk towards his bed. You lay yourself on it, head on his pillows as you bring your hands up to fondle your own tits. Watching as Steve’s hand falls down to his cock, stroking himself slowly. He then climbs on top of you, kissing you tenderly before he’s reaching over to his nightstand but something tells you to stop him, so you do. Hand on his wrist.
“No… I,” you swallow, lust driving this decision completely, “I wanna feel you… just you.”
Steve inhales sharply, moves his hand to push his cock down for some relief as he says to you, “Fuck… are you sure?”
You wrap your arms around his neck as you nod slowly at him, spreading your legs for him. He drops his head down to kiss you, all slow and gentle. His hand slips between your bodies, grabbing his cock and teasing the head of it against your aching center. You gasp softly, hands tangled in his hair as your hips roll, causing the tip of his cock to catch on your dripping hole. Steve sinks in slowly, inch by inch. It’s quite the stretch, has your jaw dropping as you adjust. His cock is hot and thick, you can feel it pulsing as it drags against your walls. It’s so delicious and heady, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and your hips roll up until he’s completely sheathed inside you. And Steve’s gentle, doesn’t jack hammer into you immediately like most men would. He stays still and lets you get used to the feeling, kissing you softly and tenderly between needy moans and gasps.
“Feel so full,” you confess in a whisper and that gets Steve thrusting into you, groaning lowly against your lips.
“Yeah?” he asks, “You’re so fucking wet and tight… squeezing my cock so good.”
“Oh, Steve,” you moan, tugging his hair while he slowly builds a steady and deep rhythm. His hand moves to grab your thigh, squeezing it while he grinds down into you. The tip of his cock prods against that spongy, sweet spot inside you. Punches a yelp out of you to which he looks down at you, panicked.
“You okay?” he asks, blinking rapidly.
You nod, scratching down his back as you plead, “Fuck, yes… right there, do it again.”
A smile spreads across his lips, pretty teeth showing as he thrusts into you again. And again. Your back arches with it, pressing your tits to his chest as your legs spread further on their own volition. You place your hand on his cheek, watching his stunning face as he sinks in and out of your pussy, the filthiest sounds echoing in the room. He licks his lips, brow furrowing as his thrusts get harder and faster. Each time, he rubs against that bundle of nerves deep inside you. Dragging the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever made from your throat. You’re not sure you could recover from this, suddenly really hoping he does ask you to be his girlfriend. The two of you have barely even started and it’s the best you’ve ever felt in your life. His cock filling you in a way that makes you want to cry, in a good way.
“Steeeeeve…” you moan out, low and uncontrollably. “Fuck… that’s so good. Just like that, baby… yes…”
His lips are on your ear now, lowly telling you, “Taking me so well… such a good girl…”
Your cunt clenches around him, little desperate and pleasure filled pants and moans pouring out of you. “Steve, Steve… oh, Steve!” you chant, scratching down his back a second time.
His hips still and he laughs, burying his face in your neck as he mumbles, “Fuck- fuck, don’t wanna cum yet.”
You grab his face and pull his lips to yours, unhooking your legs from his waist as you kiss him deeply. Tongues lazily curling together, panting into each other's open mouths. You give him a beat to come back down, then you’re flipping the pair of you. Get Steve on his back and you on top of him, without disconnecting where you two meet. You place your hands on his furry chest, feeling the jungle of hair you’ve been staring at since he took his shirt off that night. His hands grip onto your hips, gasping and panting as he stares up at you, awestruck look on his beautiful face.
“You’re so pretty,” you tell him again and he laughs, that wonderful breathless sound you’re starting to fall in love with. Which is dangerous but right now, you don’t care.
“I’ve got the prettiest girl on top of me… and she’s telling me I’m pretty,” he mumbles out, dazed smile on his face.
“You are,” you assure him just as you start to rock your hips, face confronting as you feel his cock prod at that sweet spot deep inside you again. Your eyes cross from it, eyebrows knitting together as you bite your lip and you begin riding him steadily. Slow and gentle at first but soon enough, you’re bouncing up and down on his cock.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby… just like that…” Steve babbles out, snaking his hand around and his thumb finds your clit easily. Works in quick, firm circles. Has you riding him even faster and harder as your climax threatens to rush over you. Building and building so quickly.
“Steve…. Steve?” you whimper.
Sweet, lopsided smile on his face when he asks, “Yeah, baby?”
“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you confess, scratching your nails against his chest as you grind down on his length.
Steve keeps up his ministrations on your clit, doesn’t switch anything up. But he heaves this happy, aroused laugh and tells you, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock. Use me.”
Your body tenses when it hits you, sending you over the edge and you collapse on top of him. Face buried in his neck as you spew cries and moans. He grabs your hips, holds you steady and plants his feet on the mattress. That’s when he lets loose, thrusts into you with everything he’s worth. Mouthing praise against your ear as he fucks you silly.
Your eyes roll back, his thrusts punching repetitive and loud moans from your lungs.
“Fuck— I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warns and squirms underneath you but you make no attempt to move.
“Fill me up, Steve,” you whisper against his ear, kissing under it and then telling him, “Wanna feel it. Cum inside me, baby.”
He lets out a gargled moan, arms wrapping around you firmly as he thrusts one last time and releases inside you, coating your walls with his spend. Your lips meet again, lazily and spent kisses as you both come down.
Steve strokes your hair, holds you close and kisses your cheek before he asks, “You wanna stay the night?”
“Yeah.. yeah, I do,” you reply, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. “As long as you make you breakfast.”
“I’ll make you anything you want,” he says with a smile before flipping you over and kissing you deeply.
And okay… maybe it wasn’t such a lame date.
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