#sh hot

[buckysbarnes]

JOE KEERY as STEVE HARRINGTON “vecna's curse” 4.02 • stranger things

[stuffedwithsteve]

Love how everyone in this story, including Steve himself, knows he has a breeding kink 😂

That man reeks of wanting to put babies in you.

Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there. 

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here. 

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring. 

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted. 

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall. 

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub. 

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them. 

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper. 

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck. 

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night. 

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs. 

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers. 

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…” 

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home. 

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming. 

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you. 

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips. 

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth. 

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes. 

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss. 

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy. 

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again. 

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet. 

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool. 

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?” 

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off. 

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…” 

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them. 

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday. 

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him. 

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’ 

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply.  An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing. 

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief. 

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth. 

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur. 

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver. 

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire. 

“Back. Pass me that cushion?” 

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together. 

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top. 

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip. 

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.” 

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers. 

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him. 

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right. 

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?” 

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss. 

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder. 

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck. 

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum. 

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different. 

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like 

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out. 

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap. 

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.” 

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour. 

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough. 

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself. 

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass. 

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates. 

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good. 

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful. 

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..” 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?” 

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk. 

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body. 

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck. 

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.” 

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too. 

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow. 

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck. 

“But you’re so comfortable.” 

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you. 

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face. 

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you. 

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate. 

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids. 

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile. 

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July). 

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner. 

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night. 

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again. 

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze. 

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave. 

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight. 

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you. 

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest. 

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun. 

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose. 

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes). 

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve. 

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him. 

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up. 

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair. 

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face. 

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family. 

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table. 

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down. 

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume. 

“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?” 

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours). 

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation. 

You glance back at the little tableau of; Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle. 

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary. 

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.” 

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee. 

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?” 

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max). 

“The nice stuff? Syrup?” 

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?” 

“In the syrup?” 

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.” 

“Which one?” 

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.” 

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.” 

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now. 

“Magic word?” 

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand. 

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task. 

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down. 

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is. 

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table. 

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.” 

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips. 

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week. 

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer. 

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.” 

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup. 

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first. 

You smile to yourself and start plating up. 

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides. 

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves. 

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face. 

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth. 

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.” 

“No, it���s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.” 

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste.  He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet. 

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s. 

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created. 

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face. 

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her. 

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls. 

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and  Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind. 

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep. 

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table. 

What a treat. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

[artkissiez]

[heatherchasesyou]

The amount of pressure Vincent might feel from managing a whole church plus having to keep his polite and controlled stance all the time in front of others... I feel like he'd stress out at some point, so... here's my interpretation of it <3

also random fun fact but I was blasting this song on my headset while doing the whole piece which somehow gives me fucked up Vinny vibes ❤

[stuffedwithsteve]

Hooooooowwwwwww did this get buried in my drafts??? Fuck, it’s incredible. I got whiplash (in the best way) with Steve going from cocky/sexy/asshole to cocky/sexy/sweetheart —

Him telling us how good we were doing taking him? 😳 and then losing his mind when we call him baby 🫠🫠🫠 ugh too good 🥵

I need um……I need a minute……

body to flame, pt ii (18+)

summary: steve gets an hour of (un)limited access to you after your previous arrangement.

word count: ~5.3k

contains: bitchy!steve and bitchy!reader … and they were coworkers :0; steve is a softie despite it all; reader with a vagina and breasts; no gendered language used for reader; lingerie; kissing 😳; oral (reader receiving); fingering; piv; pet names (honey, angel, sweetheart); multiple orgasms + overstimulation!

author’s note: you can read part one here!

You’re bent over painting your toenails. Your goddamn toenails. So your coworker can have his way with you for 60 minutes just because he knows how to use his fingers, or whatever.

It’s hard to maneuver the phone between your shoulder and ear with your polish brush in one hand and your foot in the other. Steve’s blabbing about something and you’re trying so hard not to let his tone affect you, even though you’re already dressed up in the nicest lingerie you own.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says, which stills you temporarily.

“Deal’s a deal,” you sigh, grimacing as a bit of black polish gets on your cuticle.

“Yeah, you sound really devastated.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he continues, doing that fake innocence schtick. “An hour’s a pretty long time, y’know. And it’s the Harrington Torture Chamber, after all.”

Your face heats and you can’t quite concentrate on painting anymore. “Oooh, and what’s that entail, again?”

“See? You’re already trying to get off and our date’s in three hours.”

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t get off on torture. And second, it’s not a date.”

“What would you call it?”

“A contractual arrangement.”

Steve sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Ouch. So that’s what you think of me as, huh?”

“You’re my coworker, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

You have to return the nail polish brush to its container, getting a bit overheated. “What now? Gonna see how long it takes for me to fall for you?”

“Uh, no. You already have.”

You scoff again, pulling yourself out of your little Harrington stupor. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I know you’re upset I didn’t fuck you at work,” he drawls on, “but I didn’t want to get interrupted. You know? Gotta take my time with you. I’m thinking we go for an hour and two minutes since that’s what I had left over.”

“The deal was for one hour.”

“Yeah, but what’s two more minutes? …Huh. I guess that is a long time for you.”

Steve is just as much arousing as he is annoying. “Eighteen minutes is not nearly as impressive as you think.”

“Oh, really?” he says. “Let’s try some math out, huh? What’s sixty minutes divided by eighteen?”

“I don’t know, a little over three?”

He speaks to you like you’re a dog. “Good girl! That’s right. Three point three three three three three… why don’t we round it up to an even three point five?”

“You’re big on rounding up, huh?”

“And didn’t you cum twice? Am I remembering that correctly?”

Your heart hammers under your bralette. “Yeah?”

“Okay, then let’s say that three-point-five times two is seven. So that means, with my track record, I can make you cum seven times tonight.” His voice gets a little lower. “And believe me, it’s my intention.”

You’re a little gobsmacked. “You’re out of your goddamn mind, Steve. Since when did you get so good at math, anyway?”

“It’s not really math, it’s like… sex numbers.”

“Very hot, Steve, keep talking like that,” you deadpan.

“Weren’t you just cumming twice on my hand on a dirty couch in the break room of the Hawkins Family Video for the chance of a few hundred dollars? Or… was that someone else?”

You swallow. “I’ll see you at nine, Steve.”

“Nine. Three hours. One hundred and eighty minutes. Ten thousand and eight hundred seconds.” He gasps. “Oh, ten thousand, seven hundred ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven….”

“Goodbye, Steve.”

“… ninety-four, ninety-thr—“

You hang up on him. Three hours seems a bit too long to wait, though he will never know you think that.

You knock. Three, quick rasps, your heart beating quick under your ribcage. You’re about to adjust your skirt again but the door swings open with such ferocity it makes you gasp.

“Hi,” Steve says, beaming brightly. You can smell the sandalwood and pepper on his skin and he looks so good that you feel your cheeks heating.

“Eager much?” you force out, feeling awkward while he just stares at you, unwavering, perhaps as if he’s trying to use x-ray vision to see under your clothes.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you inside quickly. You nearly stumble in your heels, ones you’ve only worn once before. You’re realizing now how bad of an idea it was, but it doesn’t quite matter as Steve kneels to take them off for you.

Steve on his knees is a much more comfortable dynamic for you.

“Wow,” you laugh, lifting your foot slightly so Steve can slip your shoe off, “what a gentleman.”

“I’m not wasting any time here,” he says, a big, warm hand on the back of your calf as he helps you lift your other foot. “Should’ve just came naked so we could get to it.”

“Those weren’t in the instruc—!”

Your breath catches in your throat as Steve’s hands travel higher, up the backs of your legs, fingers tickling your thighs. They rest at the edge of your lacey underwear, and your brain suddenly isn’t working anymore.

“—tions.”

“Lace? All for me?” he grins smugly.

You nod slowly. You can’t really beat the “I got dressed up to get boned by Steve Harrington” allegations.

“And here I thought you didn’t like me.” He stands, crowds you against the front door. “Could smell your pussy, by the way. Must have been a long ride here, huh?”

“Rob - Robin?” you ask, mouth dry.

Steve’s doe eyes look gently into yours. “She’s giving us some privacy.”

You can hardly breathe. “What a good friend.”

Steve licks his lips, leans in a little closer. “Uh-huh. The best.”

“You have fifty-five minutes left,” you breathe.

His thick brows twitch together. “No no no. We haven’t even started yet.”

You scoff and he rolls his eyes at you, breaking away, giving you some much needed room. It’s sort of incredible how hot he makes you. It’s akin to how adoringly irritating you find him.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to follow him, and you make your way to his bedroom. It’s much cleaner than you anticipated - pristine, in fact, and it smells like his laundry. All clean and floral with the undertone of spiced cologne. He even set up candles, really enhanced the atmosphere.

“Plaid,” you point out, gesturing to his bed.

“What? Not good enough for you to get plowed on?”

“Plowed?”

“Bad choice of words.” He turns to you, hands on his hips. “Let me tell you precisely what I’m planning on, okay? And you tell me if something doesn’t sound good.”

“Okay?”

Steve licks his lips, then sits on the edge of his bed. He beckons you to him again, patting his thigh, and you gingerly step forward, sliding into his lap just as you were a few days ago. His hands find the swell of your ass and he keeps them firmly planted there. “First fifteen minutes I’ll spend taking off your clothes and letting you get comfortable.” He pulls you forward, your cunt catching on his jeans, making your breath hitch. “Then I think I’ll spend the next twenty getting to know this greedy pussy a bit better.”

“It’s not greedy.”

“Whatever you say. I know I’ve gotta spend some time stretching you out - so damn tight on my fingers. Then the next twenty-five - twenty-seven, if you’ll have me - I’ll see if my cock really can fit in you.”

You swallow harshly, entirely too hot and entirely too seen.

Steve quirks a brow. “How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” you say softly, your fingers instinctually playing with the hair curled at the back of Steve’s head. “And - exactly how many times are you going to cum?”

Now he’s blushing. “I’m not - not really worried about that.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh—? You don’t want to cum?”

You’re flipped suddenly onto your back, landing with a loud oof!. Steve rolls on top of you, caging you in with his forearms. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Do you think that would make this any weirder?”

“Yes or no, sweetheart. Didn’t ask for lip.”

“Well, you sort of d—“

He doesn’t kiss you. His lips find your jawline and the feeling - the closeness - shuts you up. You gasp softly and reach for his shirt, tangling your fingers in the soft cotton of his polo. You’re overwhelmed with the scent of him and the fresh sheets below you at first, and then overwhelmed with the ticklish pleasure of his lips finding your neck.

“So, you dressed up for me?” he mumbles against your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you like me or somethin’?” Steve cuts you off when his lips plant against your skin, sucking sweetly. You sigh in response. “Yeah, figured.” He moves a hand to the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting against your hot skin. “Can I see what’s underneath?”

You nod and he pulls away, pupils blown wide. He looks a little pathetic, in a cute way. Cheeks flushed, hair messy, chest heaving.

“Getting this excited over a pair of tits?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “C’mon, help me out.”

You sit up with him, watching his face closely for every single reaction he has. You watch him swallow before he pushes your shirt up above the swell of your breasts, revealing a blue-grey, lacey bralette. Nothing entirely special, but Steve’s eyes widen, and he swallows again before looking back up at you.

“So?” you whisper, nervous.

“Take—“ he clears his throat. “Take your shirt off.”

You do so quickly, and you’re pushed gently back down onto your back while Steve melts down to the floor to work on your skirt. Though he doesn’t do much - just lifts it up again, staring straight at the wet spot on your matching underwear. You feel vulnerable, staring up at his ceiling, too nervous to look down at his hungry eyes.

“What time is it?” you ask suddenly, snapping Steve out of his pussy-drunk trance.

He groans. “Are you serious?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “It’s been five minutes, right?”

“You’re pushing it,” he says, then taps on the face of his watch. “I’m keeping track.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Fine.” He makes quick work of taking it off, then reaches for your wrist. “Here. Since I’ll be so busy, you keep track. Remember what the timeline is?”

“Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five.”

Steve doesn’t push the two extra minutes thing because he already knows you’re not going to adhere to this whole “one hour only” schtick. “Exactly. Better keep good track of time, or we’ll have to end before the good stuff happens.”

“You mean when you plow me?”

He ignores you. “Think you can do that?”

You nod.

“Gonna need you to get up for me again.”

You groan, but stand, aided by Steve, who takes your hands and tugs you up. He switches places with you, sitting again, then does a motion with his finger. Turn around.

His hand finds your zipper at the back of your skirt and he slowly tugs it down before letting the fabric fall in a heap on his floor. Both of you are silent, your heart beating hard as you wait for his next move. Those hands find your hips again, and he pulls you down onto his lap, facing away from him.

“You look divine,” he mumbles, hooking his chin over your shoulder, his hands splaying out across your stomach. He kisses the junction of your shoulder and neck, giving you goosebumps. “Really, all this for me?”

You laugh breathlessly. “You’re my only hookup tonight.”

“Lucky me,” he mumbles into your ear. Your pussy throbs, his hands moving higher. “Who else has seen you in this, huh?” And he snaps the strap of your bralette for emphasis.

“Just - just you.”

“You buy this for me?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” His hands crawl upwards, fingers dipping beneath the lacy band and then higher until he’s cupping your tits. “You comfortable?”

You nod, biting your cheek to stop you from whimpering.

“Feel what you’re doin’ to me?” he asks into your ear, rutting his hips up.

You moan and Steve chuckles, kissing your skin again. “Harrington Torture Chamber isn’t all that bad, huh?”

His fingers pinch your nipples and you sigh, leaning back into him. His lips press against your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. You whine when his fingers tug and pull, completely at his mercy, hands useless beside you.

“Like having your tits played with?” he asks. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, honey.”

“Oh, don’t.”

Steve twists your nipples a little harder - not any less pleasurable, but enough to make you gasp. “We’re a bit past the bullshit, aren’t we? You’re bitched out on my lap again and you want to act like you’re not soaked?”

His legs part, spreading yours open with him, and he moves one strong hand down to your cunt. You moan brokenly at one swipe across your clothed clit, and Steve tsks. “Must have trained your pussy to get wet around me, huh?”

You squirm, but Steve traps you on his lap, one arm crossed across your chest and the other cupping your pussy. His fingers still play with your nipple, hardening it under the fabric. His other hand rubs you through your underwear, and he keeps your legs open even when you try to shut them.

“That too much?” he asks, concerned.

And you sort of hate that he’s asking, because you have to shake your head and verbally admit that you like what he’s doing to you. “No.”

“Thought so,” he mumbles, sounding relieved. “You must have a thing for getting pinned and played with. Or do you just have a thing for me?”

“Shut up,” you whine, fingers clutching at the forearm around your torso. Your head falls back against Steve’s shoulder and he kisses along your jawline, fingers moving slow and methodical.

“Make me,” he presses, fingers gently pinching your clit now. You gasp and whine, squirming again, but this time attempting to get more. “Look at me.”

You look off to the side to see him, brows furrowed, eyes hooded, mouth agape. Steve nudges your nose with the tip of his and he gets so close, like he might kiss you - but instead, he talks against your mouth, breathing your air. “Look at you. So pretty, baby, so good for me, yeah?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Pussy’s so nice, honey.” He’s panting a little into your mouth now, readjusting his grip on you. “So wet and silky, gonna feel so good around my cock. You want that?”

You nod again, lost in his eyes, hardly paying attention because your clit is tightening, pleasure gripping your lower stomach like a vice.

Steve smiles, nudges your nose with his again. You’re so entranced, trying to lean forward so he’ll kiss you, but he asks, “What time is it, honey?”

“Huh?” you moan.

“The time, pretty.”

“Oh, shit!” you gasp, twisting your arm towards you. Your stomach drops, though you aren’t sure why. “It’s - it’s - um, it’s been twenty —“

Steve moves his arms away from you, leaving your pussy neglected. You whimper, reaching for him again, but he pats your thigh. “C’mon, up.”

“But —!”

Steve seems rather unfazed despite the throbbing hard-on he’s subjecting you to. “Told you to pay attention to the time. Now we’re over, and that means five minutes less of my cock inside of you. Up,” he repeats, taking you by the hips and helping you stand.

You’re a little lost - mind hazy over your thwarted orgasm. But you let him lay you on his bed, on his fluffy, expensive pillows, while you drip onto his sheets.

Steve kisses the tip of your nose. “And you thought I’d cheat, huh?”

“That - you didn’t even make me cum,” you attempt, narrowing your eyes. “Thought you were aiming for seven?”

“I’m re-strategizing.” He crawls downward, resting on his stomach in front of your puffy pussy. Licks his lips, gets sidetracked for a moment before looking back up at you. “I’m just not sure you deserve to cum that many times, you know?”

“Think it would be painful.”

“Not the way I do it.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, opening your mouth to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but you choke a bit when he slips your underwear off. He’s never been this close to your pussy before, and both of you swallow hard. You’re embarrassed, so on-display, but Steve kisses your thigh so gently that you’re able to relax while he slides his arms under you.

You sneak a peek down to look at him. He watches your cunt with fascination, lust, his eyes dark. It’s thrilling.

“Keep ‘em spread,” he says softly, looking to the side to kiss your inner thigh. It tickles. “Know you had a hard time with it earlier. It’ll be worth it. Just trust me.”

“O-okay.”

“Keep an eye on that watch for me.” He licks his lips, talking more to your pussy than to you. “Though I wouldn’t mind staying here for a while longer. It’s so pretty, baby.”

The tip of Steve’s nose presses against your clit. He flicks his eyes up to look at you, already biting your lip. And he inhales, deep, eyes rolling back for half a second before he dips his tongue in and up your folds.

“Oh,” you gasp, legs already twitching together. You try to stay good this time, to let him have you how he wants. It’s very clear that he wants this - unrestricted access to your pussy, his tongue fucking the tight hole, his nose rubbing against your clit. “Oh, Steve.”

He kisses towards, open mouthed, sloppy, then wraps his lips around your clit. Your hands fly to his hair and he grunts, fingers digging into your thighs. He sucks, unrelenting, until you whine. And then his tongue flicks at your clit for a few moments before it goes back to fucking you.

“Feels so good,” you cry, tugging sharply on his locks, vibrating when he groans. “Oh my god, Steve, Jesus - Christ -!”

He’s slow with it, too. Like it’s a meal to savor. Eyes all half lidded and blissed out, nose wet with you, cheeks pink. Every time you think he cannot possibly look sexier, he does. And even though he’s right here, right now, you’re thinking of all the lost opportunities - times when it was slow at work and he could have gotten on his knees to worship you like this. Laying in the back of his car on break while he made you cum - probably twice, again - and walking back inside with shaking legs and a sweaty forehead.

“Look at me,” he says, voice thick, because you’re staring unfocused up at the ceiling.

“Can’t,” you breathe.

He stops, lifts his head up and rests his chin on your thigh. His thumb rubs soothingly against your skin. “Well let’s stop, then —“

“No!” you cry, the manicured hands tangled in his hair pulling him forward, which is apparently precisely what turns him on. He’s back to fucking you with his tongue in an instant, moaning all the while, rutting his cock against the bed. Now you can’t stop staring, while he’s lost in the scent and taste of you.

“Don’t stop,” he groans, referring to the tugging, so you don’t. And you watch him, his eyes opening to look at you, both of your faces turning hot. “Oh, Christ,” he groans, bringing his hand towards your cunt.

His middle finger, long and dexterous, slides in with no restriction. He finds that spongy spot inside of you again while his lips suck and kiss your clit. You feel like screaming, feeling high and so, so blissed out. You rock yourself against his finger, and it takes you a moment to work yourself up to it, but you finally moan, “More.”

He grins. "Greedy."

A second finger. It’s a squeeze, but Steve sticks the landing. Presses up against your sweet spot with his tongue unrelenting on your clit, and he’s certainly coaxing an orgasm out of you. It’s much more intense than the two you’d had with him before. His tongue and fingers work in sync so well that you fear you might cum messy and wet all over him.

Not that you entirely care.

Steve pulls back, just a bit. His lips still move against your clit. “Gonna cum? Feel you clenching down, 's like last time. You’re so tight, feel incredible - gonna feel so good when you cum, honey, let me have it.”

“God,” you choke out, “you’re so obsessed with me.”

He laughs, licks a broad stripe from his fingers up to your swollen clit. “Yeah, guilty.”

Your stomach fliips hard, the band inside stretching to a near breaking point. “Oh my — f-fuck-!”

He stays steady. Keeps stroking your g-spot and sucking your clit. Except now he’s whining, brows furrowed, like he’s a petulant child that wants a treat. One more glance down at him and you’re cumming, back arching. Steve tries to pin you with his arms but it’s simply no use. He chases you, lips attached to you, fingers curling, your hands pulling his hair. He gasps, makes a noise of disbelief, and swallows every last drop of sweetness you give him.

Your vision is hazy. Black tinged. You’ve never cum so hard in your life, and that includes your precious escapade. Your chest rises as falls as you catch your breath, disoriented, legs shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mumbles, sliding up your shaking form. “That was so sexy, shit — are you okay?”

You nod. You might be in love with him now. His fingers are still buried inside of you, flexing gently. You rock your hips and mewl. “Need you to fuck me,” you rasp.

“How much time do we have?” Steve looks down at the watch on your wrist and tuts. “Aw, man. We only have ten minutes. Guess we should get you cleaned up then, huh?”

His fingers start slipping out of you, but you’re quick to snap your shaking thighs together. “No,” you whimper. You need his cock so bad it’s driving you insane - like something is clawing at your chest and trying to get out.

“What’s that?” He’s a cocky son of a bitch. “You want more time in the Harrington T—“

“Please shut up,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist now.

“Are you saying it’s not torture?” His thumb rubs against your clit, flicking it slowly. “Are you saying you like this?”

And here he goes again. Making you fall apart twice in the span of two minutes. Flicking at your clit, hovering his lips above yours, sinking his fingers back into you. Slips a third one in for good measure, knows how hard it’ll be to take him.

“Tell me,” he presses, nose touching yours. You’re going cross-eyed trying to keep up with him. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

Your resolve diminishes quickly. “Make me feel so good.”

“Was that so hard?” He smiles. “You gonna cum about it?”

You pant and squirm and writhe under Steve. He crooks his fingers up towards your sweet spot again and you cry out just as his mouth engulfs yours. He works smoothly, diligently, and you figure for half a second that his hand must hurt.

Then he’s pulling away, mumbling to himself and quickly shucking his jeans down. You look down, curious. He wears such tight pants that you think you have a pretty good idea of how big he is.

You were off by a few inches.

You can’t help but to widen your eyes. He’s so fucking pretty. A thick path of dark hair leads down to his trimmed pubes, a stark contrast to his highlighted, golden skin. And his cock’s gorgeous. Long, thick, curved towards the tip, head pink and it’s weeping. He pumps himself a few times, already so wet.

“Did you cum?” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer you. Just leans over past you to grab a condom out of his bedside drawer. Rips the foil with his teeth and slides the latex on in one fluid motion. You know he’s done this before, but his agility still surprises you.

Not willing to waste a moment longer, Steve finds his way back on top of you again, sliding himself in between your spread thighs. You hook your legs around his waist. His thumb’s at your clit again and you shiver, mouth falling open.

“Are you ready?”

“As I can be,” you whisper. “You’re a lot to take.”

“I’ll take it easy,” he whispers back. “Relax for me, okay?”

With his fingers playing with your clit, it’s pretty easy. Your eyes fall shut and you focus more on the bundle of nerves, the ever-tightening feeling in your stomach, Steve’s breath fanning against your face. He presses the tip against your hole, rubs himself up and down.

Then he presses into you.

Your eyes widen. Your mouth falls again. You exhale shakily. He’s gotta be a single inch inside and he’s stretching you to your limit.

“I know,” he coos, applying steady pressure to your clit. “I’ll take my time, ‘s okay.”

“So big,” you whisper, delayed, your mind a bit blank.

“I know,” he repeats, but he’s smiling now. “Why d’you think I had to spend so much time on you?”

One inch deeper. You mewl, hands moving to his shoulders. “Cause - b-because you’re - you -“

“You, you, you,” he teases. “Love seein’ you like this, really suits you.”

You don’t have the capacity to argue with him. “Kiss me.”

“Where?” Another inch. Steve leans forward, nose against nose, lips against lips. “Here?”

You nod, awe-struck by his hazel eyes. You plead with your own.

“I’ll never say no to a pretty angel like you,” he whispers. "Don't get too excited, okay? This is a contractual agreement, after all."

Finally - finally - he’s kissing you. Moving his mouth so perfectly, intentionally. Lips soft and a little wet. He tastes like mint and - well - your pussy.

But Steve, he encompasses all of you — his weight on top of you, his lips moving slowly, his hips moving slower. The scent of him in your nose, his warmth transferring to your skin. He pulls his hips back, then slides in. A little deeper. You gasp against him and his tongue slips into your mouth. Now you moan, and he moans, fucking into you shallowly.

“C’mon,” he whispers, “let me in, want you so bad, please.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. “I’m trying,” you whimper.

“It’s okay. Doing so good for me, yeah?” He kisses down your neck. The tickle helps distract you from the stretch, and he gets another inch in. Steve gasps, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “You feel so goddamn good.”

He sucks at your skin, running his tongue along it. Thumb still circling your clit. Fucking you shallow, slow.

“You okay?” he grits out.

You nod, rocking your hips. You’re getting used to it, the sharp pain - it’s melting away, all of Steve’s ministrations to help you working. “More, Steve. Want more.”

He kisses up to your ear. “You sure?”

Goosebumps prick up on your skin. “‘m sure.” And just to see what he would do, you say, “Please, baby.”

“Oh, God,” he groans. Pulls back. Thrusts in deeper. “Can’t say shit like - like that.”

It takes you a sec to find your voice. “Like what?”

Back. Forward. Punches the air out of your lungs. “Like baby,” he grunts.

Back. Forward. “Honey.”

Back. Forward. Slips inside you nearly to the hilt. “Handsome.”

Your eyes roll back. Steve’s pace picks up, panting above you. You wish he was undressed so you could see him. You know the chest hair he sports. Want to feel it on your skin, run your fingers through it while he has you like this.

“Why not?” you choke out.

He moves away from your neck to look at you. You melt. His hazel eyes are soft, looking into yours. But he doesn’t answer.

You think you understand.

You wrap your legs a little tighter, bringing him in, rocking on him. Steve sputters. It’s clear he likes taking his time, but you’re close to cumming. So, so close, and you want Steve right there with you. Spurring him on, you ask, “You - are you gonna make me cum or what?”

Steve laughs, rolls his eyes. “There’s that fuckin’ mouth.”

Now he’s drilling you. The bed groans. His thumb moves quicker, presses harder. You squeal, digging into his shirt, trying to stay grounded. It’s impossible, though. When he’s looking at you like this. Eyes dark, focused, his mouth parted, tongue licking over his soft lips. You moan uncontrollably, twisting, tugging harder at his stupid shirt.

“Hold on,” he gasps, sitting up quickly and slipping out of you. Throws his top off to the side, smirking when you gawk. He takes your calves and throws them over his shoulders, leans back down and folds you in half. “Want you like this, this okay?”

You already know it’ll ruin you. “Yeah, come on.”

Steve slips back inside of you and sets his pace quickly. He must be all the way in. Your cunt squelches around him, his balls slapping wetly against your ass. Your hands move towards the mattress, gripping his sheets and twisting, tugging, losing control of your body.

You can’t shut the fuck up. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god—!”

“Shit,” Steve grits, pressing his forehead against yours. Bending you further. You’re still babbling. “Yeah? You - ngh - f-feel me?”

His thumb hasn’t found its way back to your clit, but you really think you might not need it there. Instead, his hand cups a breast, tugging your bralette down, flicking at your nipple. Now he’s babbling. “Wanna suck - suck on these, fuck, look so good.” He whimpers, cock twitching.

He pummels against your sweet spot. Over and over, until you’re seeing white and Steve looks so angelic above you. Doesn’t look like your annoying coworker anymore. He’s ethereal, in his element, sweat beading at his impeccable hairline. Dark strands fall over his brows, creased in concentration.

“I’m gonna cum,” you’re rambling now. “Steve, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh my — fuck!”

“Yeah, baby,” he whines. “Let me feel it, squeeze my cock, doin’ — so good —“

Your back arches, much like earlier, as your orgasm hits you. Unaided. Just Steve’s cock, Steve’s face, Steve’s words bringing you over the edge. He’s praising you, but you can’t hear him. Everything’s fuzzy and warm and your orgasm goes on forever, clenching and unclenching, pretty moans and gasps falling from your mouth.

Steve leans forward, buries his head in the crook of your neck while his pace turns sloppy. His teeth scrape against the delicate skin, but he seems to know better than to bite. His canines scratch, sliding over sweat-slicked skin, and with a low groan he cums, both of your legs shaking. It takes him ages to finish, too — each time he thinks he’s about done, his cock produces more. “Fuck, fuck, oh — shit, honey, God—!”

You hold him - best as you can in the awkward position - running your hands through his hair. “Good boy,” you whisper. It’s all you can really think, brain all fucked out. Steve whimpers again.

Panting, you both rest for a moment. Your legs are still shaking and you’re not sure how Steve’s keeping himself up. You want to tell him he can lay on you, that you’ve got him - but then his goddamn thumb is on your neglected clit. Moving back and forth, slow and hard, and you cum again in fifteen seconds. Clenching on his cock, making Steve moan and laugh breathlessly, kissing your neck.

He finally moves enough so that your legs can fall to the bed. You hope he doesn’t mind you staying here for long. There’s no way you can drive home.

“That was three,” he pants, a big smile on his face. Dopey, blissful. He’s still wearing the condom and you can see the cum inside, makes your stomach flip and face heat.

You do not need to be thinking of this man cumming inside of you.

"You promised seven."

"Always gotta complain. Weren't these three worth it?"

You look over at him, in his glowy glory. "You only had one. Maybe you'll get three next time."

His cock kicks. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Just gotta think of another bet.”

Steve scoffs. "As if you need a bet to do this again."

And he's right. You don't.

[exyglass]

You gotta look cute if you're fighting your inner demons :)

[b4kuch1n]

simulated earth (it does not matter)

transcript

[columprncess]

god i pray for you to give me a guy like evan peters (or evan himself)

[emtrobarasalaplatja2]

[stuffedwithsteve]

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Fuck me (pun intended), I loved thissssss 😍😍😍

Loved the way you set up the world, the way you built up to every moment 🥵 — the twist???

UGH him eating us out and then eating us out???

don't say you need me (it's understood)

vampire!steve x deliveryDriver!fem!reader

summary: you are a delivery driver who gets extra hazard pay to bring blood to the vampires of Crimson Alley, but this time, you get up the nerve to ask Steve for something you have always wanted. This story has a surprise ending and an appearance from vampire!eddie. Steve is not a typical vampire. Slightly True Blood au. wc:6.3k

18+ONLY, mature themes, Steve is a vampire but he is also something else, reader's first time feeding a vampire, smut, drinking blood, sensitive!steve, lovesick!steve, monsterfucking, doordash delivery for vampires, oral for all, reader wears a sportsbra, unprotected p in v, creampie, self-inflicted knife wound.

author's note: I've had this one in my wip's for a while, and it was going to drive me crazy if I didn't finish it. My Steve fics rarely see the light of day, but I can't stop writing them for some reason. This is my last little detour before I go back to working on my other series. Or, until I get distracted again, which will probably be in two minutes.

Part 2 smut extra Wolf Moon

Part 3 fluff request

The way you earned money lately was not your dream job, but it paid the bills.  Food delivery was a necessary evil with your life being as chaotic as it was.  The particular app you worked for paid better than the rest because of the “hazard pay” you accrued for some of the deliveries that required more “risk”.

The risk in question had you delivering blood to the local vampire population, most of which lived in a particular section of the city called Crimson Alley.  It wasn’t just an alley; there were apartment buildings and a long street full of picket fence houses, all with heavy, black out curtains over them during the day.  

One minute, you’re leaving tofu Pad Thai on someone’s doorstep, and the next—-you’re casually dropping off a grocery bag full of type O.  

It was dark, of course, when you made your final delivery before clocking out.  You took on as many deliveries to Crimson Alley as the app would allow, mostly because you needed the money, but also—you weren’t afraid of death.

Most of the vampire clients who signed up for deliveries on the app were decent, law abiding ghouls, but there had been two noted incidents where the vampire in question only wanted a live human to feed on, and ended up draining the delivery driver before disappearing into the night.

You told yourself they were just rumors, but also, you spent quite a bit of time ruminating on what the sensation of fangs breaking your skin would feel like.

The receipt stapled to the front of the paper bag from the blood bank said Harrington, and you matched it with the information on your phone before making your way up the sidewalk.  It was an old, vintage building with renovated apartments inside, and so you punched in the alarm code from the notes in your phone, waited for the beep, and then made your way up to C5.

Two female vampires were just leaving as you stepped into the foyer, and they seemed to be dressed for a night on the town.  You jumped back to make room for them, and they excused themselves with a laugh and a wave, fangs exposed, as if they were any other living humans going out for drinks. That was the great thing about vampire specific blood banks and the recently invented blood substitutes; fed vampires, for the most part, were happy vampires.  Sure, there were those who still lusted after the chase and the thrill of the kill, but most of the newer vampires were surprisingly chill.  

The customer requested that you hand the delivery directly to them, which meant you had to knock instead of just dropping it at the door and bolting.  

But, as your finger rose to touch the doorbell, the door opened, yanking back into the apartment so fast, and you scrambled back, startled, testing the handle of the bag with your vise grip.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the vampire said, smiling around his fangs, wearing Wayfarer sunglasses even though it was dark outside.  “I didn’t mean to scare you, my bad.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you stiffened, shaking your head, hoping that was the correct answer, since the customer is always right.  

In the next few heartbeats, the two of you looked over each other.  Your vampire customer had a full head of lush, dark hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears, and a solid, muscular frame.  He had on a white shirt that was of little contrast to his pale skin, rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned to expose a swatch of chest hair, black pants that made it look like he was getting ready to go somewhere fancy, and a pinky ring with what looked like a skull on it.  He smelled like sandalwood and vanilla tobacco, and your mouth produced an overabundance of saliva that made you swallow and choke a bit.

Steve liked what he saw so much that he didn’t want to remove his sunglasses, so that he could continue to look you over without you seeing his eyes move.  But, eventually, he did, sliding them up on top of his head, clearing his throat.

“Harrington,” he said, leaning against the door frame, forgetting why he was about to leave the apartment in the first place. “That’s me, I’m Steve.”

You introduced yourself, and then lifted the bag up in the space between the two of you. “Would you like me to set this by the door, or—?”

“Oh, damn, yeah, of course,” he chuckled fondly to himself, as if remembering a private joke.  “I can—yeah, sure, here—I’ll take it.”

You passed it off and he opened it to look inside as if he didn’t know what he’d ordered.  

“Alright,” you backed up, offering a low wave.  “I guess I’ll be going,then? As long as everything looks okay.”

“Sure,” Steve said, uncertain, still staring into the bag.  You turned on your heel to head for the stairs. “But, wait—” he called after you.

You spun around to face him, rubbing your lips together, wondering if you were crazy, or if the vampire was trying to flirt with you.

Steve held the bag with one hand and let it fall to his side while his other hand shoved into his front pocket, smirking at you in a way that screamed trouble.  “Would you like to meet up later? After your shift? For a drink, or something?”

Or something.

This wasn’t a good idea, you told yourself, as you turned around to accept his invitation.  

“I’m free right now,” you told him.

—-------

Steve didn’t have a plan; he just knew he didn’t want you to go.

“Were you about to leave?” You asked, gesturing to his outfit as you accepted his invitation inside the apartment.  

“Nowhere…special,” Steve looked you up and down again, forgetting that his sunglasses weren’t covering his eyes.   He was about to go and meet up with his friend Eddie, but he’d shoot him a text real quick and let him know he got “caught up”.  Eddie had canceled on him at the last minute more times than he could count, so his conscience was clear.  

Steve had eclectic taste, and the first thing you noticed was the Depeche Mode poster on the wall, along with some original art, oil abstracts, and there was a retro sense to the place: a boombox from the 80’s, a panasonic tv/vcr combo on a stand in the corner and a 1960’s wicker rattan chair with a big, dark blue cushion.  He had a large collection of vinyl in vintage, wood apple crates stacked up the wall, and a yellow kitchen table set that looked like it was right out of the 1950’s.  

You turned to ask him a question, but he was right there on your heels, and your chests pressed into each other, your noses almost bumping, and that was when you took a closer look at his fangs.  They weren’t long, obnoxious fangs like in the movies, and could almost pass for normal, albeit extra sharp incisors, but for the way they extended down further than the rest of his perfect teeth.  

“Do you ever accidentally—” you motioned to your own tooth, tapping it.

“Bite my own lip? All the time,” he gave a snort.  “My tongue too, and it fucking sucks.”

He offered you a beverage and you were surprised to find out he had human food there.  

“I have several human friends. I cook for them sometimes too,” he assured you from the kitchen which was around the corner. He carried the grocery bag of blood in to pour some out for himself, and then you heard the top pop off a beer.  But then he peeked his head around the corner, raising his eyebrows at you. “Did you think all vampires were hermits that just hung out with each other in a cave somewhere? Like in The Lost Boys?”

You put your hands in your back pockets and went over to take a closer look at the bat with nail spikes through it that was mounted like a trophy above his stereo system.  He came out carrying a wine glass full of a deep claret liquid, and handed you the beer, gesturing to the futon with his elbow.

He’d only known you for a few minutes and he already wanted to kiss you.  He could see the heartbeat in your throat from where he sat, and he wanted to take a sip from your lifeforce and then kiss you with his bloody lips, smearing it down your chin.  He couldn’t smell any other man or partner on you, but he also couldn’t let you walk out and be with someone else; he was actively attaching to the scent of your blood, and if you stayed any longer, he’d have to do something about it.  

You took a few gulps of your beer, thinking that if you didn’t make you move, you’d lose your nerve.  A chance to be consensually bitten by a vampire did not come around as often as people would think.  Especially for the modern vamps of today who’d been following a set of rules for decades.  Most vampires had specific humans they “bonded” with, be it a familiar or a partner, or they ingested a specific type from the blood bank or blood substitute.  Vampires were very finicky creatures, and the blood had to taste good in order for them to want to ingest it.  The way it tasted had to do with a certain mix of hormones and chemistry, you really had no clue.

After a bit of small talk about where you came from, and how long Steve had been a vampire—he was turned in 1996 by an ex he didn’t want to talk about—you set your empty beer down on the rectangular wood coffee table and sat back.

“So,” you bobbed your head a few times.  “Here we are.”

“Yes,” he inclined his glass to you, taking the last sip of his Type O claret. “Cheers to us.”

And then, there was silence, but for the sound of people chatting out in the hall, the low hum of the Depeche Mode song It’s no Good, and your heartbeat in your ears.

But then, you just blurted it out, and Steve started to talk at the same time.

“How would you feel if I asked you to—”

“I have to confess that I—”

You licked your lips.  “You go first,” you said on a nervous exhale, fiddling with the arm of the futon.

“No, you—please,” Steve sank down and rested his head on the back of the cushion, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your cheeks hot.  You couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pants was abnormally large even though it wasn’t even erect.

This was crazy, what were you even doing in his apartment? Your friends would be screaming obscenities at  you if they knew, telling you to pull out your colloidal silver mace spray and run.  But yet, all of  your blood seemed to be tickling at the surface of your skin, wanting to escape.

You turned in your seat and Steve’s eyes followed your movements, watching how you bent your knee up and scooted towards him..

“Here’s the thing,” you cleared your throat, finding your words.  “I’ve never been bitten before, by, you know, a vampire, but I’d really love to know what it feels like.  I fantasize about it, sometimes.”

In an unexpected turn of events, Steve abruptly got to his feet, mumbling, “not another one,” as he put his back to you and rolled his head from side to side, walking away.

“Wait,” you stood up too. “What do you mean, ‘not another one’? Do delivery drivers normally show up here asking you to bite them?”

When he faced you, his eyes were full of weary disappointment.  “I’m not turning you, okay? I will never turn anyone as long as I exist,” and then he rounded the corner into the kitchen and you heard the wine glass drop into the sink.  

“Hold on,” you followed, coming up behind him as he bent forward to brace his hands on the countertop.  He appeared so suddenly distraught, your hand hovered at his lower back for a while, wondering if you should touch him, and then you finally did—feeling his cold skin through his shirt like winter marble.  

You made a few comforting circles with your palm, and he let you, secretly closing his eyes at the soothing nature of your touch.  

“Hey,” you whispered.  “I don’t want to be a vampire.  And even if I did, I would never want to put that on you, a complete stranger.”

This admission made him stand, and you watched the way the ends of his hair caught on the collar of his shirt, shoulder blades flexing under the material.

You rested your hip by the sink, eyeing his back muscles.  “I’m kind of embarrassed now, that I admitted that to you,” you laughed a little then, at yourself, at the situation, looking down at your nails.  Could you have fucked this up any harder? 

You barely had time to register that he had turned around and was coming toward you, it all happened in a human blink. But then he had your back pressed flush against the wall by the fridge, one hand cupped your throat while the other pinned your hip.  It knocked the air out of you, but it also turned you on, and he returned your stare with a flicker of uncertainty.  Silky brown eyes that seemed to go ink black as the pupils expanded.

He brought his cheek down, rubbing it against yours, inhaling the scent of your hair, his words a tight whisper at your ear.  “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

“I-I don’t want that,” you stammered, knees wobbling as he sniffed along the side of your face and down your neck; his skin was cold and it made  your nipples hard.  “I just want to know what it feels like to be…needed like that.”

Steve snapped his head up to look at you; brows clenched, cherry lips parted.  The urge to taste you, to feast on you, had him questioning almost a decade of sobriety from using his fangs to feed.  His teeth ached, his stomach growled.  The light in the kitchen was on, and aside from a lamp in the living room and the street lights from outside, the rest of the apartment was dark.

Steve nudged your nose with his; lips an inch or two away from yours.  “Maybe…just a taste.”

You lifted your chin to kiss his pouty lips, but he pulled back.  “We can’t do that, though.  We can’t kiss.”

You searched his eyes, confused.  

Steve released your throat, and the tension of the moment subsided.  “It’s too…intimate.  I can’t risk an attachment to a complete stranger.” You could tell he was using your words against you, and you wondered why that description bothered him so much.  You were both, indeed, strangers, and you didn't know how else to categorize him.

“I want it to be a good experience, though,” he hushed, taking your hand, guiding you back out to the living room. “It’s the least I can do.”

He told you to wait there while he got a towel from the closet; he didn’t want blood on his new futon.  If only you knew how many offers like this he’d turned down in his life; if only you knew how nervous he was to break this seal with you.

“Should I lay down or sit up?” You asked.  Your mind was having a hard time registering that this was actually happening.  

Steve came back and plopped down onto the squishy futon.  His shirt was off, and your eyes locked on the patch of chest hair over his milk white skin.  “It’s less messy this way,” he gestured to his bare chest, and then he raised an eyebrow, his face serious.  “Are you comfortable straddling my lap?”

“Facing you?” 

Steve dropped his shoulders, giving you a look, and then he patted the cushion on either side of him.

You were about to drop your knee down to do as he suggested.  

“Oh wait,” he stopped you, giving you an open, earnest expression.  “Do you want to take your shirt off?  It might get blood on it. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

You looked down at your shirt.  It was a vintage concert tee, and you didn’t want to risk it. “Um, yeah, okay,” you had a sports bra on underneath, so this was fine.  

Steve watched you remove your shirt with a hitch in his chest, but then looked down when you finished and tossed it over the chair.  

You climbed on top of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders.  “You’re so cold,” you observed.  “You make me want to get you a blanket.”

“You’re all the warmth I need,” he muttered, shifting as your core settled above his cock, his hands tentative at your hips. 

“Listen, it’s probably going to sting, or hurt, even,” he coached, watching the plump artery in your throat.  “But once I start drinking, your endorphins take over and it should feel…good, in a way.”

You nodded, pushing your shoulders back.

“Now, come forward,” he continued, pulling you close so that the two of you were skin on skin, his fingers spread out on your back.  “And tilt your head to the side, just like that.”

Steve’s mouth watered as he took in the sight of your neck so exposed to him, like an offering.  It reminded him of way back when he used to confuse the gift of blood as a form of love.  Back when he was naive and bursting with wet dreams about a home and a family and one love forever.

A few seconds passed and your chin rested on the cool muscles of his shoulder.  You could feel his breath on your skin, tingly like wintermint gum.  

“Should I count down?” He asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you returned with an edge of irritation. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You adjusted yourself in his lap and it made his cock throb, and now he was nervous that you could tell how aroused he was.  It’s been a while since he drank from someone he wasn’t in love with, and his cock assumed it was its turn to get involved too.

You felt his lips tremble on your flesh as he brushed over the spot. 

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled. Steve’s stomach growled again as he made “O” with his mouth over your big, thumping artery, swiping his tongue a few times over your salty barrier.

But then his teeth broke the surface, making you choke and clutch his arm.

It did hurt, in the same way thorns from a rose bush hurt, and your adrenaline surged, preparing your body for fight or flight, but Steve’s arms were strong, and now they had you caged in a vice grip.

The sweet hesitancy of consent was gone now that he knew the honey nectar in your veins.

Now, his animal urges made him growl as he drank from you; whimpering, even, when he felt you ease into it, shifting to be closer to him.

There were only a few seconds of that sharp pain, but then as he sucked, you felt your pussy flutter and bloom—a reaction that you had not expected.  You closed your eyes, vibrating, leaning into each pull, turned on more and more by his wanton need for you. A trickle of blood trailed down along your breast and it made your skin raise with gooseflesh.  

Steve jerked his mouth away with a gasp after about a minute, breathless.  He looked at the dripping fang marks in your neck, and then, without thinking, he kissed you there. He released his double arm lock on you and held your upper arms, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” be breathed.  “That was so good.” 

“You can have…more,” you whispered, keeping your head tilted to the side.  

Steve swallowed hard: the temptation was real. “I can’t,” he managed.  “I’m afraid I’ll take too much.”

You wanted to cry out in disappointment, to beg for more.  But then, Steve picked up the towel and started wiping you off. He pricked his finger to heal the fang holes with his blood and you felt a sizzle as they closed up and vanished.

You couldn’t look at him right away, but when you finally did—you saw the trickles of your life force in the corners of his mouth and the strawberry wine tinted hue of his lips. His cinnamon brown eyes that had somehow turned hazel  Your need was too great, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning forward to flick your tongue out to taste the evidence of his feast.

Steve turned his head and that was when you remembered the rule: no kissing.  He was the Julia Roberts Pretty Woman version of vampires.  

But a  twitch of his cock against your inner thigh from inside his jeans betrayed him. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he hissed, acquiescing to his own desires, holding the back of your head to find your mouth.  He kissed you deep, without any hesitation.  It was innocent and urgent, like a man who had been starving in many different ways for a long time.

The taste of your blood in his mouth had your eyes rolling back in your head.  There was something about the closeness of it; the way he received nourishment from you.  You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, not paying any attention to the way your hips were grinding into him.

“Wait,” there was a smacking noise as Steve pulled his mouth away. He ran the back of his fingers down your cheek.  “Do you want this? Do you want…me?”

Your lips throbbed and felt bruised, and you nodded, unable to form words.

Steve would regret this the next day, he knew he would.  He wasn’t one of those people who could do casual intimacy like Eddie and Argyle.  He wondered if he was hypnotized by your blood, wondered if maybe he’d see clearer in the morning.  But right then, he didn’t care.

You crossed your arms over yourself and pulled your sports bra off, watching Steve’s breath catch at the sight of your nipples. He took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue, moaning as he did so, and you flexed your hips against him. His sucking popped off as your mouth went to his neck; you didn’t kiss him, you just planted your lips there and said:

“I love knowing my blood is inside of you.”

And for some reason—that was it for Steve.  

He gasped, clamping his hands onto your thighs, locking you in place. “Wait…fuck…oh shit—”

You felt him tremble and arch his pelvis up, his hips stuttered, and then his head dropped to your arm with a strangled cry.  

“Hold on…did you just?”

“I’m afraid so,” Steve admitted with a tight, aggravated sigh.  “Excuse me while I—”

He motioned for you to move out of his lap, but you stayed there, lowering your head to find his eyes.  “Can I clean you up?”

Steve shifted, feeling embarrassed and a little uncomfortable, about to decline your offer, but then you were sliding down between his legs, pushing them wider with your shoulders.  Your attention went to unbuckling his belt and zipper, but then your eyes flicked up to meet him, hovering there.

“What are you doing?” He asked softly, lifting his hips when you needed to scoot his jeans and red boxers down.  You saw the wet spot where his tip had exploded and the dark hair around the base of his cock.  You grabbed onto his length to bring it out of hiding and Steve shivered.

“You don’t have to—” but your lips were already on the fat, sticky tip, licking down the vein and the excess that dribbled down his shaft.  His cum didn’t really have a taste—it reminded you of something with a clear flavor, like glycerine.  He was semi-hard now; caught between being done and getting excited again.  He threw his head back onto the couch, exposing his throat to the ceiling, Adam’s apple jerking as he swallowed back a whimper.

His hips bucked up when you took the tip to the back of your throat, and Steve’s fingers dug into the couch, wondering if he should touch you.  “Do you like the way I taste?” He asked in a hush.

You nodded, meeting his gaze again, kissing the head of his cock.  “I want more.”

Steve leaned down to grab your face with both hands and coaxed you back up into his lap for another depraved kiss; moaning into each dive of your tongue.

“It’s my turn,” he said with a crooked grin, rubbing his nose on yours, and then he flipped you over with surprising strength.  You pushed your jeans down as he pulled them, yanking the denim all the way off your feet.  They landed inside out in a crumpled pile nearby.   He kissed down your breasts, your stomach, flicking his devilish tongue along the soft curve of your hip.  

Your legs stretched out to meet the width of his strong shoulders, cursing when his tongue licked a stripe up and down your slit a few times. When his mouth pulled away, there was a string of saliva connecting you to his chin, and he found your eyes before he moved to taste you again.

He lifted your thighs up off the couch—god, he was so strong—and licked down even further, until his tongue fluttered at your tight muscle back there, making both holes clench.  Your torso was almost bent in half when he looked up at you over your pussy.  “Do you like that?”

“Don’t stop Steve, please,” you gushed.

He took that as a yes, smiling to himself, continuing to work you over in that spot.

He lowered you and moved up to suck your clit and sank two fingers in a little too fast, making you tighten up for a moment.  “Shit, your fingers are so big.”

He made a guttural growl, staring at the way his fingers stretched you, and it sounded so unlike the noises he made thus far, it made your eyes snap open.

“More,” you gasped, taking his head in your hands.  Your fingers threaded through his hair that was a bit crunchy from styling product.

He slipped a third finger in and your cunt pulsed around him, making his cock get stiff and leaky again. “Fuck, you’re going to take my cock so good.”

The throb of the artery in your inner thigh caught his attention and so—that was all he could think about.

His fingers went in to the last knuckle, and twisted them a few times.

Your jaw went slack with a moan.  You watched his mouth lift off an inch so that he could stare at the spot just below the curve of your hip.  You could almost hear his thoughts, they were so loud, and the thought of him feeding on you again made  your cunt tighten like a fist.  

“Fuck, Steve, please do it,” you whined, squirming.  “Take more of my blood.”

Steve felt like a man out of control. Like the vehicle had already flown off the cliff, but he was still trying to work the break and steer.  There was no hope for him now—he might as well release his grip on the wheel.

His fingers curled up inside you as his fangs nipped at your tender flesh, toying with you.  When his his sharp teeth finally sank in, he didn’t give a shit about staining the couch or his clothes—he didn’t care if you could tell how much he fucking loved this.

When his mouth locked onto you, your pussy clenched around his fingers, and you were whimpering, clutching the back of his head, encouraging him, “moremoremore.” 

Steve had to push himself off of you with all of his strength, sending the couch sliding back a few inches with you on it, knocking over a table and a lamp that went crashing to the ground.  Your flesh was still leaking as he stumbled back, breathing quick and heavy, mouth and chin wet from his meal. His jeans were still down his hips a bit and his cock curved angry and sticky against his belly.

“Cover it,” he braced his hands behind him on the carpet, gesturing to your inner thigh, but you weren’t quick enough.  “Cover it now!” He barked, wincing, baring his teeth.  

You reached over for the towel and did as he asked, wrapping it around your thigh, securing it with your hand, watching whatever struggle he seemed to be having with himself.  It looked almost as if Steve was…changing? The hair on his chest and arms seemed to grow thicker right before your eyes and his jaw muscles strained as if making room for more teeth.

Once he caught his breath, his eyes locked on your cunt—so open and ready for him—and another animal growl escaped his chest.  You watched his cock twitch a few times, a sticky strand of precum connecting to his stomach.

No words were needed as he grabbed you by the crook of your knees and yanked you off the couch.  You yelped only because his movements were so fast and your lower back skidded on the rug, but you were equally opening yourself up wider for him, spreading your knees out.  

He knelt before you, chest hairier than ever, and his eyes flicked red for a moment.  He stretched his thick cock down along your slick and with one thrust, buried himself to the hilt, making you both throw your heads back with a cry.  

“Fuck,” you wanted him deeper, you wanted all of it.  Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the size.  He put one hand at your shoulder and one at the crease of your thigh and began to pound you onto his cock as if you were a toy.  Your breasts bounced and you kept eye contact with him as your jaw went slack, feeling a mounting orgasm already teasing in your core.

Steve’s hands no longer resembled the hands of a man; they were completely covered in hair now with curved claws. Honey brown fur covered his flesh entirely, and his nose was more of a snout as his eyes bore into you, burning an orange red.  His mouth was wider, teeth bigger and sharper as he revealed them to you in a sneer; his tongue lolling out thick and sharp.

You were not afraid though, and he could see it in the way you regarded him, as if the change had not taken place at all.   Your curiosity was piqued, but you were not disgusted, nor did you look away.

The curse, it was real.  He had not dared to tempt it for so long, thought maybe he had outrun it, but now he was mating you and he didn’t know how to stop.

You didn’t want him to stop. You wondered if maybe this was what happened when some vampires had sex—you’d never tried it before.

His strong, animal hips slammed against you; muscular, hairy legs splitting his jeans open so the seams ripped to accommodate his size.

“Steve, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, brushing your fingers over your clit.

Monster Steve’s movements sped up and got erratic as you screamed his name again and the fire in your belly swelled to your entire body, exploding like firecrackers behind your eyes.  

Steve barked and locked you up against him, balls deep, as his cock pumped everything he had inside of you; body tensing, muscles straining.   

You were both panting when your eyes found each other again.  He searched your face with his feral eyes as his cock jumped a few times inside of you.  You wondered if he had lost the ability to speak since he hadn’t said a word since the transformation. 

He unhooked his hand from your shoulder and ran a claw down your face, gently, parting your lips with it, and then drawing down your throat.

There was a knock at the door, and somewhere in the deeply muffled civilized part of Steve’s brain he thought: “Shit, I forgot to text Eddie.”

You looked around, wondering what to do, wanting to cover yourself up, and Steve pulled out of you, savoring one last look at his cum leaking out before he bolted to the fire escape window on all fours and then crouched there.  

“Steve?” Another man’s voice came from the other side of the door.  “Yo Steve man, what gives? I waited at the bar for like two hours.”  He knocked on the door again, and then tried the knob.  “I’m going to use my spare key if you don’t answer, man.  It’s not like you not to text.”

Monster Steve growled low, staring across the room at the door, snarling like a dog.  

Getting the hint that maybe Steve didn’t want anyone to see him like that, you jumped up to find your clothes when you heard the key in the door.  You had your shirt on and were struggling to button your jeans when the door opened.  

You rushed over to greet whoever it was and found yourself face to face with another vampire, but this one had long, dark messy hair, and bangs that were too long, and a leather jacket over his Alice in Chains tee shirt.  

“Hey,” he paused, offering a confused smile to expose his fangs.  “I’m Eddie.  Is Steve here? We were supposed to meet me but he—-”

That was when Eddie caught sight of the huge, hairy monster dropping from Steve’s fire escape and into the street.

“Shit!” Eddie cursed, pushing passed you, yelling for Steve.  

You both made it to the window in time to see monster Steve bounce over the hoods of several cars like something out of a DC comic, and then bolt down an alleyway on all fours before climbing up the next building.  

Eddie turned to you, the only human in the vicinity, and cursed.  “You let him drink your blood, didn’t you?”

“Well I—” you stammered, trying to catch sight of Steve from the window again, but he was long gone.  “I-I didn’t know that vampires couldn’t—”

“Most can,” Eddie sucked in his bottom lip and put his hands on his hips, looking around.  “But not Steve.  He was already a werewolf when he was bitten and turned into a vampire, and if hybrids drink blood directly from a human, they turn into a beast, like what you saw.”  Eddie glanced down at how your jeans were unzipped, and then he quickly looked out the window again.  “Especially if there is some type of sexual act involved.”

Eddie paced back and forth in a line for a minute, wondering what he should do—-who he should call. 

You swallowed so hard there was a click in the back of your throat.  “How long will he…be like that?”

Eddie scratched his forehead, parting his bangs.  “It’s really hard to say.  Could be hours, could be weeks.  But the problem is—” Eddie trailed off, thinking about the last time this happened.  “----he’s out there all alone and there’s no way to find him or catch him.  He’s stronger than any vampire or a werewolf now.”

You told Eddie a little bit about who you were as you collected your things and went out in the hall with him so he could lock the apartment back up.  You told him that you didn’t mind waiting there, until Steve came back.  Maybe he just went for a run to stretch his monster legs?”

“That’s way too dangerous,” Eddie promised.  “Once Steve is back to Steve again, he’ll want to know I kept you away from him, that I kept you from danger,” he walked you out of the complex and down to your car.  “The smartest thing you can do right now, sweetheart, is go home and wait for things to go back to normal.  I’m sure he’ll call you when he returns to himself.”

You thanked him and shook his hand, even though you knew Steve didn’t have your number.

You had a plan you thought might work even better.

Once you got back to your place, you showered, cleaned up the sticky trail of Steve’s cum down your inner thigh, and then wrapped a towel around you and went to the kitchen to find a sharp knife.

You went out to your modest balcony on the 6th floor of your building, and blinked against the breeze as a hand-shaped cloud circled the moon.  The stars were bright and the air smelled of honeysuckle, and you held the blade of the knife tight before yanking it through your grip.

It slit the flesh of your palm like butter, and you bit your lip against the pain.  You squeezed your fist in the air—a summoning on the wind—and watched the dark red flow trickle down your forearm.

You let it drip onto the railing, all along the cement ledge, and then left the sliding door open and made a trail of droplets on the floor to your bedroom.

And then, you waited.  

[gayanemic]

Cut me, eat me, smoke me, devour me, scratch me, mark me, destroy me, undress me, i'm yours.

[itaewon-freak]

260125 Seonghwa and Jongho on their little Costa Coffee and a walk by the river date.

[chaotic66hummingbird]

"Holy...SH!T"

[nwarrior777]

okay internet, i know that you not ready for this but

it's strange being all omgyes #slay yay totaly okay for like, all kinks, but going #omg wtf cringe scull emoji about fat kink

like we as society know how kinks works (importance of consents, special rules for practices like using special candles for wax play, etc), we know how really infinite can human fantasy go and so on and so on but why is it still taboo to be openly horny about things like big tasty meal with your lover

can we be finally chill about it

p.s. i have post which gives good arguments on this topic but i couldn't find it by search, only in my blog archive, so here is the link.

The problem with fat kink is not in it existing, but in not-exsisting of range of image of fatness in media

[iz0p0dz]

my dashboard usually

mutual one: sfx dont report block this isnt real im just talented!!!!!!

mutual two: im gonna skin myself alive

mutual three: why do calories exist

random zero day account: i wanna have sloppy and messy sex with andre kriegman

mutual two: im still gonna skin myself alive btw

mutual four: *sum random cutesy image*

random freaky account that uses the trans tag all the time: hit me up