yourlocalauthor

[yourlocalauthor]

extremely ridiculous

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut, rough sex, dirty talk, religious themes, partie, nsfw brainrot, blond peter parker, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, swearing, sexualized halloween costumes, daddy kink, some roleplay, fingering, oral sex, slapping and pain kink, mentions of anal, just pure filth with 9k words

summary: ever since the bathroom incident, you’re the first person that peter parker looks for in every party. halloween is sinful, but so is the way you look at him from across the room.

note: this can be a standalone fic but i recommend reading the first part here :) not my gif!!!

missing out? ➤ my masterlist - MINISERIES MASTERLIST

- inspo for reader’s costume! - my blonde ag/peter playlist

It’s ridiculous how many times you’ve run into Peter Parker at a party. The artificial blond himself had gained an affinity for perfect attendance ever since the filthy, filthy bathroom incident that occurred not too long ago. What was supposed to be a moment to get away from the noise of hyper college students turned into a moment that generated even more noise (or from what Peter keenly remembers: joyous sounds of pleasure) between two spiteful, horny and marijuana-driven third years.

It’s even more ridiculous that you haven’t fucked since said incident. Every time you’ve seen him, nothing but a longing look and a courteous raising of a red solo cup is shared between you. Almost like you were acknowledging each other, instilling a challenge as to who would break first.

How could this be a competition when the two of you had already lost beforehand?

It’s not that you were chasing after him. God forbid you did. Dick is disposable, you know. But something about Peter and the way he absolutely devoured you that night, showed you what kind of gentleman he was, how he set this excessive standard for the next fuck and the fuck after that, made you want more. So much more. Maybe it was the blond, or maybe it was just the weed. Yet, nothing about what happened felt like a bad trip. It felt real, and you could still feel the high of having Peter’s lips on your body and his smoke residing in your lungs.

Honestly, he couldn’t look at a blunt the same way ever again after what you did to him. Blowing into his mouth like you wanted him. Wanted him more than a youthful one-night stand. Wanted him more than a simple bathroom fuck and tangled limbs inside a clawfoot tub in a house that wasn’t even yours.

Peter isn’t one to harbor feelings that last more than a few months, but he can’t stop replaying and rewinding the events of that night. Of you, more than anything — your moans, the hickies he was shamefully excited to wake up to the following day and subtly show off to his friends, how you dared to look him in the eye for the remainder of the party, even innocently smiling his direction as if he hadn’t just bent you over cold porcelain and fucked you till you couldn’t form words.

You’re the first person he looks for at every gathering.

Even now, in the chaos of this so-called “Flash’s Halloween Bash,” Peter scans the living room and foyer meticulously, squinting through the dim lights and tuning out the harmonious cheers at the beer pong table beside him. The infamous red solo cup in his hand has barely been touched. He’s been easing up on drinking lately — can’t have too many vices, recalling his roommate’s advice.

He’s come dressed as a priest, black button-down with the white collar and everything. The person wearing it is far from holy, but Halloween means he could be anything he wanted and no one could tell the truth from his method of pretending. Peter can’t exactly pinpoint where the inspiration for his costume came from, but he remembers watching a specific episode of Fleabag that he just couldn’t shake out of his head.

Peter turns his ‘trying to look for someone while trying to be subtle’ situation into a game, naming every character and every costume he’s seen in the previous years before due to a drought of originality amongst his peers. His friends have come as basic Halloween staples: sexy nurse, sexy lumberjack, his friend and his friend’s boyfriend as Chippendale strippers, and even a sexy rainbow Spider-Man — he’s used to it by now, in fact, it’s good for his ego. Good for suit design ideas, too. Especially now with the blond hair, the red and blue seemed a little overkill. He’s been meaning to don a black one.

There’s one costume in particular he hasn’t seen before.

Hello, sexy nun.

It sounds gross. He knows.

Then said sexy nun turns around and he’s met with an all too familiar face, a face that is practically ingrained into his list of hookups and knocks every other name out of the ballpark. He should’ve known, how could he have not when the outline of your body was basically embedded into his hippocampus?

In the blue-light hue of the room, you spot him the same moment as he spots you.

Peter feels like he’s in that bathtub all over again when smoke effortlessly escapes your bloody red lips and clouds into the stuffy air.

He wants to feel your breath against his mouth again. Hard and noisy, strained and needy. But again, it’s like you’re testing him and his self-control. He’s good about sex. He’s not addicted, but he may as well be when you shoot him a shit-eating grin and casually turn back to your group of girlfriends like you hadn’t just eye-fucked each other from across the room.

He can smell your shampoo from here.

It’s like that for a good portion of the night: second glances and teasing glints in your expressions. It isn’t till a little less than halfway through the party that Peter is able to actually see you up close — hair semi-tucked into the black and white veil that drapes over your shoulders, the skirt of your fake habitat exposing enough thigh and leg to get you banned from a real life convent, black shadow purposefully smeared across your eyes with hand-drawn Petrine crosses just below your lower lashes in a blasphemous spite.

Your group of friends suddenly mesh with his own, sparking conversations amongst themselves as Peter tries his best not to drool over you. He doesn’t know you’re thinking the same. In fact, the calm and collected manner you’ve decided to front is extremely convincing.

Similarly, Peter is eye candy himself. His hair has grown out, especially the brown roots that seem to intermix with the blond dye in his locks. He still looks like a walking temptation. You want nothing but to bite down on the clerical collar around his neck and stain it with your lipstick, make him force whimpers out of you as he hikes your skirt up your ass and take you on an altar of pillows.

Sure, it was just a Halloween costume. But if you really wanted to sell the vision, you’d surely play the part, wouldn’t you?

“Father Pete.” You playfully smirk, leaning into the wooden door frame to announce your entrance. Peter has his back pressed against the wall beside it, a hand tucked inside the pocket of his dark pants.

You take a sip out of your drink with raised brows in anticipation of his reaction. He feigns a bit of surprise, despite knowing that you’d been lingering near him for quite some time already.

“Oh, Sister Y/N.” You don’t make eye contact with him. But Peter makes sure to take in the details of your face, staring intently at your bold choice of lipstick and the darkness around your eyes. He smiles. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

But he did. He had been looking forward to this conversation the whole time.

Your black nails tap slowly against your solo cup. “Didn’t expect you to come dressed as a priest.” Your lips tug into a toothy grin when he fully turns his body to you, standing straighter than before. “Was the Devil already taken?”

“You know, I thought about showing up as an angel but it just seemed out of character.” Peter shrugs, glancing over at you as he pulls out a pre-wrapped joint and lighter. “Not really my brand, to be honest.” He cups a hand by the flame, humming in disapproval when he fails to light the blunt.

You nod, fishing out your own lighter when you notice his embarrassing struggle. You don’t respond right away, leaning into him as you flick the button and ignite the generous blunt between his pretty lips.

Your eyes linger on each other, the flame illuminating the lower half of his face. He teasingly fiddles with the material of your veil before you can pull away, looking down at you with a jutted chin and a pointed nose.

It’s painfully slow and almost agonizing how he avoids touching your bare skin. Refusing to be swayed by his actions, you break the silence.

“Were you expecting me to dress as something slutty?”

Peter laughs hard at that. “Oh, is this not — this isn’t slutty? If I’m honest, nothing’s sluttier than a nun in a tiny dress, Sister Y/N. The church should be appalled.”

He quickly offers you the blunt.

“Been trying to cut back.” You reject it with a bashful look.

“But you’re drinking?

“Well, it’s just punch.” You roll your eyes at the blond, studying how his jaw flexes while he inhales deeply. He nearly falls into you when a crowd of first-years brush past the both of you, his hand hovering just above the small of your back.

Your mind is sent back to when he kissed you in the bathroom.

Peter huffs outward, pupils dilating when you awkwardly pick at the lint on his shoulder. He tries not to think about how your fingertips feel like fire — a good fire, warm and comfortable. Even through his button-down, he feels as if you’re leaving your prints all over his body again. You steal his place against the wall when he shifts to stand in front of you.

“What’s next? Practicing chastity?” His voice is low, his lively Queens accent seeping through his slow phrases as he stares you down with his arm propped just above your head. You bat your eyelashes at him, surveying how he bites his tongue in anguish. “Have you realized you’ve been ignoring me ever since I touched you that night?” He whispers, head dipping down so that his lips meet the conch of your ear. “Did you not enjoy, Y/N?”

“Quite the opposite. ‘Touched me’ seems like such an understatement, by the way.” You admit, matching his breathy tone as you avoid his gaze. “Frankly, I think I enjoyed myself too much around you.”

“Oh, really? You sure you came dressed in the right costume? Not very pure… of you… to confess you liked something that you weren’t supposed to be doing.”

“You…” You stifle a moan when his nose nudges the top of your head. Peter inhales deeply to smell you, making you pause in order to regain your broken composure. You blink back your nervousness. “… you have been eye-fucking me this entire party. As if — as if I wouldn’t notice. That doesn’t make you so nice and innocent either. Does it, Peter?” He chuckles in amusement when you crane your neck at him. “For a made-up priest, you sure do love indulging in sinful things.”

“There’s a reason I’m not a real one, Y/N.” He takes the cup of punch from your hands and raises it to his lips, blunt dangling between his slender fingers as he gazes at you over the lipstick-stained rim. “And there’s a reason why you aren’t a real nun.”

“I guess sex is just too good to let go.” You run your nails across his belt, skimming over the silver buckle. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” A stray bead of red punch drips from his bottom lip, and you’re quick to catch it with your thumb before he can. The liquid stains your skin, and leaves a red trail on Peter’s chin as you swipe it away. “I’m sure you can agree, right?”

He sighs audibly; his crotch presses against your thigh as he steps closer to you. Your voices are quiet beneath the booming bass, possibly mistaken with the beating of your own heart, yet it’s ironic how the first couple notes of Tainted Love play when Peter pushes the cloth of your veil to one shoulder. His eyes wander over your throat, recalling how beautiful the once-untouched skin looked in the wake of his kisses. He smells you again, like he’s addicted to that scent — the combination of your perfume accompanied by the bitterness of sweat.

“When was the last time you fucked someone?” He asks bluntly, looking at you through wispy lashes.

Your breath is warm against his jaw. “Is this your way of asking if I’m clean?”

“No, Y/N. It’s my way of asking if you’ve had sex with anyone else.”

“Other than you?”

“Other than me.”

The word leaves you in a sudden, nervous croak. He hasn’t wanted anyone this much in ages. “September.”

“Wasn’t that the month you and I fucked the bathroom? When I…” His lips hover over yours with a wolfish grin. “Fingered you behind that curtain?” You let out a shuddering breath, remembering how he shamelessly cupped his palm over your mouth and rendered you near speechless. “Just me then, huh?”

“Peter, your friends are looking.”

He steadies himself against the wall, briefly glancing over his shoulder before you look up at him expectantly. “Let them.”

“God, you fuckin’ asshole.” You bite your lip, pushing down a gasp when his hand ghosts up your knee. “What kind of priest seduces a nun?”

Peter grins sinfully, “You call this seducing? I’ll show you what seducing is. I’ll take you upstairs.” His fingers find the black lacy garter around your thigh, similar to the ones that brides would wear beneath their wedding dress. Certainly not something a nun would sport. His gaze flickers up to you, chest stiff from holding your breath. A blondish curl flops in front of his forehead, the little strand bouncing as Peter plays with the delicate band beneath your little dress. He’s trying to differentiate lust from his desire for you, but with the way you stare at him all yearning and doe-eyed, the terms have honestly become one in the same. Peter lets himself break. Just for you. A little bit to spur that nervous demeanor he loved seeing on you. “Tell me, Y/N. Do you want me as much as I want you right now?”

Your nostrils flare at him, because for one: he’s making a show out of this, he’s practically getting off on it — having you in a corner with nowhere to go, almost damaging your reputation of giving in to an asshole’s advances for some dick. You’re not desperate. Yet with him, you want nothing but his towering shadow to swallow you whole and relentlessly, even if it meant his friends and your friends would talk about it behind your backs.

Who cares, right?

But was it always about sex? In the time that you spent only thinking about Peter, not even touching him yet reminiscing over how his smoke filled your lungs and shoveled a carnal path to your heart, did you develop something more than a fickle sexual appetite for the blond?

Another bad decision couldn’t hurt. You speak before you can even register what you’re insinuating.

“Take me upstairs then and maybe you’ll have an answer.”

With that, Peter basically shoves his way up the staircase, dragging you along behind him. Insincere excuse me’s are thrown about as you push past the lingering partygoers on the steps. Neither of you can think about being polite right now, especially when your hand is tightly enveloped in Peter’s. His palm is searing with heat, digits curling around your knuckles as he pulls you into an unfamiliar hallway and what you believe is some stranger’s bedroom.

Immediately, he has you pinned against the locked door. Peter’s hands are heavy on your face as he holds you on either cheek, mashing his lips against yours hungrily. Nothing about it is sweet, nor shy, far from how he kissed you last time. It’s like he wants to jump inside you, make a home out of your mouth and melt as his tongue slips past your teeth and remembers the taste of your saliva. Normally, you would’ve cringed at how hard you were breathing on each other — but that sound of desperation, of obsessive pining, it did more than turn you on.

“Don’t cum in your pants now.” You giggle against his lips, his teeth pulling at your skin as he marks your neck. Your hands swiftly work through the buttons on his shirt, pushing the article of clothing down his long arms before you’re grasping at his exposed chest.

He sighs breathily, a mixture of laughter and embarrassment.

“Of course you’d never let that go.”

“It was hot.” He quickly tugs your veil off of your head, tossing the black material to the side before he runs his fingers through your locks. You still when he taps your chin, urging you to look up at him. “Really fucking hot.”

“You know what would be even hotter?” He smirks cockily.

His bare chest touches your clothed one, making your nipples harden through your dress as he presses against you.

“What?”

Peter cups a hand on the nape of your neck, holding you there as he lowers you onto the floor. You have no choice but to sink to your knees and hold eye contact with the dirty blond, sitting back on your calves.

If he was a preacher, he just made you his devoted follower.

“You shutting up and sucking my cock.”

“You have such a way with words, you know that?” You tease, rubbing circles on the tops of your thighs as Peter deftly unbuckles his belt. “One minute it’s, ‘I want you’ and the next it’s, ‘Suck my dick.’”

You help him shimmy his pants off of his legs and away from his feet, watching it join the rest of his clothes and shoes in the unruly pile by the corner.

“They basically mean the same thing.” Peter retorts, avoiding how he mindlessly confessed to ‘wanting you.’

Whatever that meant.

Your eyes widen when you take him in, fully and intently.

“This is new.”

An elegant spider, specifically a black widow, decorates the alabaster skin of his hip bone. The tattoo is smaller than your hand, the inked legs stark thin and outstretched across faded scars. You wonder how he got them, but you know it’s rude to ask. So you move on, continue to become accustomed to the new tattoo on his lower torso, red lips worshipping the drawing as you kiss up and down his abs with tenderness.

Peter sighs, his ego blossoming when you eagerly pull him closer by the waist and free his aching cock from his boxers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, entranced by the reflection of the ceiling light in your pupils and the glittery Petrine crosses on your face.

“Is it just me or are you getting deja vu?” He quips playfully, stomach twitching when you put pressure on the leaking slit of his head with your thumb. “God, because I am… one-hundred percent getting deja vu right now.” His hand splays over the six-paneled door when you replace your finger with your tongue, getting his thick length nice and wet with your spit.

“You talk too much, Parker.” You’ve barely done any damage to him, but his groans roll out wounded and clipped when you wrap your lips around the base of his cock, suckling the skin there. Saliva bubbles from your mouth as you run it across the side of his length, puckered lips staining his fair skin with a sinful red. “Maybe I should shut you up.”

“Keep talking back and your little cunt won’t be the only thing getting fucked tonight.”

Peter watches your irises darken with something deeper than playful lust, something he hadn’t seen when he had you like this in the past.

“And if I do?” You start with a challenging edge to your breathless voice, fist squeezing around the head of his cock. “What happens if I wanna run my mouth…” You swirl your tongue around him to collect the small drop of pre-cum on his tip, your words coming out as a moaning mewl when you swallow the salty bead. “… all fucking night?”

You’re driving him mental. He’s losing it, his urge to just throw you against the bed and fuck you until the headboard makes an indent in the wall has grown exponentially — in fact, that’s the only thing he wants to do right now, until you innocently nuzzle your cheek against him and gently kiss his pelvis. The notion itself sparks something in Peter.

“You really wanna know, princess?” He courses a hand through your hair, your head tilting back with the movement. His cock throbs the more he stares at your face, specifically your eyes, because they’re telling him all the things you can’t say out loud.

“I do.”

“Pretty sluts who talk when they’re not supposed to get their throats fucked.” You gulp heavily at his words. His control is shattering and Peter can just feel his desperation quickly seep through his dominant tone. “Do you want that, Y/N? Your throat fucked raw like a whore?” His brows cinch together, lines deepening on his forehead. “My big cock shoved all the way down, so hard and rough, you can’t talk? Till I leave that cute fuckin’ mouth all sore?”

You whine at that, breaking his glare with timidity at the thought. It makes you damp between the thighs, and Peter takes pleasure in how your skirt has ridden up to give him a perverted view at your black panties.

You stroke his length needily through ever-growing pants. “Maybe I’m into that sort of thing.” You rest your hands around the back of his thighs. He steps closer. “Maybe I want you to ruin me.”

A switch flips in his brain.

“You’ve gotten so bold since the last time I saw you. Do you really want that?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly and sincerely.

He continues combing through your hair, purring at you. “You tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, alright?” He bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It’s sweet, but the moment is fleeting when Peter tucks a hand beneath your chin and the other behind your head to prevent you from hitting the door as he guides his cock between your lips. “Open. Wide. Wider, baby.” He can feel you exhale through your nose when his length fills your mouth. He’s heavy against your tongue, the spider tattoo on his hip bone just within your peripherals as you hollow out your cheeks for him. “Oh, Sister Y/N…” He chuckles mischievously. “Not so much of a saint when you have dick in your mouth.”

Your words come out muffled. “Maybe you need to bless me, Father.”

The blond catches you off guard, thrusting harshly into you. Your eyes screw shut as you gag noisily, and you can’t help but slap a hand over Peter’s upper thigh as leverage for something to hold onto. “You ask, and you — You. Shall. Fucking. Receive.” He snaps his hips into your mouth fast and unforgiving; your nose brushes against his sparse pubic hair before he pulls away, then thrusts back in without giving you a second of relief.

It’s almost embarrassing how much saliva is dripping from your chin, but with how his thick cock is straining your jaw, you’ll take anything to help the pain.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Peter cooes through a laugh. “Taking me like an absolute angel… fucking Christ, Y/N. Wonder if anyone’s fucked your mouth like this before.”

He’s careful not to use too much force, aware of how his differing strength may hurt you in the process.

But Peter is starting to realize that maybe you enjoy the pain.

He guides you by the back of your head, lightly pushing it down his length until you’re blubbering and salivating around his cock. Your grip on his thigh is unwavering, and Peter feels you squeeze the longer he continues.

You try not to count the seconds he keeps you like that, but five becomes ten, then ten becomes fifteen, and your temples are throbbing as the room spins and oh, god — he pulls out, a devilish chuckle leaving him while a loud cough rips right through your throat.

You abruptly sit back against the door, back hitting the wooden surface as you wipe away the spit on the lower half of your face. With red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks, you gasp for air. Peter continues towering over you, cock in hand, before he gently caresses your jaw in an apologetic manner.

“Did I do okay?” You whisper, voice tight and gaze woozy as you peer up at him. He can’t hide the tugging smirk on his features when he notices how fucked-out you already look.

Nodding, Peter runs a thumb across your bottom lip. “Did better than okay, baby. You wanna sit on the bed for me?” He slips the digit into your mouth, pressing it against your warm tongue. “Let me show you how much of a good fucking girl you were to me.”

You whimper at that. The sound goes straight to his dick as he helps you stand. Peter takes your face into his hands, brushing back flyaways as he pulls you into another kiss. Your hands take to his chest, wandering across his ribs, his thin waist, the broadness of his shoulders. The wings of his back flutter beneath your touch, rippling under your nails when you scratch down his spine. He latches onto your jaw and makes an identical purplish mark to that of the one on his breast.

His fingers find the zipper of your dress, deftly dragging it till it stops just at the concave of your lower back. He helps you tug your arms out from the long black sleeves. Peter’s lips follow the wake of the newly exposed skin, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls the dress down your soft hips and the expanse of your thighs. He’s on his fucking knees, taking in the sight of your lingerie-clad body.

“Peter…” You sigh at the view of him stroking himself to you. His lips kiss over your knees then the waistband of your thong. His teeth find the lacy garter on your leg, canines tugging the pathetic material off of you. “I want you.”

“I know, princess.” He murmurs, sucking gently on your outer thigh. “Want you too, but you don’t get to rush this.” You yelp when a ripping sound fills the tense air, looking down to find your black panties in two pieces. You’re about to argue with him, but Peter quickly hooks your right leg over his shoulder and impatiently buries his face in your core.

A pornographic moan instantly slips out of you, mouth parting open as Peter flicks his tongue over your throbbing clit. He uses a hand to spread your folds apart, revealing the sticky mess of your cunt when he laps at your entrance.

“You know, I thought about you…” You pipe up breathlessly, holding onto a fistful of Peter’s blonde curls as his mouth works on you. “… after that night, after everything you did to me, I touched myself to you.” Peter groans at that. You take it as a sign to keep going. “Thought about your big fingers filling me up, your tongue on me. Tried — tried using a vibrator and it just couldn’t satisfy me the way you did.” The words fall from your lips without a second thought.

Your filter had practically vanished the instant that Peter put his hands on you.

Peter wonders what else you thought about, what other situations that you pictured him in, if your imagination was fueled by lust or…. maybe something more.

He suckles roughly on your clit, filthy noises escaping the both of you before he abruptly forces himself to pull away from you and pause because too much of you will make him grow absolutely mad. He moves to sit on the bed, chin glistening with your juices.

Your eyebrows draw together, worry and frustration mixing across your face. “Why’d you stop?” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He does the same thing once more before he shifts awkwardly to shake his head, a shy expression dancing over his appearance. “What? Is something wrong?”

You bend down, slowly kneeling between his thighs to catch his far-off gaze. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” You smile warmly at him.

“No, no, I think it is. Feels self-indulgent.”

“Well, whatever you wanna tell me, I’m listening.”

Peter realizes you’ve wrapped your hand around his — fingers intertwined and everything. It’s comforting, but even then, all it does is make the conversation harder for him to get past. He lets out an embarrassed groan, hair falling against his forehead as he looks anywhere but you.

“Can I… can I ask what else you thought about? With me?”

Your eyes widen, because certainly, it wasn’t the question you were expecting. The cocky blond anxiously gnaws on his bottom lip. Unsure and lacking self-confidence for once, it makes you huff in amusement and you use the situation to your advantage.

“Okay, well…” You clear your throat. “There were a lot of things. Where do you wanna start?”

“From the beginning.”

You nod as you move to stand, “I thought about… what would’ve happened if we got caught. The taste of your lips, how I could smell you all over me even after I showered.” You rake your fingers through his hair, similar to how he did to you earlier. “Thought about you stuffing my mouth… with your fingers, with my panties, with anything really… just to shut me up. To keep me quiet. I thought about you…” You swallow, the thought itself makes you wet, but saying it aloud makes you ache. “… fucking me in the ass. Just imagined how your cock — that big, fucking cock — would stretch me out, make me cry and cream all over you.” Peter finds himself looking up at you like you’re God herself, quiet moans leaving him as you wrap a fist around his length and pump him. His middle and ring finger find your cunt, slowly teasing your entrance.

“More.”

“Thought about you spanking me, slapping my face, pulling my hair.” You moan loudly when a hand comes down onto your ass cheek, a pleasurable sting rippling through your flesh. “I wanted you to punish me, to edge me, to fucking call me names… to take me rougher.”

His nose nudges against your belly. His breaths become ragged, noisier and more desperate with each word that leaves you. “You dirty fucking girl.”

“I thought about riding your thigh. Maybe even riding your face, wondering how it would feel to have you at my mercy. I… I just wanna hear you beg.” A strangled growl erupts from Peter. He pushes his fingers into you, your juices squelch around the long digits. “Peter… I — fuck, I wanted you to tie me up… to make me yours…”

“Are — are you not?” He grunts when you squeeze the head of his cock. “Fuck, Y/N… your h-hand…”

“Do you understand what you do to me?” You whine out, cupping his cheek with knitted brows. “I’ve — God, I have one more thing to tell you.”

His hips rut upwards. “You’re gonna kill me, princess.”

“I’ve always…” You chuckle, the sound cut off by Peter’s fingers filling you to the hilt. “… fuck — fuck, I’ve always wondered how does Peter Parker respond to being called daddy?” His hand comes to a halt as his jaw clenches visibly. You hum lowly in approval, massaging his scalp. “You like it don’t you, Peter? Or should I say… daddy?”

He hisses sharply. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s not holy to use God's name in vain.”

“And it’s not very holy of you to call me daddy, but here you are. Tell me again. What’s my name, Y/N?”

His fingers curl into you.

“Daddy.”

“Can’t hear you. Gotta be louder for me.” Peter’s hand picks up the pace, the heel of his palm snapping against your clit as you try your best to stay balanced on your feet.

“Oh, fucking — daddy. Daddy. Please.”

“Look at you. All fucking smug and shit, thinking you got me wrapped around your pretty finger.” He stands up. And there, you remember how much taller he is. You let out a cry when he grabs you roughly by the chin, thumbs digging into the puffiness of your cheeks as he squishes your lips together harshly. His dominant exterior has returned, fingering you faster than before. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Do you get off on teasing me? Get off on being called daddy’s good fucking girl?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” You squeeze your thighs together, but the hand that was clasped on your chin suddenly flies across your cheek and it takes you by pleasurable surprise. Peter just slapped you — and you fucking liked it. His breath fans over your pained features, nose nudging gently against your eyebrow as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t close your legs on me. Don’t do that. You know better, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He smiles in satisfaction.

This is sinful. Absolutely sinful.

“Get on the bed for me.” Peter pulls his hand from you, leaving you aching and throbbing for more when he licks at his damp fingers. “Let’s see if that cunt remembers how to take me.”

You easily comply, still reeling yourself back into reality from the hard slap he drove across your face. You lay back, hands laid out over your head as Peter unhooks the clasp in front of your bra. It’s convenient, he thinks, but it would’ve been better if he could rip it off of you like he had done to your panties from earlier. He kisses along the swell of your breasts, suckles a faint mark right on the side, before he’s taking a nipple into his mouth and tugging lightly.

“You’re still on the pill, yeah?” He asks, eyes glancing up at you as he gives attention to your other breast. You nod rapidly, biting your tongue as he licks a slow stripe down your abdomen. “Good, because I’ve been dreaming of cumming inside you again.”

“Holy shit.” You gasp out, his words going straight to your sopping cunt.

“All fours. Then I’m fucking you missionary later, baby. Love seeing your face when you cum.” Nothing but moans fall from your mouth as Peter flips you over and pulls you onto your knees, your face falling against the unfamiliar pillows and blankets. His lips trail down your back, past the curve of your hips, then his presence is gone. “Hold on. Thought of something we could use.”

You glance over your shoulder as he quickly pads to the corner of the room, picking something off of the floor.

No.

No, he wasn’t going to do that. Was he?

Peter emerges with the white clerical collar from his priest costume. He plays with it, twirling the stiff material between his fingers. The bed dips when he joins you. His face comes down by your ear.

“Earlier… you said you wanted your mouth stuffed, right?” You nod meekly in agreement. “You said you wondered. Well, now, you won’t really need to wonder anymore.”

He slips the collar between your parted lips, grabbing onto either end to pull you up to his chest. You bite down on the plastic, teeth gritting against it as the head of Peter’s cock prods at your folds.

If there’s a God, you’re sure that Heaven is the last place he’d want you to be. But here, with Peter’s arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, you suppose Hell and every ring within Dante’s Inferno would suffice.

You just want him. After all the teasing and the filthy conversations exchanged, you just want everything he has to offer you. No matter how painful.

You whisper shyly, “I want all of it.”

Peter stills, admiring your side profile. “Are you sure, baby?”

He nibbles on your earlobe. You can feel his eyelashes against your cheekbone, the smell of his musk filling your senses.

“Please, daddy. Need it. Need it so bad.”

You ache for more of him, his thick head spreading you apart as he penetrates you.

“You’re getting so good at begging.” He takes your hands in his, running them down your breasts and waist so that you can feel yourself. “If it hurts, I need to know. Okay?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“No, no, no. Say it for real.” You’re confused as to what he means by that, but his swollen lips and the weight of his words against your mouth helps you. His brown eyes are kind and sincere, filled with warmth and desire as he looks past your naked body. Briefly, he takes the collar out from between your lips so you can speak clearly. “Say my name so I know you understand, Y/N.”

“Yes, Peter. I understand.”

With that, the blond thrusts into you with one fast motion. The fullness of his cock inside your cunt makes you gasp out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He kisses you again, tongue delving past your teeth to drown in you and take your mind away from the stinging stretch of your walls. His hand feels light on your face, his features contorted into utter yearning when you return the gesture and touch him gingerly.

“Can I move?” He sighs, his breath once again bringing life to your lungs. “You’re — fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so hard. You gotta stop that.”

You giggle mischievously. “Why? Are you gonna cum prematurely again?”

The jab causes Peter’s eyes to darken. He hums at that, then thrusts harshly into you with flaring nostrils. You cry out in surprise when he stuffs the collar back between your teeth, gagging you. “Wow, who fucking said you could talk like that? You know, Y/N, baby, I could end this right here and right now…” You’re clenching tightly around him, your wetness smearing the back of your thighs and his heavy balls. “… make you walk out of this room all by yourself… your pussy dripping, just aching, because I didn’t let you cum.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I won’t do it again.”

He pushes you down by the head, fucking you deeply into the mattress. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as his hips meet your ass, skin slapping against skin as he spreads you apart with his large hands. “Daddy. You call me daddy. Nothing else, nothing more.” He grabs a handful of your hair, fisting into the tangled strands as he pounds into you. “Taking me so well. Such a fucking bad girl now, yet your cunt is just… fucking hell — shit, you’re made just for me. Aren’t you?”

“I’m all yours. Yours to ruin.”

“That’s right, princess.” He spits into his hand, spreading the saliva across the pads of his fingers before he’s circling your clit with his middle digit. “You’re mine. Don’t even know the first thing about you and yet this belongs to me.”

The comment leaves a weird taste in your mouth, but he isn’t wrong.

He doesn’t know the first thing about you.

But it doesn’t deter you from wanting him any less.

“You’re giving it to me so — so fucking good, daddy.” You pant out, sweat building on your forehead as his cock continues prodding your g-spot. “Love the way you fuck me. Fuck me like I’m nothing but… but a little slut.”

“My little slut.”

You sob in pleasure. “Your little slut.”

“Aw, Y/N…” He chuckles darkly, hand splayed over your tailbone as his thrusting slows. Your inner thighs feel unusually wetter, then you realize what’s happened. “I just made you squirt all over my dick.”

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing.” You spit the collar out, laughing nervously in hopes that you hadn’t ruined the moment.

His lips twitch at that, nostalgic to when he accidentally came from eating you out in the bathtub back in September.

“Personally, I think it’s really hot. Maybe I can make you do it again.” He smiles innocently, leaning over your body to kiss your cheek. His raspy voice is laced with sin, filth dripping from his words. “This isn’t even our bed and yet you’ve made a mess of it, Y/N.”

Our bed.

No, no. Can’t think like that when his cock is still hard inside you. But it’s warranted — warranted when he captures your mouth into another tender kiss that feels too romantic for the situation, too real and too gentle for a quick hookup. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his soft blond curls sticking to your slick skin as you both catch your breaths.

You don’t say anything after, just let Peter pull you from your awkwardly-bent position and comfortably roll you onto your back. He keeps a hand behind your neck, lips wandering over the marks he left from earlier.

“Y/N…” You bring his face up to yours when your name is uttered, thumb drawing circles on his chiseled jaw to show him he has your full attention before he continues. “I…”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow.

He does that thing he did before — mouth opens, closes, the cogs in his brain turn visibly. “I… fuck. Sorry, I forgot.”

You don’t believe him one bit, face softening when you see a flicker of sadness glaze over his pupils. But you don’t egg him on, instead, you caress his cheek with a weak nod. “Okay.”

Peter smiles sheepishly to recover his fumbling. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

The compliment makes your lips twitch with giddiness, and you poke his sternum with your finger. “Thanks, you.” You kiss his eyelid, brushing back his hair away from his vision. “You still wanna keep going?”

“Yeah, I’m — sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I definitely want to.” He shifts, bringing your knees up to your chest as he nips at the backs of your thighs. “I wanna make you cum, Y/N.”

You shiver when he kisses the swollen nub of your clit. The light gesture makes your legs tremble, your hole clenching at the almost-innocent notion. “Then do it.”

He scoffs with a casual shrug. “You’re supposed to ask me nicely.”

“Can you please make me cum?” You teasingly grin at Peter, biting the nail of your thumb as he repeats the pleasurable action, kissing your mound. “Please, daddy? I’ve been so, so good tonight.”

“Not entirely, but I’ll let it slide, princess.” He spreads your legs apart, letting your calves rest on the top of his firm shoulders as he strokes his cock into his fist, using his spit as lube. “Maybe next time, I’ll remember to punish you.”

“Oh, fuck.” His throbbing tip slips in first, the reddened head of his cock is enough to make you whine for more. “God. Oh, my god.”

Then the rest of him follows, his pelvic bone flush against your body as he buries his length inside you. He’s cursing uncontrollably under his breath, filthily watching how his cock disappears into your wet cunt and swallows his prick wholly. He studies the way your eyes roll to the back of your head when he shifts slightly, hiking your legs higher for more access.

“I could stay here forever.” He licks his lips, gauging your reaction as he lazily plays with your clit. “Make your cunt nothing but a nice little place to rest my cock. So warm, so tight for me, I wouldn’t even have to fuck you and I’d be content.”

“I need you so bad. Please.”

He slaps you again. It isn’t as harsh, but the sting is enough to make you behave for the time being. “You know what that’s called? When I keep my cock inside you, but don’t fuck you?”

“No, daddy.”

“It’s called cockwarming.” He spares you the anticipation, slowly drilling his length into you until a string of moans escape your quivering frame. “And that’s what I do to sluts who don’t know how to act right. Maybe it’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“You better, or else I won’t make you cum.” He keeps a hand on your hip, the other wraps softly around your calf. “I was being nice when I fucked you in the bathroom. Here, now, you’re gettin’ a bit too comfortable with my kindness.” He pulls his hands away from your body, resting each palm on either side of your head as he hovers over you. “Earn it. Earn your fucking reward.”

At this point, neither of you care how loud your moans have been. Peter’s practically a moaning mess when you start to fuck yourself on his cock. Your breasts bounce with each desperate motion. You’re not sure how much longer you can take, but you want every minute with Peter to last.

“Can you feel me?” You breathe out, cupping the blond’s face as you gaze up into his starry eyes. “Can you feel my pussy milking you?”

“Fuck, baby — yeah, I can. Not gonna be so tight when we’re finished, aren’t you?” He says through a whimper, meeting your cunt with his hard strokes. “Maybe I’ll need to fuck something tighter…”

“Oh, my god.” Your face heats up at the thought.

“Like your ass.”

“Fucking hell, Peter.”

“Mhm, you want that. I know you do. Makin’ a real mess here, Y/N.” He gestures to the sticky mess on his lower stomach as your juices continue to coat his cock. “Just by me saying I wanna fuck your ass? Can’t help but wonder what else could happen if I actually did.”

The ache in your cunt grows stronger as Peter quickens his thrusts. Your skin is red with irritation from the action of his skin slapping against yours. Peter’s fingers make indents in your stomach as he guides your body to meet his.

“Whore.” You whisper, recalling the nicknames you used on each other from before.

He can’t help but smile. “Slut.”

“Show me next time…” You fist the bedsheets, nose scrunching up as you snarl desperately at him. “Next time you fuck me, we can try all the things I said I wanted you to do to me.”

Next time, he thinks. Your words echo through his mind.

Peter’s movements grow sloppier. He buries his face by the crook of your neck, mouth falling open in wanton satisfaction.

“Fuck, Y/N. Oh, fuck. You — you feel so goddamn good. Baby, I can’t… can’t get enough of you…” You can feel him falling apart. Peter’s soft voice is an instant giveaway, based on how his deep groans suddenly turn into needy whimpers. “I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you. You don’t understand how fucking good you are to me — how this cunt just milks me and milks me… could fill you up for days if you’d let me.”

I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you.

If you’d let me.

His words find your heart more than the space between your legs.

“Peter, I’m so close… fuck, I’m — right there, please. Yes, right there!” You cry out, shaking your head through a blubbering sob as his finger circles your clit. The combined pressure and the harsh pounding of his cock sends you into a frenzy, incoherent sentences leaving your mouth as Peter moans shamelessly above you.

“There we go, look at you. Look at you, princess. Feels n-nice, doesn’t it? I bet you’re so close.” His words are shaky, his own release approaching as your cunt flutters periodically around him.

Your mouth hovers over his lips, mouths searching for each other in the dim light as he tries to kiss you. “Tell me if I’ve been a good girl.”

“The best girl. You’re my best girl, princess. Taking my cock like a champ, taking it like you’re made for it.” His eager praises push you closer to the edge. “Oh, baby. You’re shaking. You wanna cum so bad, that your body is practically beggin’ daddy to give you an out. I think you’ve been an angel tonight. A little rebellious…” He chuckles, before inhaling deeply. “But I think you’ve shown me how well you can behave. That’s all daddy wants from you, Y/N.” He kisses your temple, then your cheek, your jaw, until he’s tugging at your bottom lip with yearning. “Oh, fuck. Cum all you want for me. You’ve earned it, sweetheart.”

“I’m — I’m… please, Peter!”

“Shit, you’re so tight. Jesus, Y/N, I’m gonna…”

“I’m cumming!” You sob loudly, forehead resting against Peter’s as you crudely moan together in tandem.

His cock is pulsating inside you, his spill painting the walls of your cunt with a milky white as you unforgivingly squeeze the cum right out of him. Peter whines your name with closed eyes. The intensity of your orgasms leave you spent, nothing but an exchange of pants and satisfied groans fill the sex-scented air as you clutch Peter’s shoulder. He leaves a path of kisses across your collarbone, his nose bumping against yours before he explores your mouth yet again.

“Shit…” He whispers, wincing at your reaction when he tries pulling out. “Sorry, sorry.”

“S’alright.” You sit up on your forearms, eyes dancing over Peter’s face as he watches his cum seep out of you. “God, you weren’t kidding when you said the bed is a mess.” You laugh with an embarrassed look, rubbing your neck as Peter moves to lay beside you.

He sighs loudly and rests his hands over his stomach. “Yeah, I feel really bad for whoever’s sleeping here tonight.”

“You’re an asshole for that.”

“Oi, don’t get me started on you, freak.” He teases, flicking your side as you tuck your head between his chest and his arm. The laugh that runs through your body is innocent and sincere. Peter can feel the warm rumble of your giggle in his chest, and his heart grows fonder at the sight of you exhausted and sleepy.

“Hey, I…”

“Y/N…”

You chuckle awkwardly at each other, tearing your gazes away from one another’s faces as you recollect your thoughts.

“Sorry, you first.” You offer, gesturing at him with an open hand.

“No, you. Please.” His thumb begins to trace the visible veins on your wrist. Peter finds pleasure in how your small hand fits in his, fingers twitching against his knuckles as you swallow with uncertainty.

“Earlier…” The word already makes Peter anxious. “You said my name, like you wanted to tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

You continue despite knowing it sounds stupid aloud, especially when the blond’s eyes intently lock onto your face.

“But then, you told me that you forgot.” He nods in acknowledgment. “Did you — did you remember what it was?”

You can feel his body tense beneath you. He shifts, running a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling nervously.

“I never forgot, I just… dunno. Don’t think it’s something I can say to you.”

“Oh, okay. Is it, uh, like a thing? Like a frat thing? Or…”

Peter huffs at that, counting the seconds that pass by as he tries to think of something in response. “No, it’s more of a…” He sighs again, and you look up at him. “It’s about a girl.”

“Oh.” Your face falls. You have no right to feel bad, but every bone in your body goes limp with complete disappointment.

“And, I’m not entirely sure how she feels about me.”

“Uhuh.” You try to tune him out, realizing that your awful decisions have finally caught up to you as he continues onward.

At this point, you don’t want to listen. You know it’ll only make you angry, but Peter doesn’t take the hint, not even when you sit up and defensively pull your knees to your chest. In fact, he mirrors you, using a blanket to cover his indecency despite the established intimacy between the two of you.

Maybe it wasn’t intimacy.

There’s a fine line between that and… fucking, you suppose.

“I don’t think she really likes me as a person, and I… I don’t really know much about her, because she’s — she’s cool, and she keeps to herself most of the time. And I don’t see her often. But when I do…” He looks over at you, admiring how your gaze softens as he speaks almost cautiously. “When I do see her, I think of what it would be like to get to know her.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to talk to about this kind of stuff.” You shrug with an irritated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you narrow your eyes at him.

He’s upset you. But Peter continues, knowing that you’re smart enough to recognize the underlying meaning of his dumb words. “I haven’t taken her on a date. I don’t even know her — her last name or her major, or what kind of food she likes.”

“Well, that’s the whole point of going on a date. Peter, is this really what you wanted to tell me?” You break eye contact, putting up another wall as you get up to collect your clothing.

“Y/N. Stop what you’re doing and look at me.”

You turn to him with a clenched jaw and wide eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t know the first thing about her. But I want to, if she’d let me.”

If you’d let me.

The familiar phrase from earlier sinks in. Oh.

“Are you…” You laugh, more out of fear rather than actual humor. “Are you talking about me?“

“Yes, you dumbass.” Peter drags a heavy hand across his face, cupping it over his eyes as he avoids your shocked glare.

He can’t be serious. You know how cruel fratboys can be, so you choose not to believe him. “Peter, I-I don’t even know you.”

“I know, and I…” He groans in frustration. “I know I’ve probably ruined everything by hooking up with you, and — and I don’t normally find myself crushing on the people I have sex with… but I… I don’t know, Y/N. I’m a dick, and I’m sorry. So if you wanna forget about what I said, that’s fine. I just wanted to — to tell you. For closure.”

“You’re genuine?”

“Why would I be lying?”

“Because…” You scowl stubbornly, covering your breasts with the cloth of your dress. “Because you’re blond and an asshole.”

He laughs.

You do, too.

“Listen, I know what we have is unconventional. Like the most unconventional thing to base a relationship off of. And I’m not saying we even need to have a relationship, I just… I think I like you. And I wanna know everything about you.”

“Okay.” You slip your dress on, flexible fingers pulling the zipper up before you pick up your shoes and veil.

“Okay.”

You smile playfully. “That’s it?”

“What — what do you mean ‘that’s it?’ I said everything I wanted to say.” You slowly nod at that, grinning as you unlock the bedroom door. Peter watches anxiously as you linger by the doorway, your body wedged between the open crack.

The corners of your lips tug upwards.

“I don’t want you to become a stranger.”

The confession makes Peter feel weak in the knees. “I don’t want that, either.”

“Then you can start by asking for my number, Parker.”

A humorous huff escapes him. His shoulders deflate, a relieved chuckle whistling through his teeth.

“Can I get your number?”

You share a look of fondness in the midst of your distance.

Although the drumming music from downstairs feels loud and the chatter of people grows livelier with each long minute, it isn’t enough to drown the romantic tension between you and the bright-eyed blond. You step back into the room with him, shutting the door behind you. Peter doesn’t move an inch from where he stands, eyes trained on you as you take a pen from the desk by the closet and retrieve the clerical collar of his costume off the ground.

You scribble messily onto the white material, ink staining your fingers before you quietly hand the collar back to him.

“Think I’d like to know a little more about you, too.”

Peter smiles vibrantly. “You just ruined my Halloween costume.”

“Yeah, and you ruined my makeup. What else is new?” You nudge him, stepping closer towards him. “You should really get dressed before someone finds us here.”

He peers down at you, adoringly. “Oh, really?”

You get lost in the way he looks at you. “Yeah, never a good thing to get caught.”

“Mmm, I’m sure you know.” Simultaneously, your eyes linger on each other’s lips. Peter lifts a hand to caress your cheek. His thumb travels down your jawline, cradling your chin in his palm as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t be a stranger, Peter. Call me.”

His words are gentle, coming out as sheepish yet playful against your skin. “From a scale of one to ten, how much do you like me?”

“Negative.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Well, last time was different.” His face nears yours, lips hovering over one another yet again with giddy smiles. “But you’re still the same blond asshole I met in the bathroom.”

“You are extremely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Doesn’t that make you want me more?”

“Oh, it makes me want you in every way possible.”

[yourlocalauthor]

Living for the hope of it all (s.h. x desi!fem!reader)

Part 1 out here

Summary: your cousin was getting married to a guy in Hawkins, Indiana. While the idea of searching for Bollywood movies in a mostly white town seemed like a fruitless endeavour, you were bored— so, you set foot in family video where you meet Steve Harrington. The cute boy and you quickly become friends. Steve realises that he was falling for you but he also realises that you were only going to be in Hawkins for a few weeks. Would he set himself up for heartbreak all over again after Nancy?

A/n: hi y'all!! I haven't technically started writing yet but have a basic outline of how this entire thing plays out so yeahhh :) I'm sorry if it takes a bit of time I'm not really fast at writing but you will get this soon. I might also have to make it into two parts??? Idk tho. So far I have a moodboard and a badly written summary for you.

Taglist:

@555stargirl555 @bijleegiregi @luvsersi @lj127 @angelulls @bitch-biblioklept @1derfulzxyn @avianawrites

[yourlocalauthor]

DAY FIVE: Power Cut

Once the lights flickered back to life, you yelled down the staircase to let him know whatever fuses or breakers or switches he'd messed around with had finally worked. "Thank god!" He hollered up to you, and when he reappeared at the bottom of the stairs you could see him properly now for the first time all night. Even under the harsh yellow light of the single bulb that now dangled above his head, he was still the most beautiful boy you'd ever seen. Fuck.

For someone who was already in her early twenties, there were many mundane things you'd never done.

You had never broken a bone, for example, or even taken a sick day.

You had also never experienced a power cut.

So that night, alone in your house with your mom gone on a girl's spa retreat out of state, it's fair to say you freaked out a little when the house was suddenly plunged into darkness without warning.

It was mid-October and a little after 10pm, so it was pitch black out. It had been drizzling with rain on and off for the last few days, but that night it had gotten heavier - lashing off the window panes and running down them in streaks, flooding the outside sills and soaking the piles of wet leaves gathered there.

The long, bare branches of the trees out front swayed in the wind as it howled around the house, causing them to tap against the glass almost eerily. That sound, however, was mostly drowned out by the rolling of thunder that was echoing up and down the street, and every so often the sky would light up with forks of lightening.

It was on one particularly loud crack of thunder and blinding flash of lightening that everything went out.

The tv you'd been watching? Off.

The table lamp beside you? Out.

The porch light out front? A goner.

You'd never felt unnerved or scared to be alone in your own house before, but when you made your way across the living room and flipped the switch, the resounding lack of light suddenly put you on edge.

"Shit," You mumbled, one hand running through your hair nervously.

Although this had never happened before, your mom had made sure to run through with you what to do in this very scenario. She'd lugged you down to the basement many times, showed you were she stored the flashlights and batteries and blankets and emergency supplies in the case that Armegeddon broke while she was gone.

She'd also showed you where the breaker box was, and as you stood at the top of the basement stairs, you wished to God that you'd been listening to her then.

The rickety stairs that led down into basement seemed to somehow lead into a darkness even blacker than the one you were currently standing in, and no matter how hard you willed yourself, you just couldn't make your feet move forward.

"Fuck this," You finally gave in, turning and heading in the direction of the kitchen and snatching the phone from the wall.

You thumbed in his number almost on instinct, never stopping to consider calling anyone else.

"Please pick up, please pick up, c'mon..." You pleaded down the phone to the sound of the dialling tone. Just as you were about to give up and call him all the bastards under the sun, he picked up.

His voice was groggy, you could tell you had woken him, even when he lied through a yawn and promised he hadn't been asleep already.

"My power's out," You stated simply. "My mom's out of town. I didn't have anyone else to call."

"Gimme 15 minutes." And then the line was dead.

You stood over by the front window, the only place not in complete blackness thanks to the streetlights outside.

13 minutes later - not that you'd timed him, or anything - Steve's BMW rolled up outside and to a stop at the foot of your driveway.

He climbed out, jogging up towards your front porch, jacket pulled up over his head to shield him from the rain. You pulled the door open, let him tumble in and cursed when the sky lit up again, followed by another crack of thunder splitting through the muggy air.

Steve shook himself off like a wet dog in your hallway, and you flinched as the rain water splattered over you.

"Do you mind, Harrington?" You asked indignantly, brushing the droplets off your bare arms.

"Is that any way to speak to the man who just drove across town in a thunderstorm to rescue you?"

"Listen, this isn't your starring role in some shitty romcom, alright? I just need you to help me get the power back on."

"Huh." He said with bemused laugh, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Interesting."

"What's interesting about my power being out?"

"Nothing. Just interesting that you suddenly need me. You didn't seem to think you did back when you broke things off between us."

You scoffed, and suddenly he had a look on his face like he wanted to take that last sentence back.

"I knew this was a bad idea." You said, dropping your head back and rubbing at your temples. "You know what? You're right, my bad. Just go, this isn't your problem. I'll figure it out on my own-"

You made towards the door to open it, but he beat you to it, palm flat against the wood and holding it firmly shut.

Your eyes lifted to meet his properly for the first time since he'd arrived, and you felt all your resolve melt away and you silently wondered how you'd ever managed to let him go in the first place.

"Just show me where the breaker is." He spoke, and his voice was sincere now, no trace of the joking sarcasm that had laced it before. "Please. I wanna help."

You let your hand fall away from the door, and so did he, and you both pretended to ignore the fact that your fingers brushed in the process.

***

"Why've they always gotta be in the goddamn basement?" Steve complained, hands braced on either side of the doorframe leading down into the basement.

"Excellent question, Harrington. Why don't you raise it at the next Electricians Convention of America?" You suggested sarcastically with a roll of your eyes, arms crossed over your chest.

He pushed off the frame, taking a step back until you were both side by side before shouldering you gently, the brush of his arm against yours lighting an unwelcome yet familair warmth in your chest.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"It's what I've always called you."

"Yeah, before." He clarified, and then for good measure he added. "Y'never called me it when we were together."

This whole encounter was just confirming why you'd been avoiding him for the last few weeks. It was too fucking difficult to remember all the reasons you had ended things with him with he was looking at you like that and saying things like that.

So you stood up a little taller, sucked in a breath and willed yourself to be stronger.

"Yeah, well, you've answered your own question there, Harrington. We're not together anymore."

He let out a mocking laugh and spoke with a gentle shake of his head. "Guess you're right."

He stepped forward until he was in front of you and you heard him tell you to just stay there before he let out a breath.

"If there's spiders down here, I swear to God-"

You're pretty sure you weren't meant to hear that part, but his back was to you so you smiled anyway.

***

Once the lights flickered back to life, you yelled down the staircase to let him know whatever fuses or breakers or switches he'd messed around with had finally worked.

"Thank god!" He hollered up to you, and when he reappeared at the bottom of the stairs you could see him properly now for the first time all night. Even under the harsh yellow light of the single bulb that now dangled above his head, he was still the most beautiful boy you'd ever seen.

Fuck.

You thanked him, sincerely and free of any sarcasm of teasing, since it was now after midnight and here he was standing in your hallway in the midst of a thunder storm.

"Don't worry about it. I know I gave you shit for it earlier, but you can call me any time."

You were silent.

"I want you to call me."

More silence, because what were you meant to say to that?

"If you need me, I mean. For anything."

When you couldn't bear to let me more time pass without speaking, you found your voice again.

"Look, I know this kinda confusing for me to say, and I'm not trying to mess with your head, I swear-"

"Whatever you're about to say-"

"Do you wanna stay?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea-"

"It's just, it's really wild out there, and I don't know if you should be driving, and I know we're not together, and I know that's down to me, but I'd just sleep much better knowing you didn't get in a car wreck doing me a favour-"

You were rambling now, and Steve knew you only rambled when you were nervous, so he decided to put you out of your misery.

"Alright, alright. I'll stay." He said, hands held up in mock surrunder, and you let out a breath, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips.

"Guest room or couch?" He asked, unsure if you'd want him sleeping next door to you or if you'd prefer the distance of the livingroom.

"Guest room, obviously. You know you're too tall for the couch, it's awful for your back."

You blushed a little at the reference, many nights spent underneath him on that couch, making out as you both pretended to be even remotely interested in whatever movie was playing.

"Good point." He agreed, fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he followed you upstairs.

You reached your door first, hand stilling on the handle as you watched him carry on a couple of feet further to the next door.

He gave you one last smile and a "goodnight" as he pushed it open, and before you realised what you were doing, you were calling out to him.

"Steve," Your voice was small, almost as if you didn't want him to hear you. But he did, and he stopped with one foot over the threshhold and turned to look back you.

"What you said earlier... about me not needing you?"

He just nodded.

"That's not true. I did-, I do need you. Too much."

He didn't say anything, just dropped his eyes to glance at the ground and then all around, as if he couldn't make his eyes land on yours.

"That's the real reason we're not together."

He cleared his throat, eyes doing one more dart around the hallway before finally meeting yours.

"For now?" He said, and it was definitely a question.

"For now." You agreed, and it was definitely a promise.

[yourlocalauthor]

ophiocordyceps unilateralis

A/N: this idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the fit in 4x09... you can blame @ddejavvu for me making apocalypse!Steve so nasty. I think she said something like "he would fuck like he might die tomorrow," so that's exactly what I did.

Summary: on a supply run gone bad, the group split up and you got stuck with Steve.

Warnings: Steve Harrington/reader, zombie apocalypse au, smut, hurt/comfort, kinda angst, patching up each other's wounds (in an unsterile, apocalyptic way... don't do this at home kids), tw weapons and violence, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pull out method, squirting, blowjob (kinda, a little), kinda in the realm of perv!Steve (mainly because of the dirty talk), tiny bit of impact play (beloved pussy slaps)

Word count: 2637

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, please tell me what you think!

Join my tag list here

Masterlist

“I think that building over there should be safe enough for tonight,” you pointed to the seemingly abandoned structure ways down the road, “what do you think?”

“I think we should keep moving,” Steve kept his gaze fixed forward, not even looking at the house in question for one second, “find the others.”

“We need a break,” you fiddled with the straps of your worn backpack, eyeing his blood-soaked shirt, “you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” he clenched his jaw tightly, clearly attempting to swallow the pain that merely walking was causing him to endure. 

“No, you’re not. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Those guys back there got a lot of hits in, and you haven’t even stopped to take a breath.”

“What, it’s not like they pulled their punches just because you’re a girl.”

“True, but I look better than you,” you smiled, thankful that you got out of it with more bruises than cuts. Stopping dead in your tracks, you tried once more, “Steve, please. I don’t want one of those things to take a bite out of you just because you’re in too much pain to put up a fight.”

“…fine,” he agreed begrudgingly, “but we leave at first light, alright?”

Just as you were about to yell out the all-clear to Steve, a few guttural growls coming from the room you’d presume he was inspecting found your ears. 

“Steve?” you whirled around the corner just in time to see him hovering over a now motionless rotting corps, yanking back his nail-clad baseball bat that had gotten slightly stuck in its cranium, “you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed heavy, the swings apparently took more out of him than expected, “all good.”

Fearing that he’d perhaps faint, you rushed towards him and grabbed his elbow. Standing this close to him, you got a better look at just how gruesome the gashes on his abdomen alone were. “Steve,” you sighed quietly, making him turn more towards you, “that does not look all good.”

“It’s better than it looks,” he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack, “trust me.”

“Really? Because it looks pretty bad to me,” you grabbed his bag before he could place it on the floor, “will you at least just let me help you?”

Letting out a long exhale, he agreed, “sure,” and visibly let his shoulders relax more, dropping his weapon and walking over to the nearby table.

“Take your shirt off,” you rolled your eyes at the smirk those words conjured on his face. When he began to just carelessly tug off his layers, “slowly!” practically exploded out of you and you restrained your palm from slapping him clear across the face, “oh god.” 

It had been too long a day and your patience for Steve had run out. You had nearly been killed by not only the undead but also the group of people that had followed you all from the previous town you stayed in.

Reaching into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out the small med kit that you’d scavenged a while back. Motioning for Steve to take a seat on the table, you stepped closer and took a good look. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, trying your best not to ogle at his fuzzy bare chest and instead focus on the several injuries that decorated his skin. “Good news, I don’t think you need stitches,” you crouched down, ending up on your knees in order to be at eye level with the worst one. Blinking up at him, it hit you the position you’d put yourself in. The angle… “I, um,” you looked down and fished out a small travel-sized vodka bottle, as well as some bandages, “do you want a warning first or the element of surprise?” you unscrewed the bottle with one hand. 

“Just fucking do it, just-,” you didn’t hesitate, downing the gash on his abdomen with alcohol, effectively punching all of the air out of his lungs at the very first drop, “holy- fuck!” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut and instinctively slammed his fist down to meet the tabletop. Setting the bottle down on the dirty floor, you began to wrap him up, hearing a small muttering of gratitude as you tied it off. 

“Any more bad ones?” you didn’t dare to look up and see the way he was melting against the table, trying to regain the ability to breathe.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” he exhaled, “one of them got my leg pretty good, so that hurts like a motherfucker, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

You craned your neck to search for the aforementioned wound and found it high on the side of his thigh, cargo pants ripped giving you a good view of it, “oof, yeah,” you hissed, pulling back some of the fabric with your fingers, “it’ll be okay, I think. It will properly scar, but you’ll live.”

“That’s fine,” he breathed out a small chuckle, “chicks dig scars.” That they fucking do… okay, okay, just take a breath, think about something else, anything else. Anything that didn’t make you throb… “Thanks, doc,” you blinked up to find him to be already looking down at you, “what about you?”

“I’m okay,” you shifted in your seat, tugging one of your feet under you more and almost letting out a small gasp when it felt like pure electricity brushing against your covered core. “I, um, yeah… ten fingers, ten toes…” your words didn’t work to unfurrow his worried brow, so then you huffed out, “what, do you not believe me? What do you want, strip search me?”

It had been a joke, but judging by Steve’s facial expression, that was not how he took it. 

Quickly you clarified, averting your gaze, “it was a joke…”

Hearing him let out a long, calm exhale, he asked you softly, “was it?”

Shaking your head lightly, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” you felt one of his fingers move some hair out of your face. 

Blinking up at him, you bit your lip and then uttered slowly, “thanks for having my back, back there.”

“You’re welcome,” he kneeled down to be at your level, “thank you for having mine.”

His hands came up to cradle the sides of your face, eyes flickering down towards your bitten lip. 

As he pushed closer, you rested a hand on his wrist, “please tell me that we’re not just doing this because of the kind of day we’ve had.”

“We’re not,” he said simply in a sure tone. 

“We’re not?”

“I’m not,” he averted his gaze briefly, brow furrowing softly. 

“Me neither,” was all you managed to whisper before he kissed you. “Fuck,” you whimpered against his lips, instantly clinging onto him for dear life, “I didn’t think you noticed me.”

That only managed to make him chuckle and therefore halt the long-awaited kiss, “seriously? I can’t take my eyes off of you. I thought it was obvious. Literally everyone knows, they tease me about it and everything.”

“Really?” 

“I think we should find some glasses for you because you are blind.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, shoving his firm chest playfully. 

“Can you even see me right now?” he teased.

“Oh my god,” you shook your head and stood up.

“Hey, you’d look so cute!” he caught your hand, preventing you from straying any further away, “and you would finally be able to notice me.”

“I do notice you,” you exclaimed, “my vision is fine!”

Getting back up onto his feet, he squinted his eyes, “you sure about that?”

“Yes! Now shut up and kiss me again!” a request that he happily obliged to fulfil. 

Draping your arms around his neck, it didn’t take long before he scooped you up and onto the table behind you. 

“Fuck,” he hummed, grabbing your hips, and sliding them forward to meet his own for some form of relief. You weren’t really sure which one of you was the one that took off your clothes since all four hands were ripping at the fabric in order for you to be on the same playing field as Steve was. 

The wiry hairs on his chest pressed up against your now exposed tits, smooching them against him in desperate need of contact. 

“Don’t you fucking dare cum inside me,” you warned as he unzipped your pants, making room for his fingers to slip down them, “I swear I will kill.”

Finding your panties ruined, soaked with anticipation, he groaned against your lips, “I’ll pull out.”

“Good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering as he rubbed your clit through the thin cotton, “this world is hard enough to survive as it is. You are not knocking me up.”

“I know, I know, I won’t do that, I promise,” his words vowed, but his tone sounded more like there was nothing else in this whole world he’d wish for than to fill your aching pussy up to the brim with his cum.

Wrapping your legs up around his hips, you were practically clawing like a kitten for more. Reaching down, between your close bodies, you palmed his painfully obvious bulge through his dark pants. 

Wandering down to kiss his neck, you left little love marks all along his rapid pulse, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” it felt like the barrier underneath his fingers might break from the intoxicating friction he caused.

“Please fuck me before infected break in here and burst our bubble.”

Getting his face right in front of yours, he breathed out slowly, “then lie down.”

Lowering yourself down on the table, feeling the cold surface meet your bare back, Steve used the hand that was already down your pants to yank them down and off your body. 

Quickly pulling your underwear down as well, he took a step back to admire the state you were in. Palming himself for a bit, it didn’t take long before he got equally exposed, keeping his eyes locked on your body as he rid himself of the last bits of clothes that covered him. 

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, half out of impatience and half to get a better view of the show, you lifted your knees up, letting one fall, granting him better access to the embarrassingly wet mess between your thighs. 

Taking a step forward, Steve’s hand started at your knee then slowly slid down, closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. But to your disappointment, you never felt the contact of his hand, instead, he had spread you open and successfully sent a bolt of lightning through your body as his heavy cock fell down upon your swollen clit. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he slid his shaft along your pussy, parting your plump lips for him and making him shimmer and shine within seconds, “you’re so fucking wet, shit…”

With light fingers around the base, he slapped the angry head against your clit, making your hips buckle. “You sure you want it?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, please,” you cried.

“You want my cock, huh?”

“Please, I need it.”

“Oh really? You need my big dick to stretch you out, is that it?” he stated to linger every time he came down towards your entrance, “need me to ruin this little hole, huh?”

Sinking just the essence of his tip in, he came back up to tease your clit, repeating the motion multiple times till you were scared that you might actually cry. 

“Steve, please.”

Bowing down to place a soft kiss upon your lips, you felt his hips snap and fill you up in one fell swoop. 

Disconnecting from the peck, your arms gave out and sent you tumbling down towards the table. Luckily, Steve’s quick reflexes caught your head before you could get a concussion. 

Chuckling lightly, he mocked just to stroke his own ego, “what’s wrong? Can’t take it? Is it too much?”

You wanted to laugh, but all that could escape your lips were whimpering moans. 

Leaning back, his mouth hung agape as he studied the magic trick of him disappearing inside of you. 

“Jesus christ, baby,” he bucked his hips wildly, “you feel so good.”

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, as you reached down to circle your clit, already being dangerously close to the edge. 

“What?” his palm found your left boob, playing with it lightly, “what is it, huh?

“I’m-, shit, keep doing that,” you struggled to keep your eyes locked with his, releasing shaky profanities as your walls fluttered around him.

Cursing, he fucked you through your orgasm, only giving you a second or so to recover before he began to move again, fearing that your cunt might choke him to death.

“Who knew you had those pretty sounds in you?” he grinned, bending down to bury his face in your tits.

“Sorry,” the reflex rushed out of you.

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” he blinked up to look at you through his long lashes, “we’re all alone, please be as loud as you can. I swear, from now on, you will have to wrestle me not to take you somewhere far away from the group just so I can hear them again. Or do you think you’d even be able to keep them at bay if I just fucked you while we’re on watch and everyone else is asleep? You think you’d be able to keep quiet for me? Hiding behind a tree or even sneakily take you from behind when everyone else thinks we’re just spooning for warmth? Because I don’t want you to. I want them to know. I want them to hear you fucking scream. To hear how much of a little slut you become when my cock is inside of you.”  

“Fuck, don’t stop,” your thighs shook, “you’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Yeah?” his lips let go of the pebble-like nipple he was successfully turning a deep purple, to lean back, driving into you harder, angling his hips so that he repeatedly hit that spot that almost made you scream out loud. “Be a good girl and cum again,” his hand came down to tap your puffy pussy, repeating it with increased force every time till it stung in the best way possible. 

You didn’t even hear the lewd squelching sounds as you came again, too busy sobbing out desperately, “don’t stop, don't stop, don't stop-,“ trembling as you squirted all over your partner. 

Writhing on the table, you heard Steve laugh, actually laugh, “holy shit,” he played with your cunt, repeatedly plunging his dick in just to rip it out again in order to see how many times he could make it gush like his own little fountain. “Just like that, baby, keep cumming for me, fuck.”

Somewhere in the haze, you felt Steve disappear with a guttural moan, only to quickly reappear right by your face, furiously stroking his cock. Caressing one palm over your cheek, bringing you back to him, you lulled your head to the side and drunkenly opened your mouth, presenting your soft tongue to him.

Jumping at the offer, he only managed to breach the entrance of your lips before he spilt his hot load all over your tongue. A pure moaning mess, he ran his fingers through your hair as you closed your mouth around him, sucking just the tip to get every last drop.

“Atta girl,” he choked out, pulling you off of him with a small pop, placing his thumb on your chin to part your lips and let him see the mess, “swallow it.” 

Happily doing so, you beamed up at him through your heavy lids. Kneeling down, he grabbed your face softly and gave you a needy kiss, swiping his tongue against yours, moaning as he tasted himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he swooned, melting his forehead against yours. 

Harrington tag list: @untitledarea @liberhoe 

ST tag list: @justmeandmymeanderingthoughts @pastelbabygirl19 @golddustwitches @brinaslittlefreak @heavycliche @hxlyhoax @steveharringtonscarkeys @flavorlesscheeto @givemeth @impossibledreamanchor @kasnuffles @urbestgrrrl @waylandmorgensternherondal-blog 

[yourlocalauthor]

smut writers infantilize and describe the female mc as a literal toddler (pigtails, puffy dresses, mary janes, frilly socks, etc.) and making her absolutely clueless about literally everything, saying she’s sweet, shy, innocent, and pure and just basically writing about a grown ass man sexually attracted to what is pretty much a child BUT its suddenly ok because they say she’s 18+ in the warnings?

if someone is sexually attracted to someone because they like the fact that theyre naive/innocent and dress like a small child, thats not ok, thats insanely creepy even if that person is 18+

[yourlocalauthor]

Pillow Talk (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!Fem!Reader)

Finally home for your month long hiatus, you and Steve spend an afternoon in bed, exploring each other's bodies and murmuring between the sheets. Gentle and loving sex stirs up talk about the future.

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

The Boxer!Steve Collection!

Masterlist

(Warnings: soft!Steve, gentle/passionate sex, no real warnings. reader doesn't pee after sex b/c it's just odd to write about someone peeing, but you should definitely pee after sex —especially if it's like this.)

Hawkins, Indiana

“Oh, bed, how I’ve missed you!”

Steve watched amusedly as you collapse onto your shared mattress, rolling along the duvet. It smells like how you’d left it, freshly washed and spritzed with Frebreze. The curtains are still drawn and tied back with matching bows, carpet still lined with vacuum tracks, dresser a little dusty from lack of use. While you and Steve hopped from city to city, your bedroom had been here all the while, waiting for your return.

Steve rolled the suitcases toward the closet and stepped toward you. You frowned at the abandoned luggage in dismay, picturing your folded and rolled up clothes getting wrinklier by the second zipped away inside. Steve rolled his eyes at your longing gaze, pushing you back by the shoulders when you went to sit up.

“We can unpack later, angel. I think a nap is in order.”

Though when he eased into bed, still sore from the fight in Atlanta (and your excursions before and after), his hands began to restlessly wander your body. You giggled when he grabbed a handful of your ass, clothed in a pair of his black joggers from the plane ride —you had to double knot them to keep them tied up. He hoisted your leg over his hip and pushed you into him, arms caged against his chest. You were exhausted, no doubt, but suddenly felt wide awake at the sight of him so close. The color of his eyes never failed to delight you.

“Mm, this is better,” he mused.

His eyes sank closed, hair fanning the mattress, and you took the brief moment of silence that followed to study him. His brow was bruised but nothing too bad, the fight a rather easy rumble that didn’t leave him banged up too badly. Just a couple bruises on his ribs and along his side, a busted lip and faintly purple brow. Your finger traced over the scar along his left brow bone, a jagged silver slice of flesh. The muscle jumped beneath your touch, brows coming to furrow at the slight tickle.

“What are you doing?”

You pulled away, giggle bursting through your throat.

“Sorry. Just looking at you.”

Steve cracked an eye open to peek at you. He softened at the blissful smile on your face, lip twitching to hide a grin of his own. You pressed the pad of your finger to that upper lip, tracing the dip in his Cupid’s bow and the sharpened wings surrounding. You shrieked in surprise when he opened his mouth and nipped at your finger. You yanked it back and curled your hands into fists collected against his chest, melting into a dreamy, fondness consuming you.

You don’t think there’s a man in the world you’d rather be with than Steve.

“I can hear those gears working overtime from here, angel. What are you thinkin’ about?”

You inhaled deeply and nuzzles into the pillow beneath your head. It was far more comfortable than any of the expensive, goose feather pillows you used at the hotels —simply because it was yours.

“I’m just thinking how glad I am to be home. But…I don’t know, it feels strange.”

It did feel strange. The ride home from the airport was full of topsy-turny feelings. As your eyes traced every marker you passed, every tree, every building, every outdated house and storefront window, you realized how little had changed. You realized that, while you and Steve were away, your town had continued on without you, existing as it always had, and without you in it.

It was you that had changed. It was you that had abandoned it, had moved on to better things. And coming back felt like returning to childhood but having lost your innocence. You were out of place. Though Hawkins would always be your home, both yours and Steve’s, you were starting to feel like you’d outgrown it.

“Strange?”

You sighed, shifting in his arms to rest on your back. Your eyes found the streaks of light spouting across your ceiling, the sun creating rainbows with the pixels in the windows that appeared in tiny shapes along the plaster.

“I feel like every time I come home, I’m a little less…me. At least I’m less of the me that existed solely in Hawkins. You know, before I met you and started discovering the world,” you thought aloud.

Steve slid his hand along your thigh, humming.

"I don't think so. You're still you. Still my pretty angel," he cooed, leaning forward to nip your jaw.

You giggled, cheeks warm and sore from smiling. When Steve adjusted your leg around his hip, you groaned lowly at the feeling of his bugle pressing up against you, caged in his jeans.

"Steve," you chided.

His lips moved to your neck, mouthing at the warm skin lazily.

"Can't help it, honey. Wanted to fuck you since we left."

You giggled when he breathed against a sensitive spot, head tipping over to knock into his gently as you wriggled in his hold. His teeth sank into the juncture between your jaw and ear and you squealed.

"I thought we were napping!"

Steve shrugged.

"I'll fuck you to sleep."

You were a mess of breathy giggles and tremulous grunts as Steve pushed you onto your back, hands snatching at your thighs to yank you down along the pillows. He hovered over you, eyes sleepy and heavy with lust, the sliver of dried blood on his bottom lip rough against your skin when he kissed it. You let your fingers sink into his hair, twisting the chestnut strands greedily. It fell against your chin when he dipped his head to kiss along your collarbones, nimble fingers making quick work of the zipper of your hoodie to pull it apart.

His teeth yanked at the letters of his name between your collarbones, tossing the necklace up against your neck with his mouth before pushing his lips against the newly exposed skin. Your chest heaved with panting breath, thighs quaking where they braced his sides.

"S-Steve."

"Hmm?"

You shivered at the low hum of his reply, the sound reverberating through you like a vibration. His mouth moved lower to your breasts, pulling down your tank top and the cup of your bra to collect your nipple in his mouth. You shrieked, tightening your fist around his hair.

"We should shower. We have plane...germs," you stuttered.

Steve released your nipple with a wet pop, pawing at your spit-slick breast as he moved to the other one to repeat his ministrations. He chuckled as he sank his teeth into the tender bud, eyes lifting to catch your eye. His lashes were so long and thick, big brown doe eyes boyish and alert. You jerked at the jolt in your chest, heels digging into his spine.

"You're so cute, honey," he chastised, hands dancing along your waist as they slid the hem of your shirt up over your navel and against your breasts where they were spilling out.

He trailed kisses between your ribs and along your pants-line, body moving with his head as he wandered lower and lower. He hooked his fingers into the waistline of his sweatpants around your hips and dragged them down your thighs, scraping his teeth against the soft, pudgy flesh exposed to him.

"Love these thighs, honey. Fill up my hands and feel so warm, so soft," he murmured in amazement, breathing heavily against said limbs as he kissed them eagerly.

You giggled, airy and dazed, reaching out to play with his hair again.

"They're too fat."

You gasped when his hand came down on one, leaving a stinging hand mark in his wake. Your head snapped down to look at him, finding that his gaze had turned hard and commanding. Unimpressed.

"I don't wanna hear you say shit like that again, you hear me?"

You bobbed your head obediently, cheeks blooming with heat. Steve wordlessly went back to kissing your thighs, pushing them apart roughly to suck bruises against the insides. The painful sensation sent your head flying back, digging into the pillows as your back arched to counteract the buzzing pleasure his sharp teeth and stinging suction brought on.

"Haven't fucked you in our bed in so long, baby. Wanna make it good."

You nodded your agreement, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you grunted throatily. Steve licked a stripe against a purpling bruise on your inner thigh and pulled up, running his fingers through the front of his hair to push it back. He slid off the bed and whipped his shirt off, shimmying out of his pants. A pile of clothing appeared on the floor near the edge of the bed, and then he was mounting you again, hands bracing the mattress on either side of your head.

He propped his weight on his right side to brush a strand of hair that slipped loose from your updo behind your ear. The pad of his finger slid along your brow bone, just as you had done to him, and his lip crooked upward. His eyes bounced around the plane of your face, admiring it. His eyes had softened lovingly. When he spoke, his voice was but a hushed whisper:

"You're so beautiful."

You seem to glow with his praise. Moments like these, when Steve is soft and sweet and boyish —when he's shed the hard shell he's learned to hide in as a protective barrier and allows himself to stand, bare and vulnerable beneath your gaze—are some of your favorites. Because you know that you're the only one who has ever seen Steve like this. You're the only person in the world that he's ever presented the most unadulterated, unfiltered version of himself to.

“Kiss me,” you murmured.

And Steve descended. Planted his mouth on yours like he was searching for air and you were housing it. Lips melding together, sharing tastes, gliding tongues, swapping breath. Kissing Steve never got old. And kissing Steve right now, was like being kissed for the very first time.

It made your heart race and your tummy all jittery, fingers shaking where they came to wrap around his firm, muscular biceps. How he was kissing you right now, so gentle and sweet, reminded you of that very first night beneath the street light outside of Melvald’s. The store was closed and the lights were off inside. The street was vacant, trees whooshing and leaves rolling along the road, skittering against the quiet. You could hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

One kiss had you hooked, and ever since, you were delighted to let yourself believe you’d never kiss another man that wasn’t Steve again.

He pushed in slow, just like the first time, too. Rutting deep and steady and full weighted with a pressure that made you pinch your eyes closed. He stirred your tummy like batter and left it gooey and syrupy. Sweet and addictive. You could never get enough.

Steve’s forehead sank against yours, stuck together with a thin layer of sweat. He fanned breathy groans across your rosy, bitten lips. And when your hands began to grow restless, searching and scratching, pulling and yanking, he dropped his weight atop you and buried in your neck. Your hands moved to his back, sliding along his strained tendons and muscles, slipping through sweat, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders desperately.

Your whimpers turned to nasally, high pitched cries, clawed from your throat with each low roll of Steve’s cock into your channel. And then everything heightened; you reached the top of the rollercoaster and began to glide. Flooded with warmth once Steve spilled inside you. Eased down with tingly arms and heavy eyelids, catching your breath against Steve’s sticky cheek. You jutted a lazy kiss to the spot and nudged his nose with yours. Steve huffed heavily against your neck.

He rolled to the other side of the bed with a loud "oomph!", hands coming up to run through his hair.

"We probably shoulda unmade the bed first," Steve mumbled breathily, looking down at the wrinkled duvet, still pulled over the sheets.

You laughed, swiping at your forehead with your palm to clear away the sweat. You weren't even properly undressed, breasts still spilling out of your bra, pulled down to sit uncomfortably beneath them. You reached around your back to unclip it and wiggle it from beneath your shirt, tossing it toward the closet where your suitcase was. It all had to go in the wash anyway.

"Well, you were too desperate to get in my pants to wait," you teased, turning back to Steve with a sideways grin.

Steve's cheeks tinged pink, though his smile was amused.

"Can you blame me? Look at you."

He tugged you forward by your chin, fingers wrapping around it. You giggled against his mouth and reached blindly to remove a throw pillow from behind your back. You kicked it to the floor and pulled away from Steve with a wet smack.

"Come on, get under."

Steve slowly rolled off the bed, bracing the bottom of his spine with a subtle wince that you clocked immediately. You shed the rest of your clothing and scurried to put them all in the hamper. He helped you push all the throw pillows to the floor and pull back the duvet, folding it over to make room for other blankets. You placed your bed pillows how you liked them and then held back the sheets to climb under.

When both of you were tucked beneath the blankets, you were eager to wrap around him, limbs sticky and warm. He hummed contentedly and let his eyes sink closed once you were situated against him.

"I have missed this," he whispered, breath tickling your lips.

You stroked his hair absentmindedly at the nape of his neck.

"Me too."

"I'm sorry we've been away so long."

You frowned, shaking your head against the crisp cotton of the pillowcase.

"Don't be, baby. I'm happy hoppin' around the country with you. I just...miss home sometimes."

His hand massaged your thigh beneath the blankets. You watched his eyelids twitch, still firmly closed.

"Mm. But if we could go anywhere while we're away, where would you wanna go?"

You gasped delightedly, eyes sliding over toward the framed photograph of yourself and Steve on the wall as you slipped into your thoughts. You hummed, crawling through your mental list of places you'd love to see. Some of them —New York, Portland, Hollywood, Seattle —had already been crossed off thanks to Steve.

"Anywhere?" you echoed inquisitively.

Steve nodded.

"Hmm. Well, if I'm not limited, then...maybe London? I read that they have the most amazing bookstores, and I bet I could spend hours wandering around. This one place has the largest collection of Jane Austen and Bronte sister novels ever."

Steve's laughter rumbled from his chest, boyish and silly. You broke out into a smile at the sound of it, gaze trailing back over toward him. His eyes were still closed, though the edges were creased with smile lines.

"What?" you asked.

"Of course you would travel all the way to another country for books. Such a nerd."

You gasped and his eyes popped open, to which you could now send him a pouty glare.

"I am not a nerd!"

Steve reached out and bopped your nose.

"You're so totally a nerd, baby. That's okay, I love it."

You tossed out a playful eye roll.

"Whatever. Where would you wanna go?"

Steve sighed, shifting to recline onto his back, arms still wrapped around your waist and thrown over your hip. He gazed up at the ceiling, eyes glossed over and lost in thought.

"Psh, me? I don't know...I'll go anywhere with you."

You huffed, narrowing your eyes.

"But what do you want, Steve?"

He glanced at you, head lolling on the pillow before sliding back in place. He lifted his hand off your thigh and ran it through his dampened hair.

"I guess I...I always thought about going to see The Grand Canyon. The Rockies, Yellowstone —you know, all that National Geographic shit."

You smiled, reaching up to place your hand atop his chest. You made a tiny circle against the hairy skin with your fingernail.

"Then we'll go." You shrugged.

Steve glanced down again, watching your eyelashes flutter with each slow and steady blink.

"Really? You'd want to?"

You tipped your head back.

"Of course.

There was a moment of quiet

"And maybe we can go to London, too. I'm sure I can find someone's ass to kick."

You giggled, and Steve made an open, inquiring gesture.

"What? I'm serious! Maybe Paris, too...the French don't look like they can fight."

Now you were crumbling into a fit of laughter, cheeks sore and warm and stomach clenched tight. Steve was pleased with your reaction, reaching down to swipe the hair from your eyes and reveal your face. He waited until you calmed down, laughter breaking off with a dreamy sigh, and then tipped your chin back to meet your eyes.

"One day, I'll take you anywhere you want, baby. I swear."

You lifted your lip in a tiny smile, nodding against his palm. He brushed the pad of his thumb against the crease of your mouth.

"Okay," you whispered.

His smile slipped a little, eyes dipping down to your lips.

"I know we've never really talked about it before, but...this is it for us, right? I mean, you're it for me. And I'm...the same for you?"

You cupped your palm around his cheek and smiled.

"Yes, Steve. You're it for me."

The sigh he released was heavy, eyes drooping with visible relief. He sank deeper into the pillows.

"Okay. Okay...good. Because I love you, and...I don't wanna do this without you. Any of it."

You rubbed your thumb against his cheekbone.

"You won't ever have to. I'm not going anywhere, Steve."

He bobbed his head quickly. He looked a little panicked. Had he been expecting a different answer?

"Good, cause, you know...I mean, now that we're home, I was thinking...maybe we could fix the place up? I mean, it looks nice now, but you haven't really had time to make it your own, and it is yours."

"Well, Steve, you're the one who bought it—"

"—yeah, but it's yours. I bought it for you. I bought it and thought that...fuck, I don't know, I thought we could fill out the other rooms, you know?"

You watched his face contort with strain and flush with pink warmth again, and as his eyes flickered away and he seemed to cave in on himself, you suddenly realized what he was saying. Your heart fluttered. Caged in your chest, it felt like the flapping wings of a hundred little butterflies.

"Oh. You want —you mean, like, kids?—"

"—only if you want! Obviously. I mean, I know I never really asked you how you feel about—"

"—I love kids. I...I've always wanted a daughter."

Steve's head snapped back over to face you, eyes rounded and soft.

"Really?"

You nod wordlessly, suddenly overwhelmed with this bashful, gooey feeling. You've never spoken like this with anyone —you've never played house and planned your life, and it feels unreal to do it now. It feels unreal to be doing it with Steve.

Steve's face lights up with joy, and then he's rolling back on top of you to cage you in.

"Fuck, baby, then let's start now."

You giggled and shrieked as he attacked your neck, biting and sucking and kissing with fervor. You fisted his hair into your hands and urged him back.

"Steve —Steve! I think it's a little too soon."

He raised his head and kissed your chin.

"Okay. But just say the word, angel, and I'll put a baby in you pronto."

You giggled again, wriggling away from his hot, wet mouth.

"Okay, okay! You're insatiable, you know that?"

"I've been told. Don't think I heard you complaining, though."

You didn't make it out of bed for the rest of the day, and Steve was right. He never heard you complaining.

So cute so cute so cute 🥺 Steve is so bad at putting his feelings into words because he's never felt this way about anyone, and he definitely wasn't brought up in an environment where people talked so openly about their feelings. But he's trying so hard for Librarian!reader because he loves her so much!! 💗💗 I really liked this one!!! xoxoxo Roller Girl

[yourlocalauthor]

satin spats (steddie x reader one shot)

‘Also it’s cannon in this lore that a huge catharsis for Steve is that he likes dominating reader because he hates that his dad believes in her more than he believes in Steve.’ - Me responding to an ask that inspired this fic.

If you’re a minor, please go away. 

New York’s Hottest Club is: satin spats. THIS FIC HAS EVERYTHING: Degradation, humiliation, lore, Tolkien Elvish, a guy named Bill… Hi. This is a semi-prequel to the Good Cop x Bad Cop trilogy. Showing that Steve had been slowly becoming more unhinged overtime about his innate need for control when it comes to feeling powerless against his father. A lead up to why Reader calling Eddie 'Daddy’ in GCxBC: Daddy Lessons was the nail in the coffin for him going off the rails. This features a really, like genuinely emotionally mean Steve and this has a big Eddie to the rescue focus towards the end. I’m not a big 'Y/N’ typer so I inserted the name 'Stella’ (in honor of GCxBC 3) where the reader can insert their name. WARNINGS: fem reader, VERYMEAN!STEVE, intense degradation/humiliation, choking/leash play, swearing, fighting, yelling, rough sex, p in v sex, oral (male receiving), really mean name calling, drinking, controlling behavior, etc.

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[yourlocalauthor]

not givin’ it up, pt. II (rockstar!eddie x actress!reader) (18+)

we love to make people CRY MORE.  follow up to not givin’ it up pt.1 also yes, king steve, our boxer bestie is mentioned here because i love a crossover episode and also LORE.  this also might put the fight and this makeup AFTER the ‘party favors’ one-shot but who really cares about a timeline, right?

warnings: mentions of active drug use, addiction, drug mentions, withdrawal symptoms, manipulation, fighting, swearing, just like how shit like this goes down, syringe mention, partying, angst, angst, angst, more angst and fluff and feelings and y’know, STUFF. 

Keep reading

[yourlocalauthor]

it’s summer ✿ steve harrington

❀  [1.8k] best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader ✎.ೃ࿐ ˖♡ Every summer is hell. Both physically, and mentally. It’s hot, and you still can’t help but stay in your room all day. Right now, it’s late, really late, and you’re having another night-time descent to depression. You need someone with you, so who’s best to call but your best friend? Wait- no- sorry! Nevermind… ╰┈➤ angst (also hurt/comfort?), fluff, implied suicidal ideation (if you’ve been thru it, you’ll see it), descriptions of an anxiety attack, symptoms of depression, best friends to lovers !! , reader is implied to be shorter than steve and can wear his sweaters (doesnt say how it fits them tho!)

a/n: HI so this is actually my first fic uhmmmm!! i’ve based this fic a little on my own experiences with staying up late bc of anxiety, depression, all that jazz—and if at any point you feel triggered, its completely okay to click off! if i’ve missed any warnings pls dont hesitate to comment! same goes for things i could improve on! ALSO!! GUYS REBLOGGING HELPS A TON!! IT GETS WRITERS MORE REACH N STUFF!!! 

also! you do not have permission to translate/post this onto other websites, tumblr is my only posting site as of now, and i will inform yall if i ever decide to add another. 

Keep reading

[yourlocalauthor]

Parents Weekend (College!Steve x Fem!reader)

It’s parents weekend at your university, and Steve pretends he doesn’t care that his didn’t show up.

Uses she her/pronouns and female anatomy.

The College!Steve Collection!

Masterlist

(Warnings: soft!Steve, angst, roommate!Eddie, literally just Steve being sad as fuck.)

"Munson, for fuck's sake, would you pick up your shit?"

Boxers, empty energy drink cans, cigarette boxes, and torn up notebooks were flung around the room by Steve's frantic hands. Eddie jolted when a can hit him right in the forehead, reaching over to snatch it off the edge of his bed, turning to glare at Steve. Said boy was flittering around the room frantically, stuffing dirty clothes under his bed and shoving rumpled up papers in his garbage bin.

"Jesus, man, what is your problem?" Eddie grumbled, tossing the can back on the floor.

Steve huffed, stomping over to swoop it up. He stalked over to the door, flung it open, and disappeared into the hall to throw it in the big bin. When he returned, his forehead was creased with a broody pout.

"Y/N's mom is coming today for parents weekend and I just...I want it to look nice," he mumbled, hand coming up to brush away his hair.

He had spent a full forty minutes in the bathroom today, lucky that their dorm had an ensuite room where he could spend all the time he needed sculpting his hair with hairspray and that weird, taffy stuff that smelled like Pez candy. Now, his hair was perfectly fluffy and purposefully messy, skin scrubbed clean and scented of Old Spice. His sweater was free of lint or hair, a soft crimson red with the tongues his white Polo pulled out to sit against the collar.

He had even stayed up late last night to scrub the dirt off his white shoes until they were perfectly white again. They were tied securely around his feet, socks pulled up to run under the cuffed bottoms of his jeans (which he had ironed to get the wrinkles out from where they had sat in the laundry for weeks).

It was clear that Steve cared about this a lot.

"Fuck, fine," Eddie huffed, sliding off his bed to begin picking up his mess.

The garbage bin in the hall was overflowing with their Steve's Coke and Eddie's beer cans, ripped up homework and old tests, cigarette cartons, and the odd condom wrapper. Steve shoved those down all the way so her mom wouldn't walk by and wonder if they were his —he realized, as he did this, that it was probably ridiculous, but he didn't want to take any chances.

When Eddie came back into the room, Steve was spraying Febreze, whirling around in a circle so it touched every inch of the room.

"Jesus, Harrington!" Eddie coughed, waving his hand in his face and nudging Steve away from his bed.

"It smells like smoke and sex in here!"

"Wonder why."

Steve put the can down and adjusted his sweater, shoulders slumping. He scanned the room manically, leaping over to smooth out his navy blue comforter.

"You think it looks good? She'll like it?"

For a brief moment, Eddie had this horrible, awful, atrocious thought —he thought that Steve was cute. Cheeks flushed, glasses slipping, hair a tousled, candy-scented mess, sweater so fucking preppy, shoulders tense with worry. Eddie shook those thoughts away and sat back on his bed.

"It'll be fine."

Steve huffed again, letting his arms drop. He tapped his hands against his jean clad thighs and nodded curtly, eyes still wandering about.

"Okay. Okay, good. Now...we wait."

**

Steve stumbled off his bed when you knocked, and Eddie thought about smacking him upside the head to calm him down. He swung the door open and plastered on his charming, Harrington smile.

"Hi, Stevie!"

"Hi, honey."

He stooped to kiss your cheek, keeping it tame around your mother, who he invited in after you. He kept the door open, keeping a neutral ground, the chatter of other students and their families walking by filling any potential void.

"Mom, this is Steve. Steve, this is my mom," you introduced them, motioning between your mother beside you and Steve before you.

Steve immediately stuck his hand out for your mom to shake, but her arms were swooping around his shoulders to embrace him instead. He froze for a moment before awkwardly allowing himself to hug her back, hands patting at her cozy sweater. She pulled away and placed her hands on her shoulders, stepping back to look him over.

"It's so nice to meet you, Steven. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, just—just Steve. It's nice to meet you, too," he stuttered, cheeks reddening.

He pushed at his glasses and glanced over at you, and you gave him a subtle thumbs-up over your mother's shoulder. A hug meant that she liked him, or at least the look of him so far.

You turned at the rustle of Eddie's bedsheets, finding him awkwardly sitting atop his bed with his hands in his lap.

"Oh, mom this is Eddie, Steve's roommate. Eddie, this is my mom."

Your mom whirled around to face the metalhead opposite of Steve, though her sweet smile didn't slip. Eddie slipped off his bed and adjusted his shirt, shoulders tense, raising his hand in a little wave.

"Hello—oh!"

Your mother squeezed her arms around him, hugging him close. Your cheeks burned, awkwardly tapping your shoes together.

"Mom," you scolded, watching her pull away.

She grinned cheerily up at Eddie, whose face was redder than you'd ever seen it.

"It's so nice to meet you boys. I'm glad to hear you've been so nice to my little Y/N."

You huffed, watching Steve turn and smile at you.

"Well that's easy, because she's the sweetest," he cooed lovingly, reaching out to intertwine your hands.

You felt like you were on fire, sweating beneath your turtleneck. Your mom turned to look at you, immediately clocking the fondness clouding your features, the way Steve's breath hitched when you smiled. You were in love.

Before anyone could say anything else, there was a knock on the open door. All heads turned to find an older man, flannel and denim clad with a fishing hat, standing in the doorway. He had piercing green eyes and a kind face, if not a little solemn.

"Hey, kid," he rasped out, a hint of a southern twang.

"Hey, Uncle Wayne."

Eddie was slipping through the three of you toward the door, bending to collect his uncle in a one-armed hug. They slapped each other on the backs, and you saw Eddie smile slightly when they pulled away. He urged his uncle in and turned to face the rest of you.

"Everybody, this is my uncle. Wayne, this is my roommate Steve, his girlfriend Y/N, and her mom."

You waved when he pointed to you, flashing a small smile. His uncle nodded with each introduction, eyes round and soft.

"Lovely to meet ya'll."

"Eddie, would you and your uncle like to join Y/N and Steve and I for dinner tonight?"

Steve's head snapped over to your mother, though he bit his tongue. You wrapped your arm around his torso and pressed into his side, willing him to relax. You knew how anxious he was already without the added guests, jittering and fidgeting all week with nerves.

"What if she doesn't like me?"

"What if I say something stupid? You know I say stupid shit when I get nervous."

But you assured him that your mother would love him. It was hard not to. Heavy hand and need for dominance and control aside, Steve was the sweetest boy you'd ever been with —he treated you like a princess. He'd do anything for you; including suffering through a dinner with your mom, Eddie Munson, and Eddie's quiet uncle.

"Oh, that's real kind a' you, ma'am, but—"

"—oh, ma'am! Please, call me M/N," your mom giggled, reaching forward to shake Uncle Wayne's hand.

You glanced at Steve with a sly smirk, shaking your head. You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

"She's totally flirting with him," you murmured.

Steve smiled, hand massaging your waist.

"It's no problem at all, the more the merrier! And I'd love to thank everybody for taking care of my little Y/N while she's been here. I was nervous about sending her so far away from home, but she really seems to love it here," your mom babbled, still standing before Eddie's Uncle with a wide smile.

Eddie awkwardly shifted his weight beside his uncle, glancing between you and Steve. Watching you giggle and whisper together like a couple in love —because you were. He just wished it wasn't so blatantly obvious.

"Well then, we'd love to be there," Uncle Wayne drawled, smile lightening his features.

"Lovely! Steve, when are your parents coming in?"

Your mother's gaze was back on Steve now, whose arm stiffened around your shoulders. You watched his spine straighten, his cheeks lose color.

"Oh, um...they called earlier, said they might be a little late. We can probably go on without them."

You looked him over, analyzing his strained behavior. Something was off, but you couldn't tell what. You glanced at Eddie for confirmation, but he was just staring off into space. Suddenly, looking around, you realized that the room was the cleanest you'd ever seen it. It even smelled good. A soft smile touched your face at the thought of them cleaning it just for this.

"Well, you should probably call and tell them where to meet us, so they don't get lost," your mother suggested, and Steve flashed a stiff smile that didn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, good idea. Be right back."

He dropped his arm from your shoulders and jutted a kiss against your cheek, sliding past Eddie and his uncle to shuffle through the hall. You watched him disappear around the corner, hair shiny under the fluorescent lights.

He could hear you and your mom conversing with Eddie and his uncle as he trailed toward the phone down the hall. He took a sharp left into the bathroom instead, slamming the door after him. He collapsed against the tiled wall with a heavy sigh, head hanging toward his sneakers.

There was no need to call his parents and tell them where to go —they wouldn't answer, and all his voicemails had been erased. He knew because he called the answering machine the other day, wanting to listen back to what he said in case he told them the wrong day for parents weekend. Maybe that's why they hadn't called back yet.

"You have no new messages," was what he heard instead.

And he knew that nothing had changed.

Like in high school when they skipped his basketball games to go to the winery, and when they missed his graduation because they were in Cape Cod for the early season. He stopped crying about it, learned to swallow down his disappointment, because it was fruitless to spent time wondering why they didn't love him after all these years. He would never understand why.

After a few minutes in the bathroom, Steve whipped the door open and headed back down the hall. He returned to his dorm, pausing outside the door to fix his hair and tug down his sweater, stepping in with a cheery smile.

"Okay, ready to go?"

**

You had spent the afternoon strolling along the streets of your campus and the charming small town it was home to, hand in hand with Steve, babbling off your favorite places to eat and study at to your mother who trailed along. Eddie and Uncle Wayne lagged behind, having conversations of their own. Steve was a little annoyed that they had tagged along, seeing how it was supposed to only be the three of you, but you seemed happy. That's all that mattered.

Steve had made a reservation at the nicest restaurant on campus for the three of you, and stopped at a payphone to tell them to add two more seats. He watched you, leaning against the flimsy glass of the booth, as you laughed at something your mother said, and the two of you clutched hands like best friends. It was sweet, the relationship you had.

You had told him a few weeks ago all about your childhood, how your mother had raised you on her own and you wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Chinese takeout dinners, cozy Christmases spent watching movies on the couch, dolling you up for prom. Sure, there were struggles, especially when it came to money. You had to rely on a merit scholarship to even remotely afford this school, but you were making it work.

Steve's heart ached watching the two of you. Watching the way your mother stroked your hair and pointed out things she knew you'd like, how personally the two of you seemed to know each other. And she was so sweet —maternal, nurturing. It was almost unnerving to him.

"Great, thanks."

Steve hung up the phone and returned to the group of you, hands tucked in his pockets.

"So, they're adding a couple seats for Eddie and Mr. Munson."

"Oh, great! Should we head over?"

Everyone murmured in agreement, and Steve resumed his place beside you for the walk over. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you slipped your fingers through his where his hand was dangling near your arm. You gazed up at him, squinting against the sun, watching the breeze flutter his hair. His almond eyes were blank behind his glasses, cheeks a little pink from the cool autumn wind, and through his red sweater, you could see his stomach was clenched.

Something was definitely off with him.

"Hey, you okay?" you murmured under the chatter of your mom and Uncle Wayne.

Steve turned slightly, peering down at you. He looked away quickly, pushing his glasses up.

"Yeah, m' fine."

You placed your free hand over his chest, sweater soft and fuzzy beneath your palm.

"You sure?"

His throat bobbed with a swallow, but he turned quickly and pressed a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Yep."

**

You were twenty minutes into dinner when you realized Steve's parents weren't coming.

Your mother had asked him, as you settled into your seats, if he could see them anywhere. Steve feigned another half smile and shook his head with a soft:

"No, but I'm sure they'll be here soon."

You were seated beside each other, your mother on the other side of you, Eddie and Uncle Wayne across. Glasses clinked, utensils scraped, and chatter lulled the quiet between the two of you. The restaurant was full of other students and their families, laughing and catching up over chicken and peas. And you could feel Steve getting stiffer and stiffer, quieter and quieter the longer he sat there; head hanging over his plate, listening to fathers boast over their sons and mothers dote over their daughters, siblings joke and laugh.

"So, Steve, what are your plans after you graduate? You're a business major, right?"

Steve looked up from his plate, craning to see over you and meet your mother's gaze. You turned to him, hand reaching under the table to run over his thigh soothingly. He swallowed the bite of chicken in his mouth and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am. I, um, I'm not sure just yet what I'll do with it, but...I'm sure I'll figure out something."

He looked away, small smile slipping when he thought everyone's eyes had moved off him. But yours hadn't, and you saw his frown reform, reappear like a habit and etch lines into his face. You tightened your grasp on his leg, rubbing circles with your thumb.

"Well, you still have loads of time, don't worry. And Eddie, what about you?"

Your mother turned to Eddie as she sawed into her steak, and you inched closer to Steve.

"Hey," you murmured, voice gentle, "talk to me, baby, what's wrong?"

He glanced at you, hand falling into his lap. He placed it delicately over yours, patting it softly.

"S' nothin' baby, I'm fine. C'mon, eat your food," he encouraged, gesturing toward your untouched plate with his fork.

You picked up your own, cutting off a bite of your lasagna. You glanced at Steve again as you placed it in your mouth, teeth scraping the metal. Eddie was going on and on about his love of music but how "that wasn't really practical," so he wanted something else to fall back on, and being an engineer sounded "pretty okay, if he could just get his grades up." You heard Uncle Wayne quip about how Eddie could focus better if he stopped messing around, and Eddie said something about how messing around was "part of his charm."

"You're not fine, Steve. I can tell something is bothering you, and I just...I don't know how to help you. And I wanna help you," you were pleading with Steve, leaning in toward him again.

He placed his forearm down on the table and sighed, glancing over at everyone else. The watch on his wrist glinted in the low light of the chandelier above the table, momentarily blinding you.

"My parents aren't coming. They just...they couldn’t make it."

He picked up his fork and stabbed it into a potato, and you watched him carefully. He avoided your gaze, keeping his own ducked down on the porcelain plate streaked with food and sauces.

"Why can't they—"

"Harrington, where the hell are your parents, man? They get lost or somethin'?" Eddie chuckled lowly, taking a sip of his Coke.

Your heads turned to the long haired boy, and his smile slipped at the sight of Steve's red cheeks. Eddie's question put all the attention on Steve, and the latter burned beneath their stare. He shifted in his chair, body so stiff you thought it might explode from the strain. His chest puffed with a deep breath in, lips parting like he was about to say something, but nothing came out.

After an excruciatingly long moment, Steve's chair scraped nosily against the floor when he pushed it back.

"I, um...I'll be right back. Just gonna...floss...or something."

He skittered off before anyone could say anything else, sneakers squeaking against the floor. You watched after him, and he disappeared around the corner toward the bathroom. You turned back to the table when he was gone, sighing heavily.

"I don't think they're coming," you explained.

Eddie suddenly felt like a piece of shit.

"I didn't —I had no idea," he pressed, forearms on the table.

You smiled, nodding your head.

"I know. Neither did I, I just...he doesn't say much about them, but...I can tell it's upsetting him."

Your mom reached over and rubbed her hand against your shoulder soothingly.

"I sort of figured they weren't coming," she admitted, reaching over to pick up her wine glass.

You frowned at her.

"How?"

She motioned around the table with her palm.

"There's no plates for them."

You looked, eyes bouncing around the table, and realized that she was right. Where there should have been two other chairs and two more place settings, there were none. The table was only big enough for the four of you, and it seemed that Steve had never planned on making it any larger. You felt your heart ache.

"Well...shit."

"Edward."

"Sorry. I mean...shoot."

You giggled softly at Eddie and then removed the napkin from your lap, placing it beside your plate.

"I'm just gonna go check on him."

You scooted your chair back and headed off toward where Steve had disappeared, stopping short at the sight of him leaning against the wall. He pushed off when he noticed you, uncrossing his arms.

"Baby, hey, I'll be right—"

"No, I came to check on you. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

You wandered over, wrapping your arms around his torso. He sighed, sinking back against the wall, head banging into the wood. He looked so sad, eyes rounded like a puppy dog, lips pouted.

"God, have I fucked everything up?"

You blinked, frowning.

"What? Of course not, Stevie. You haven't fucked anything up."

He scoffed, eyes pinching closed.

"I just...I knew they wouldn't come, and I didn't wanna make a big deal about it."

You stepped in close until your shoes were wedged between his feet, bodies pressed together. You rested your chin against his chest and tipped your head back.

"Well, why didn't you just tell me?"

His hands came to run down your arms, holding you against him. He let his head loll forward to gaze down at you.

"I don't know. I don't really...talk about it. About them. This is just how they are, I've kinda just learned to live with it."

You frowned, pressing your cheek to his chest to give him a proper hug. You tightened your hold on him to make it purposeful, sighing into his sweater.

"I'm sorry, Steve. You deserve so much better than this."

Steve was stockstill at your words, hands frozen at your back. He let your words sink in, digesting them with an aching heart. He had never been told that before, by anyone. His girlfriends in high school never bothered to care, and he never really talked about it to anyone else. His friends certainly wouldn't have asked.

And maybe he had been waiting to hear those words.

He felt like he could cry, so he swallowed and pushed off the wall, pulling you away with his hands around your shoulders.

"Thank you, baby. I'm okay though, honestly. Let's head back."

He started toward the hall again, but you reached out and pulled him back by the sleeve of his sweater. He turned, plaint in your hands, and frowned down at you confusedly.

"It's okay if you're not okay. And...I don't think you are."

He sighed, head drooping until his forehead was pressed to yours. You smiled softly, reaching up to scratch at his scalp. His hair was a little grimy from product.

"Baby, I really don't wanna talk 'bout it, alright? I just really wanna impress your mom."

You giggled, smoothing your thumbs over his cheekbones.

"You definitely have, don't worry. She loves you."

He seemed to deflate with relief.

"Thank god."

He swooped down and kissed you, greedy and sweet. You felt your back bump into the wall as he eased you back, hands against your hips and squeezing tight. You yipped into his mouth when they trailed down to squeeze your ass.

"You look so pretty tonight, baby, forgot to tell you," he murmured against your mouth, breath hot.

You flushed pink.

"Thank you, Stevie."

"Mm, can't wait 'till everybody leaves. Wanna fuck you good tonight," he groans, mouth attaching to yours again.

His voice makes your heart leap and your pussy tingle and you wish that your mother wasn't sitting at the table so you could tug him in the bathroom and bend over the sink. He'd fucked you in worse places.

Steve pulled away with a heavy huff, smoothing down his sweaters. His lips were bitten red, rosy and plush, cheeks splotchy. He looked you over for a moment, tongue rolling over his mouth, arousal clear as day. You melted against the wall, twisting your fingers anxiously. Steve chuckled at you, hands finding his front pockets again.

"You feelin' horny now, baby?"

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Steve laughed again, hearty and deep, reaching out to affectionately squeeze your chin.

"So sweet. I'll make it feel better later, pretty girl, I promise."

You let him tug you off the wall with a pout, lacing your fingers through his. You wandered back to the table together and Steve pulled out your chair, allowing you to sink in and get settled before he took his place beside you.

"Everything okay?" your mom inquired, peeking over at the two of you.

You smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, just fine."

Steve's hand found yours again under the table as he went back in for his food. Eddie looked up from his plate, big brown eyes like glassy beads.

"Uh, listen, Harrington, I didn't mean to—"

"—all good, Munson," Steve assured him curtly, nodding at his roommate.

Eddie nodded back, eyes flittering over to you momentarily.

"So, anyone up for dessert?"

**

But when you got back to Steve and Eddie's dorm that night, you pushed away his hands that wandered beneath your shirt. His pretty brown eyes found you in an instant, brows furrowed. His glasses were sitting on his desk, discarded beneath the lamp light.

Eddie had stayed out a little longer with his Uncle Wayne to give you two privacy. He told you he'd "catch you later," and flashed a wink, but you could tell that he was concerned. His gaze lingered a little longer on Steve during dessert, dimples a little less apparent. You knew that Eddie and Steve weren't exactly the best of friends, but there was a mutual respect between them that proved to be honorable. Eddie would never want to see Steve get hurt, and vice versa.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked you, letting you remove his hands and link them together with yours instead.

You let one go to reach out and brush his hair away, pushing it back into its collective. Most of his product had been whipped away by the wind.

"I love you, Steve."

His breath hitched. Those pretty almond eyes rounded, becoming soft and doe-like, full of wonderment. His lips parted with an unearthed gasp, and his cheeks colored pink. He looked like a boy in this instant, just longing for love.

"What?"

You ran the pad of your finger over the slope of his nose —the narrow bridge, the aquiline bump. It fell down the tip and across the top of his lip, your eyes tracing every movement.

"I love you," you echoed softly.

You had never heard such silence like this. So soft and ethereal, like the world had fallen away and left only Steve. Steve on top of you with his boyish brown eyes and broad shoulders, and hands that were rough and soap scented, the watch that was his father's and made him feel like a man. The world was only Steve, and only you, tangled together in a bed too small to accommodate, but you made it work because you wanted to. Anywhere would have been comfortable so long as Steve was there with you.

You brushed your thumb over his bottom lip and cracked a smile.

"Aren't you going to say anything back?"

Steve had been staring at you for so long that you were beginning to worry. You weren't sure he had even blinked.

"You love me..."

"I do."

The laughter that erupted from your belly quickly died down when Steve's arms wrapped around you, body dropping to place his full weight atop you. His cheek pressed to your chest, hands splayed out against your back, breath heavy against your sweater. Your hands went to his hair on instinct, though they sank into the heap and just stilled. Something about this embrace felt desperate. In your arms, right now, Steve was the most vulnerable he'd ever been.

"I love you," he exhaled into your stomach, fingers fisting the fabric against your spine.

He sounded relieved.

You wondered, as the room darkened, and Steve's eyes sank closed, if you were the first one to have ever told him.

I love you.

I love making myself and everybody else sad. It's good for the soul. Thank you @carol-munson for sending me a super sad Steve edit, too, because it gave me the best, most angsty song to listen to while writing this last bit 💔 I attached the video below

College! and Boxer!Steve are such sad little tough guys, I love them with my entire being. xoxoxo RollerGirl 💓💓

[yourlocalauthor]

Bad Girl (College!Steve x Fem!reader)

You may be oblivious to Eddie’s crush on you, but Steve is well aware —so when he comes into his room to find you two talking, he can’t help if he gets a little possessive jealous.

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

The College!Steve Collection!

Masterlist

(Warnings: Eddie pining hard, jealous!Steve, mean dom!Steve, manipulative Steve, daddy kink, throat fucking, degradation/name calling, face slapping (1 face slap))

You cling to the straps of your backpack as you hurry down the hall toward Steve's dorm, desperate for a bed (his bed specifically) and a nap with your favorite boy. You had a habit of coming over after class, considering that his dorm was closer to the building where you had your last class, and you were always eager for kisses and cuddles, and whatever else came from Steve's wandering hands and insatiable sex drive.

The boy was always horny.

So, today, you stopped at his door and knocked, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you waited. You heard the low hum of music muffled by the wood, blasting at full volume when it whooshed open to reveal Eddie, Steve's roommate. He looked down at you, joint hanging limply between his lips, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

"Hi, Eddie!" you chirped.

He wordlessly whirled back around and slinked over to his bed.

You stepped in sheepishly, nudging the door closed behind you. You peered around the small, cinderblock room. Steve's bed was sloppily made, pillows thrown and comforter wrinkled, his pajamas from the previous night strewn along the edge. His desk was a mess of crumpled up papers and Coke cans. But there was no Steve in sight.

"Do you knew when Steve'll be back?" you ask Eddie, stopping in front of Steve's bed and turning to look at him.

Eddie reclines on his side and pulls away the joint, blowing the smoke toward the open window. His music is booming from the stereo on his desk, also littered with soda and energy drink cans. He has a few boxes of cigarettes on the floor around his bed and wrinkled boxers lying about. He doesn't look at you as he inspects his joint, ringed fingers glinting in the low sunlight.

"No idea, sweet cheeks."

You feel yourself deflate, hands dropping to your sides.

"Oh."

Eddie glances up at you through his lashes as you peer around the room dejectedly. He huffs, taking another puff from the joint, and flops onto his back.

"You're welcome to wait," he tells you, watching from the corner of his eye as your hair moves with the turn of your head.

You peer at him for a moment, heartbeat picking back up.

"Oh, okay. Thank you."

You're always so sweet to Eddie, it unnerves him. He's never been treated so kindly before, by someone so pretty and sweet —by anyone Steve hung out with. His usual crowd was full of assholes and airhead jocks that would have spat at Eddie if that were still culturally acceptable. But your eyes were always soft when you looked at him, voice gentle and low.

He watched as you dropped your backpack on the floor at the edge of Steve's bed and hopped up on the mattress, legs swinging absentmindedly. You pulled at your slouchy white socks and plucked lint off your shorts. Your hair was pretty today, it looked so soft and fluffy and maybe even like it smelled good. You always smelled good. The room was thick with whatever perfume or lotion you wore when you would leave and Eddie would return, and he would immediately know that you had been here with Steve by the scent of it lingering in the air. God, and your outfits were the cutest —colorful shorts and fun, graphic t-shirts, tight jeans and button-up sweaters, turtlenecks and sweater vests, and even flouncy skirts and low cut dresses, and—

"So, how was your day?"

Eddie tore his gaze away from you at the sudden break in silence, looking off toward the closed door where Steve's robe was sitting on a hook. His eyes flittered back when he realized it was you that was talking, and your question was directed at him.

"Oh, me? It was, um...fine," he muttered, shrugging as he sucked another breath from the joint.

You nodded, smoothing down the ends of your hair and twisting them around your finger. You continued to swing your legs, shoes abandoned on the floor to get comfy.

"Anything special happen?"

Just you showing up.

"Nah, same old."

You hopped off Steve's bed and started to fuss with the comforter, and Eddie realized, in horror, that you were making his bed for him. You were smoothing his sheets and fluffing his pillows, even going as far as to put his clothes in the overflowing hamper in the corner near the makeshift closet. Eddie gulped. Harrington didn't deserve you.

"What about you?" he blurted.

You hopped back up on Steve's now neatly arranged bed, crossing one leg over the other daintily.

"Hmm, nothing special. I did get a B on a test I totally thought I failed, though, so that was exciting!"

You grinned and perked up like a kid on Christmas, ecstatic over such a small thing. Eddie looked away again, sucking desperately at the joint to conceal a smirk. God, Harrington was so fucking lucky.

Eddie was just about to say something, to ask you something, anything to pass the time and continue listening to your voice. But just as he opened his mouth, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, the door swung open and Steve walked in. Eddie glanced over momentarily to see your smile return before he had to look away again.

"Hi, Steve!"

Eddie heard the sound of footsteps skittering and then Steve's muffled grunt as you flung yourself at him. Steve caught you around the waist, lifting you off the ground with one arm while planting a wet kiss on your lips.

"Hi, honey, how are you?"

"M' good."

"Yeah? Hope you weren't waiting too long, pretty girl, I just had to talk to my advisor."

"Not at all! Eddie was keeping me company."

Eddie could feel Steve's cold stare, digging into the side of his head. He kept his eyes steadily on the door instead of looking over, trying not to look guilty. Steve set you down on the ground again, glaring through the lenses of his glasses.

"Oh, was he?"

You bounced back on Steve’s bed, scooting against the wall. Your legs stretched out across his bed.

“Yep. Everything okay with your advisor?”

Steve continued to glare at Eddie for a moment before turning on his heel and flopping down beside you, arm dangling over your lap. He had become clingy with you lately, overly affectionate and doting. You found it endearing, loved that after one night of faux tutoring and spanking, Steve was utterly infatuated with you —and you with him.

“Oh, yeah, just some bullshit about a missing credit, I don’t know. Listen, baby, you wanna go back to your room? Let Eddie have some privacy to jerk off tonight.”

Your face burned, eyes darting away from Steve and over toward the long haired boy on the other side of the room. Said boy scoffed at his roommate’s words, shaking his head as he finished off his joint. You smacked at Steve’s chest lightly, disappointment stirring your face.

“Steve, that’s not nice.”

Steve chuckled, lifting his head from where it fallen into your lap. He smelled like fresh laundry and pine scented cologne, and his skin was so warm against you. You even liked him in this black T-shirt, how the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders and fell loose around his stomach. You could never really be upset with him, not when he looked like this.

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby. We joke around like this all the time, don’t we, Munson?”

Eddie put his joint out on the wall, stabbing it into the white cinder block. He craned his head back to watch it soar through the open window.

“Sure do.”

“See? No harm done, pretty girl. Now come on.”

Steve’s hands were grabbing your thighs and hoisting you off the bed, and you quickly wrapped them around his hips as he began to carry you toward the door. You squealed with delight and giggled into his neck, yelping when his hand came down playfully across your ass. You caught Eddie’s eye over Steve’s shoulder as he walked you to the door. He was still reclined on his bed, arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression clouding over his features.

“See you later, Munson.”

**

Your roommate was gone when you got to your room, most likely off at the library studying or at the canteen with her friends. So, it was no problem when Steve slammed you on your bed and descended on you, large palm possessing your jaw and using his grip to crane your head to the side and expose your neck.

You whimpered, hands fisting in his t-shirt as he began to suck bruises into your sensitive spots. You squirmed, legs parted to accommodate him between your thighs. You could already feel him getting hard, bulge pressing against your thin shorts and the damp panties underneath.

“You like Eddie’s attention, baby? Like it better than mine?” Steve grumbled into your neck before his teeth sank into the flesh.

Your back arched with a sharp gasp, twisting away. Steve’s fingers bit into your cheek where he was gripping your face hard.

“N-no! Of course not, Steve, we were just—“

Steve lifted from your neck and steadied your face again until you were looking at him. Behind his glasses, his eyes were stern and narrow, their usual round, puppy-dog gaze hardened.

“Just what?”

Your tummy suddenly churned with guilt, even though you had done nothing wrong. You and Eddie were just talking, and had only been talking for a few minutes before Steve arrived. It was harmless. You were infatuated with Steve and Steve only, so you didn’t understand why he was so upset. In fact, you didn’t even know he was this upset until you got to your room, away from Eddie.

Your fingers twisted near your stomach, cheeks warming. Your mouth opened and closed in stuttering successions, eyes flickering between Steve’s hardened gaze.

“Just what, honey? Finish the sentence.”

Your mouth was dry, tongue heavy. God, you were on fire. Your pussy was aching, fingertips buzzing, knees weak. The way Steve was looking at you made you want to push him over and suck him off, to make that crease in his forehead smooth and his brows pull apart. You wanted him to be pleased at all times, never unhappy with you.

Steve’s fingers tightened around your jaw, fingertips digging in, and you squeaked.

“W-we were just talking! I swear, Stevie, we were,” you whimpered, pouting up at him.

He hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. He tipped his chin up, jaw clenched tight.

"You tellin' me the truth, honey? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

You shook your head furiously, heart lurching. You were desperate to prove your innocence, desperate to be his good girl.

"No, Stevie, never!"

Steve grinned, dipping down to press a chaste kiss to your mouth. When he pulled away, he dragged his hand away from your jaw and down to your waist. His knees pressed into your pink comforter on either side of your hips, and he moved his head down to your neck to nose at your skin.

"Good. I don’t like the idea of him corrupting you, baby. You’re my good girl.”

You suddenly giggle, you just can’t help it. Steve’s eyes snap to your face, lips parting.

“What?” Steve inquires.

“I think you’ve already corrupted me.” You poke his shoulder and giggle again.

His eyebrows raise over the thin wire rims of his glasses. His hands still around your waist, grip firm and palms warm where they’ve slipped under your shirt.

“Oh have I? Have I turned you into a bad girl? Hmm?”

You shake your head, at a loss for words as your cheeks warm. You nervously play with his hair, a particular strand dangling in your face.

“No? So if I do this,” his right hand creeps up the leg of your shorts, fingers pressing against the damp cotton of your panties, “you wouldn’t be a bad girl and be wet?”

You shook your head in denial, but you knew it was a lie. If being a bad girl meant being desperately turned on by everything your boyfriend did, especially when he spoke to you like this, then you were the baddest.

Steve quirked a brow again, fingers skirting your panties to the side to sink into your creamy cunt. You gasped, thighs stiffening, jolting up toward the headboard at the pressurized push between your legs. Steve mimicked your gasp, lips parting.

“Oh, I thought you’d never lie to me, honey! Maybe you are a bad girl,” he taunted you in an airy voice, watching in delight when you clenched around his fingers.

You shook your head again, hands coming up to wrap around his biceps.

“M’ not bad!” you squeaked.

“No? You’re still a good girl?”

“Mhm!” You nodded fervently.

“Mm, I don’t think so, honey. Your pussy is awfully wet.”

You groaned when he pushed his fingers in and out, wet squelches echoing around your quiet dorm. He was crowding your space, making the heat of your face even hotter with his heavy breath and firm body.

“S’ just cause you look so good,” you whine breathily, back arching.

Steve’s smile was dopey, gazing down at you affectionately as he continued to work you over with his fingers. You were panting and writhing, already woozy and fuzzy just from two of his fingers and his dirty mouth. You were so easy to get worked up and he loved it.

“Aw, thank you, honey. So sweet to me,” he crooned.

His lips found your neck, latching onto the skin and sucking firmly. You whined and cried, fingers winding in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails digging into his bicep. Your legs wrapped around his hips, heels pressed into the bottom of his spine. He knew you were desperate, but he wanted you begging.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you mumbled dazedly, and Steve pulled back to grin down at you.

“Yeah? Feel it on your little pussy, honey? Feel how hard you get me?”

He shifted his hips down to press into your crotch, ripping his fingers from your shorts. You whined at the loss and tightened your hold on his bicep. Your eyebrows pinched together, forehead creasing.

“Uh huh!”

“Want it in your mouth?”

“Yes please,” you gasped, licking your lips.

“Oh, but only bad girls like cock in their mouth, baby. I thought you weren’t a bad girl.”

You huffed, heel dropping from his spine to stomp against the bed.

“Steve!—“

He chuckled, rubbing his hands against your waist.

“Alright, alright. C‘mere, honey.”

He climbed off you and stood beside the bed, whirling you around until your back was on the bed, sock-clad feet pressed against the cinderblock wall, head hanging off the edge. Your Dirty Dancing poster crinkled beneath your feet when you shifted, fingers placed delicately over your stomach.

“Take that shirt off, baby, don’t wanna mess it up.”

Though he told you to do it, he was the one to pull it over your head and toss it toward your cozy bean bag chair near the desk. He eased you back down, pulling your hair out to let it swish down toward the floor, cupping your chin to tilt it back. Your jaw unhinged without instruction, tongue lolling out.

Steve chuckled, running his fingers over your tongue. You lapped and sucked at them eagerly as he worked at his belt with his free hand, pulling the loose end through the buckle. It clinked and caused your ears to twitch, excitement bursting through you. It was like he had conditioned you to expect pleasure and pain the moment you heard that sound.

“So eager, aren’t you? You want my cock that bad, pretty girl?”

You nodded wordlessly around his fingers, eyes blinking up at him pleadingly. He groaned at that look, ripping his fingers from your lips to push his pants and boxers down. He kicked them away and stepped back up, holding his cock over your face. You shifted, eyeing it hungrily, waiting for permission.

He tapped it against your lips and you tried to catch it with your tongue, licking and whining when all you caught was air. He laughed cruelly, pulling it up toward his stomach. You pouted, eyes foggy when you gazed up.

“Please, daddy!”

His smile slipped, cock immediately falling from his hand and against your face. You craned back to aim it toward your mouth, parting your lips and accepting his slick head.

“Fuck, you little slut. You know what that name does to me —shit.”

You did, and that’s why you had let it slip. It sent him into a frenzy, rid him of all restraint and control and fueled him with nothing but animalistic, possessive desire. You loved who he became under the guise of his new title.

You spluttered when he pushed his hips closer, sinking further into your mouth and brushing the back of your throat. You spread your lips wider to accommodate him, a slight sting gathering in the corners. Your fingers slipped down blindly to pop the button of your shorts, pushing them down your hips and whipping them off your foot.

Steve began to hump into your mouth, pulling wet groans from your throat, tip brushing the back with a wet squelch each time. Your eyes began to water, breathing harshly through your nose, blinking up at him obediently. Steve grunted and groaned throatily with each pump, fingers curling into fists at his side.

He had shed his shirt when he slipped his cock inside your mouth, and the sight of his hairy chest and faint happy trail made you all the more desperate. You squeezed your thighs together as you admired him, eager for any kind of friction, pussy aching for his attention. His broad shoulders and milky skin, dappled with brown moles, were absolutely breath taking.

How did he expect you to suck his cock with him looking so pretty standing over you, without reaching down to touch yourself? You slid your hand down your tummy and between your legs, barely managing to push your panties to the side before Steve’s hand was slapping down on it. You jerked your hand away, eyes snapping up at him to find his furrowed brows.

“Knock it off.”

You made a sound of disagreement, warbled wetly by his dick. His hips halted, cock lodged in your throat, eyes narrowing down on you.

“You gonna get an attitude or you wanna keep sucking this cock?”

You twisted your fingers, feet sliding on the wall. You thought for a moment before dropping your hands, tucking them under the small of your back in a show of compliance. Steve huffed.

“That’s what I thought.”

He picked back up the same pace as before, thrusting in and out as you slurped and sucked and gagged.

“Oh, baby, I think you are a bad girl. You certainly suck —shit, Jesus Christ—certainly suck cock like a bad girl.”

You whimpered around his cock and hollowed your cheeks, back arching with a quiet gag when he hit too deep. He groaned loudly, head tipping back, hands coming up to run through his hair.

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, m’ gonna cum.”

His hands came slamming down on the bed beside you, back hunched over your body as he burst in your mouth. Your mouth was immediately filled with salty warmth, and you exhaled heavily through your nose as you tried to swallow it down.

He released an elongated groan pushed between his teeth as he slipped from your mouth, straightening back up. He pushed his hair back against his head, cheeks flushed and forehead damp with perspiration. He heaved heavy breaths through parted lips and watched through heavy lids as you whipped around onto your hands and knees, throat bobbing with a gulp.

“Thank you, daddy,” you chirped sweetly, wiping at the corner of your mouth.

A smile breezed over Steve’s face, and he reached out to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Anything for my bad little baby.”

Your smile dropped, huffing as you sat back on your knees. You narrowed your eyes at him and he chuckled.

“What?”

“M’ not bad.”

“Oh, you wanna be good?”

You rolled your eyes, unimpressed with his antics. But then his hand was popping across your cheek, snapping your head to the side with the sharp crack of skin to skin. Your cheek bloomed with warm pain, a slight and buzzing sting settling in that…you liked. You squirmed on your knees, turning back to Steve with wide, delighted eyes.

He slowly lowered his hand, dipping down to gaze between your eyes, checking your response. He let out a slow, shallow breath, eyes bulging.

“You liked that, didn’t you, baby?“

You nod in response, fingers coming up to feel the warm and tender skin. It feels like it’s alive beneath your touch, thrumming with energy. You squirm a little on your knees and glance at his hand —he had slapped you with his dominant, the one where his watch was wrapped tightly around his wrist. And something about that watch, the leather band, the sophistication and authority it gave him —it made you perk up at the thought of him giving you another one.

“Hey. Look at me, baby, you okay?“

Steve leveled your gazes again, and you met his eye with another nod.

“I’m good.”

He smoothed his hands over your cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles into the apples of your cheeks. His fingers buried in your messy, tangled hair.

“You know we can stop at any time, right? All you have to do is say the word.”

You smiled, rubbing your cheek against his palm.

“I know, Stevie. But…I liked it,” you murmured, reaching out to drag your finger down his chest.

He groaned, pulling you over by his grip around your face to plant his mouth on yours. His tongue slid into your mouth with heavy need, kissing you slow and deep and steady. You squeezed your hands into fists against your knees and whimpered.

“Fuck, you’re amazing. And you are my good girl. You know that, right?”

You nodded, smiling angelically, rubbing your nose against his.

“All yours.”

So I know I’ve used the “all yours” before but like 🥺 she IS all his, no matter which AU he’s in 💓 also, if it wasn’t obvious, I’m OBSESSED with Steve and his watch 🤭 I find it so fucking hot it makes him look so authoritative 💞

Roommate!Eddie is pining so hard, but don’t worry, he’ll get to have his fun soon 😊 the next College!Steve is going to be a bit more angsty and sad but I’m excited. Hope you liked it!! Xoxoxoxo RollerGirl

[yourlocalauthor]

𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 ⋆ steve harrington x reader

wc: 4.1k

summary: after getting split from your friends, you and enemy Steve encounter new plant life in the upside down. wonder what it could be?

tags: frenemies to fwb to ??, sex pollen upside down smut with no plot, unprotected sex, rough sex, squirting, brief throatfucking, no aftercare

tw: sex pollen, dubcon

minors dni 18+ below cut

Keep reading

[yourlocalauthor]

Spoiled (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!Fem reader)

Steve loves spoiling you, and takes you on a shopping spree to prove it.

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

The Boxer!Steve Collection!

(Warnings: sugar daddy!Steve, fluff, car sex, slight dom!Steve) author note: I projected myself onto reader (again!) so hard in this one. A little birthday present for @carol-munson who is so sweet and lovely and just the best! Everybody wish her a happy birthday!! I hope you love your sugar daddy!Boxer!Steve gift 💓

"Honey...how much longer?"

You tilted your head to read the title etched along the spine of a pretty red hardcover, humming in thought. Steve trailed along beside you, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, black Ray Bans resting over his eyes to counteract today's headache. You pulled the book from the shelf and turned it over in your hands to read the synopsis.

"Mm, I don't know," you murmured, lost in thought.

When Steve offered to take you shopping today, he had something a bit more exciting in mind. He imagined lacy lingerie sets and low-cut dresses, sexy strappy heels that made your legs look incredible, or maybe even some new perfume you had him sniff from your wrist. He should have known that you would drag him to the nearest bookstore.

Steve huffed when you placed the book in your hands back on the shelf and moved on to the next one, resuming your search. You already had three books in your arms, tucked against your chest as you trailed the aisles and journeyed the shelves. The smell was comforting, the aromatic scent of rich coffee and old paper. Your tiny heels clicked against the floorboards with slow, steady clops. Steve shuffled on behind you, head lolling back impatiently.

When you placed two more books in your arms, Steve's hand wordlessly shot out to snatch them from you, propping them in his big hands. You trailed over to the stationary section of the bookstore, gasping in delight at the little trinkets and journals arranged prettily on the shelves. You pulled a velvety purple journal from the shelf and marveled at the softness of the fabric, smoothing your fingers over the pages.

Steve's eyes narrowed, watching you fawn and coo over pieces of paper.

"Steve, look! It's daily, weekly, and monthly. And it comes with stickers!" you squealed, holding up the floral planner for him to see.

Steve shifted the books in his arms and forced a tight smile.

"Yeah, honey, s' nice."

You flicked through the stickers, over the moon about the cute little designs and characters —it even came with organizational stickers that said things like "to-do," or "reminder!" in a pretty little font with rainbow colors.

"Can I get it?" you asked him, teeth sinking into your smile.

Steve felt himself soften, impatience slipping away at the way your face lit up. You wiggled the planner between your hands at him, perked on your tip-toes in your little plaid shoes.

"Get whatever you want, angel."

You bounce to the checkout with your planner and a pack of fancy writing pens (the thin-tipped kind that write so nice and smoothly) and Steve trails along behind with your stack of books. When you get to the checkout, you turn and wait for him to join you, and he drops the books on the counter with a thump. As the cashier scans them, his hand dips into his back pocket to whip out his wallet, wordlessly pulling out his credit card.

Your wrap your arms around his torso and lean into his side, pressing your chin to his chest. His arm finds home around your shoulder, watching the cashier pack the books into a brown paper bag, head dipping down to jut a kiss against your head.

"You got any nicer bags, man?" Steve asks the cashier, pointing at the bag your books and other things are sitting in.

You turn to look at it, still wrapped around Steve. The cashier halts, bag in hand, and looks up at Steve.

"Oh, um —yes, sir, we have these," he squeaks, reaching behind him to grab a canvas tote bag off the wall.

"We'll take one of those, too," Steve gruffly demands, motioning with his hand.

The other rubs circles against your spine, credit card tapping against the counter. He hands it to the cashier in exchange for your new bag, which he slings over his shoulder and bats away your hand that reaches for it.

"I've got it, sweetie," he tells you, knuckle nicking your chin affectionately as he reaches to take his card back.

Your hands are linked together as you head out of the store and down the street, the Californian sun beating down on your bare shoulders. You grin at Steve was you walk, admiring the long, narrow slope of his nose, the moles dappled on his neck, the fluffy brown heap of his hair fluttering in the wind. He turns when he feels you staring, eyes shielded by his sunglasses.

"What?"

You pull your own sunglasses down from the top of your head, the heart-shaped lenses sitting adorably on the bridge of your nose.

"Nothin'. You're just so cute is all," you coo, reaching up to boop his nose.

Steve huffs, squeezing your hand between your bodies.

"Yeah, yeah."

You giggle, looking out on the street before you. It's packed with people, other women with shopping bags and couples strolling along. Palm trees sway in the gentle breeze, birds cawing overhead. It's a beautiful day, and you're already feeling loved and at ease.

"So, where to next?" you ask him, and he adjusts the bag bearing down on his shoulder.

Your books were really fucking heavy.

"Well, we went shopping for you, now we're gonna go shopping for me."

**

"Steve, how is this shopping for you?"

Steve has his legs spread apart wide as he lounges on a cream chaise in the dressing room of a ridiculously expensive boutique. Your tote bag and purse are sitting at his feet, elbows propped on his knees as he watches you intently. His tongue rolls over his lips hungrily as you place the clothing he had picked out on the hook in the dressing room.

"Trust me, angel, it's for me. Come on, I wanna see 'em on."

You sigh half-heartedly, rolling your eyes as you sink back into the tiny stall.

"Fine. No peeking, mister," you scold playfully, lowering your eyes at him.

His lip pull into a smirk, and then you draw the curtains closed. You kick your shoes off on the carpeted floor and shimmy out of your clothes, folding them on the small, tufted ottoman in the corner. You pull the first dress on, struggling with the zipper. You turn and check it first in the mirror, smoothing down the crisp fabric. It's cherry red, off the shoulder, hugs you tight around the waist and squeezes around your arms.

You whip the curtains back and step out, bare-footed, and present the dress to your waiting boyfriend. He straightens up, eyes bright as brilliance lightens his features.

"Do you like it?" you inquire softly, turning to peer at it in the large mirror against the wall.

You do a half turn, chin hooked over your shoulder to see how it fits around your ass. Steve runs his hand through his hair, clearing his throat.

"Fuck yeah I like it, angel. Put that in the yes pile," he demands, pointing toward the dressing room where this said 'pile' must be.

You giggle, looking over at him again.

"There is no 'yes' pile yet, Steve, this is the first one."

Steve looks infatuated, eyes tracing over every inch of your body in the dress, admiring the way it embraces your body. His tongue darts out again, resting in the corner of his lips.

"Well, it's gonna be a big pile, baby, so get to it."

You shake your head and pad back to the dressing room, throwing him another playful pout over your shoulder.

"So bossy."

You try on all the dresses Steve supplied you with and then some, listening to him order the employees around from behind the curtain with a roll of your eyes.

"No, she doesn't like green."

"Do you have this in another color?"

"What is this for —oh. Oh, well, she'll like that."

An employee comes by and swoops up your collection, carrying the dresses, skirts, and other items up to the counter by the hangers. Now donning your own clothes again, you join hands with Steve and head up to the counter. Steve takes the bags from the cashier and tuts when you reach for one.

"Honey, I've got it," he huffs, balancing the colorful bags and your canvas tote full of books in one hand.

He reaches over for you with the other, wrapping his arm around your waist and his fingers firmly around your hip. You wave and thank each employee that helped assist as you slip out of the store.

Steve pulls you along to two other stores: a designer shoe store, and a perfumery. He eases shoe after shoe onto your foot, legs propped in his lap, hands caressing your bare calves. You have to smack them away when his fingers start to wander higher, and he just huffs.

He juts gentle kisses to your wrist, hand curled around you forearm, when you offer it to him to sniff the perfume you just rolled on. You giggle and squirm when he buries in your neck, fighting against his arms anchored around you.

"Steve!"

"Can't help it, honey, you smell so good."

And then he's carrying half a dozen more bags of various sizes and colors by their rope strings, hooked over his shoulder and dangling over his back as he guides you by the waist to the car in the lot of the first store. He places the bags in the backseat, arranging them neatly, and presses his hand against your back to ease you into the passenger seat, closing the door after you.

When he's seated in the driver's seat, you reach into the back and pluck your planner from the canvas tote, fishing around for the pretty pink pens. Once they're in your possession, you settle back down in the leather seat and slide on your seatbelt. You flash Steve a toothy grin, and he adjusts his sunglasses over his eyes.

"So, what's next?"

Steve turns the key in the ignition and the car rumbles to life.

"Well, how 'bout you write "Steve fucks me stupid in the car" in your little planner, and then we can go grab a bite to eat, yeah?"

He has one hand lazily slung over the wheel, the other hooked around the back of your seat, biceps bulging and tendons and muscles of his forearm stiffening with prominent veins as he pulls the car into reverse and backs out of the parking spot. You burn at his words, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you watch him whip the wheel around and then pull it back straight. He shoves the gear back into drive and turns to you.

"Sound good?"

You nodded mutely, fingers curling over the planner in your lap in a white knuckle grip. Steve's lips spread into a slow, sly smile. His eyes turned to the road as you headed off, hand reaching over to wrap around your thigh and caress the skin gently.

He chose the restaurant, a small, casual taco place with outdoor seating. He slid into a parking spot all the way in the back and rolled up the windows, clicking your seatbelt open.

"Get in the back," he ordered lowly, and you were scrambling to crawl over the seats.

Bags crinkled and tissue paper rustled as Steve's feet stomped into your new clothes, body too big for the backseat of his new Cadillac but boner too hard for him to ignore any longer. He whipped you around on the leather seat and hoisted your hips up, flipping your dress over to rest against the small of your back, hands clawing at your panties until they were dangling by your knees braced against the seat.

You whimpered and whined at the sound of is belt buckle clinking, and he whipped his cock out with fervor, hand resting on your asscheek.

"Shh, gotta be quiet, honey, hmm? Don't want —fuck—don't want anyone to see what a little slut you are, do you?"

You shook your head dumbly, eyes sinking closed as Steve slid inside of you, cock nestling deep into your gummy walls. You pressed your forehead against the window and groaned quietly down into the seat, hands pressed flat to the leather.

Steve's left hand snaked around your front to curl his fingers around your throat, choking off a whine. His thumb pressed into your airway firmly, cock pulsing at the throaty gasp you spit out. Each hump into you came with a hoarse, raspy gasp of air, vibrating against his hand. His other hand held onto your hip, keeping you upright as you trembled and weakened with every thrust.

Tired of being nice, Steve tore his hand away from your hip and wrapped it in your hair, slamming your face down onto the seat. He smushed you against the leather, anchoring you down as he began to furiously hammer into you, hips still raised to present yourself to him. Your whines grew louder, fighting against the block in your airway, eyes pinched closed. Steve's grunts were throaty and deep, hair flopping in his eyes as his skin dampened with exertion.

"What do you say, angel? Huh? What do you say to me when I spoil you?"

You were so far gone —Steve had made good on his promise to fuck you stupid. He always did.

"T-thank you, daddy," you cried hoarsely.

"Good girl. Now cum on my cock."

Steve fumbled around in the console for extra napkins to wipe away his cum seeping out between your thighs after, ignoring your disapproving tsk when he tossed them out the window and into the parking lot. He licked his thumbs and swiped them under your eyes to clean away the streaked mascara and tucked your hair behind your ears, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He helped you out of the car and pressed you against the door to fix your dress, hands coming to crowd you on either side of the roof.

"You have a good day, honey?"

You nod, cheeks still warm, hairline damp, pussy aching heavily, tummy fluttering. You give him a dopey, fucked out smile and rest your head back against the car door.

"So good, daddy."

Steve just chuckles, pulling you off the car and weaving your fingers together as he heads toward the restaurant.

"Yeah, I thought so."

YUMMY omg. He's so fucking 😩🥺 like just so grumpy but so sweet, he loves to take care of reader after fucking her good. He definitely makes sure you eat well after fucking you like that to "get your strength back up," and is all huffy when you ask for a margarita but lets you have just one for being such a pretty, sweet girl 💗

Happy birthday again to @carol-munson !!!! Thanks for creating the Steddieverse with me and being such a cool person 💓 xoxoxo RollerGirl

[yourlocalauthor]

Attitude (Boxer!Steve x AFAB!reader)

You've been in a sour mood all day, and it's really starting to piss Steve off.

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

Read the rest of the Boxer!Steve collection here!

(Warnings: brat!reader, dom!Steve, casual dominance, spanking/belting, slight degradation, use of sir as a title)

You had been pouting all day.

You were in Portland for Steve's next fight on Sunday, and he had been training every moment since you arrived last night. So, you were at the gym again, cozied up in a fluffy blue sweater, jeans, and thick fair isle socks, boots kicked off, legs tucked up to your chin as you held Mrs. Dalloway open in front of you. Your eyes traced over the words you had read a million times over, but you were barely comprehending a thing.

Steve's punching was too loud, his guttural grunting, his animalistic huffing echoing off the concrete walls of the gym. His manager, Mikey, encouraged him from the sidelines, attempting to amp Steve up. Steve's coach, Big, announced his jabs with the usual "1, 2" "1,2" and "jab, jab, jab," and you found yourself becoming increasingly irritated by the sounds of all the commotion.

You huffed as you reclined onto your back on the mat beneath you, socks sliding against the smooth leather. You held your book over your head and flipped to the next page, trying to drown out their shouting and smacking and huffing.

"Fuck's sake," you muttered to yourself, rolling onto your stomach.

Steve liked to check in on you while he was training, eyes constantly flittering to you when they took a pause for water, occasionally wandering over to you. So when Big took a smoke break, Steve yanked his gloves off with his teeth and tossed them in the ring, ducking under the ropes to saunter your way. Your jeans hugged your ass in the sexiest way, and he admired the fit with a tilt of his head as he wandered toward the mat you were lounging on.

"Hey, pretty, whatcha readin'?"

He stopped to peer over your shoulder, but you didn't bother looking his way. Steve paused when you didn't reply right away, confused by your hostility. Usually, you would have flipped onto your back and beckoned him down, eager for a kiss. Or you would have hopped up and hugged him, planting kisses all over his sweaty face, not a care in the world about how dirty it would get you.

But not today.

"Hey," Steve chuckled, chalking your silence up to being engrossed in your book, "did you hear me?"

The toe of his sneaker nudged your leg and you huffed.

"Yes, Steve, I heard you."

Steve pushed his hair out of his eyes, hands finding his hips. He huffed, still a little out of breath from training, t-shirt drenched in sweat.

"Baby, what's wr—"

"—Steve-O, come on! No time to waste," Big called as he came jogging back into the room.

Steve held his taped hand up toward his coach, gaze still focused down on you.

"Yeah, gimme a sec!"

Then he turned back to you, voice low and stern, the way it got when he was impatient:

"You gonna pout all day 'bout somethin'?" he asked you.

You huffed and smacked your book down, making sure it stayed open on your page. You tipped your head back and glared up at him.

"Steve, I'm just trying to read! We're gonna be here for like three more hours, anyway," you grumbled, head lolling back down to return to your book.

Steve frowned, brows creasing. He didn't like the attitude you were displaying. You were usually so sweet and loving and affectionate, and he didn't like being denied your affection, let alone being spoken to this way. At least not if he didn't deserve it.

But maybe you were just tired, jet-lagged from the flight yesterday. So, Steve stepped away and sighed.

"Fine. Stay there, alright? Don't go wanderin', angel."

You knew he meant well when he said that, that he just didn't want to lose you if you went wandering in a place you didn't know well. But it just irked you to hear him speak like that, like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. Usually his casual dominance made your heart flutter, but today it just pissed you off.

"Whatever," you huffed just as he started walking away.

Steve paused for a split second, turning sideways to glare at you, but decided against whatever sharp-tongued comment was going to come out of his mouth. He would let you have your fit so long as it ended after his training. Maybe you just needed more attention today, and he would give it to you when he had the time.

So, Steve returned to the ring and resumed his training, fist barreling into the mitt on his coach's hand, imagining all the ways he'd make you pay later.

**

But later, the team wanted to go out to dinner, try out some new, expensive, ridiculous place in the city. And here Steve went, you went.

You huffed and puffed at the hotel, tossing clothes around until the bedroom was littered with dresses and skirts and shoes. Steve frowned at the mess when he came out of the shower, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel. He leaned down and picked up one of your dresses by his feet, tossing it on the bed. He silently went around picking up your mess, and you glanced over your shoulder with another huff.

"Just leave it."

Steve looked up as he tucked your shoes back into the wardrobe, slamming the door closed after. He was silent otherwise, which surprised you. You expected to be reprimanded, to be told to watch your mouth and mind the way you spoke to him. He didn't like when you snapped, when you bit at him like a barking chihuahua. And usually, you didn't.

But you were just so fucking irritable today, and Steve was just on the receiving end of it.

The team rode together to the restaurant in a big black SUV called by Mikey, paid for by the endorsement, no doubt. You pouted against the window the entire way there, watching the rain roll down the glass. You traced one with your finger, following it down until it disappeared into the crease between the window and the car door. Steve shifted beside you, cigarette tucked between his fingers.

"Hey, you okay?" he murmured once more, reaching over to massage your thigh with his big hand.

He smelled good, freshly showered and sprayed with his cologne —it always reminded you of Christmas. You were glad that was one thing that hadn't changed since you met him. Even though Steve was far more famous, and had far more money than when you first started dating, he still insisted on wearing the same thirty dollar cologne he always did.

And though that scent washed over you like a comfortable blanket, lulling you like a bedtime story, you were still grumpy and moody. You jerked your leg away, huffing.

"M' fine."

Everyone in the car seemed surprised by your grumpy attitude. This was the sort of behavior they expected of Steve, not you. And you could feel everyone's eyes on you, but that just pissed you off even more.

Mikey, his girlfriend Sierra, Big, a few other guys from the team all piled out of the car before you and Steve, trailing into the restaurant. It looked busy, even from what you could see through the large windows up front, the lights inside dim and hazy. You let Steve help you out, but dropped his hand when he guided you toward the door. You knew he was reaching for it, so you grabbed it first, whipping it open harshly.

Steve stopped short and clenched his fist, jaw tightening. You were really fucking pushing his buttons now.

As the rest of the team headed toward the reserved table in the back, winding their way through the crowded restaurant, Steve reached out and snatched you back by the wrist. You were steered over toward the dark hallway leading to the bathrooms, pushed against the wall by Steve. His gaze is dark and unflinching as he stares you down, crowding you against the black velvet wall of the restaurant.

"What's with the attitude today?"

His voice booms in your chest where it's pressed against his. His forehead is creased, brows knitted together, that disappointed purse buckling his lips.

But you just roll your eyes and huff, hands coming up to slap against your legs.

"Nothing! I'm just hungry," you mutter, eyes flickering away from him.

If you look into those big brown eyes for too long, you'll probably start crying —and that would be just be embarrassing in front of all these people.

Steve stares you down a moment longer, expression hardened like stone, before he tugs you off the wall by your waist and sighs.

"Fine, come on."

He guides you toward the table with his arm around your waist. He doesn't need his sunglasses in this place, the light minuscule and barely-existent. He folds them into the collar of his shirt so they hang around his chest as he pulls out your chair and waits for you to sit. He guides it back in toward the table when you're seated and takes the spot beside you.

"We ordered a round of shots for the table!" Mikey calls across the table to Steve.

You and Steve don't drink much, but pre-fight shots are always non-negotiable. So, when the waitress comes back around with the shots, you clink your glass against everyone else's and throw it back, wincing at the sharp liquid rushing down your throat. Steve grabs your glass when you're done, placing it beside his empty one.

You grumble an "I don't know," when he asks what you want to eat, and you know that, at this point, you're being ridiculous. You know you're pouting, acting like a child with her chin in her palm at the table, lip jutted out dramatically. And Steve just rolls his eyes at the scene, shaking his head at his coach when he throws him a questioning look.

You've never acted like this around them before, and it's starting to worry them.

But when the waitress comes back around to take everyone's order, you let Steve order whatever he thinks is best for you, and then stop the older girl by her arm when she brushes by and beckon her close.

"Could I have a glass of champagne, too?"

She flashes you a smile and nods, chirping out a confirmation before she hurries away to fulfill your orders. Your champagne comes first, and you greedily gulp it down. Steve frowns next to you, shoulders squaring off as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Hey, just one," he demands firmly, tapping your thigh beneath the table.

You roll your eyes, placing the half empty glass on the table above your plate.

"Yeah, sure."

"Jesus," he huffs, shaking his head.

And your attitude just doesn't improve, no matter what Steve does. You ignore his demand and have another glass, and then as you're reaching for the third that comes your way, Steve reaches over and pushes down your hand.

"Okay, that's enough, baby."

You blink at him, eyes a little glossy, cheeks a bit flushed. You've barely touched your pasta, and even if he didn't have a problem with you drinking this much, he definitely had a problem with you drinking on an empty stomach.

"Oh, come on, Steve, let her have fun! Don't be such a Debbie Downer," Sierra, Mikey's girlfriend, calls from across you at the table.

Steve's eyes cut over coldly, narrowing on the other woman. She hasn't been around long enough to know your dynamic, to understand how he gets when it comes to you —but everyone knows not to interfere. Mikey chuckles nervously as he places his arm around her and murmurs into her ear, most likely warning her not to get involved when it comes to you, but you're already giggling and turning to Steve with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, Stevie. Take the stick out of your ass," you snicker.

It's painful how quiet the table gets. Silverware clanks, utensils scrape against the porcelain plates, glasses clink together —and then it just stops. All eyes turn slowly toward Steve, who sits as stiff as a board in his seat. Your cheeks are on fire as you set your champagne glass down, pulling your hands away to tuck them into your lap.

Now you really fucked up.

The first sign of life from Steve is when his throat bobs with a swallow. Then, he plucks his sunglasses from his shirt and slides them over his eyes, which makes your heart sink. God, were you that miserable that you personally induced a headache?

The entire table seemed to cower back, breath hitched, as Steve rose to his full height before his chair.

"We're gonna go," he announces.

It's the even tone of his voice, the stoic look on his face, the way he calmly steps behind you and pulls your chair away from the table, that make you realize: he isn't giving you a choice.

And suddenly, you don't feel like putting up a fight.

**

You stumble into the hotel room when Steve gives you a little shove, pout embedded into your lips. The door slams and makes you jolt, bouncing on your kitten heels. You slip them off slowly as Steve comes into view, mouth opening with a sharp inhale of breath as Steve heads your way.

But he breezes right by you.

Heart pounding, you follow him into the bedroom area of the suite. You yelp when you're pushed down onto the mattress, scrambling around to sit back on your knees and gaze up at Steve. He's looming over the end of the bed, arms crossed, chest puffed.

"Been pushin' my buttons all day, just waiting for me to snap, huh? Do you like when I snap, you little brat?"

His hand collects your jaw, urging you closer, higher up on your knees. Your pout deepens, tummy flip flopping.

"N-No—"

Steve glowers at you, teeth snapping as he cuts you off:

"—shut up. You know you like it. Fuckin' brat."

He pushes your jaw away, hand retreating back to his side. His words are biting, his tone cold. You know he's furious, and you know that it's blown past the usual level of "angrily turned on" —if you were to categorize it, you'd say that, right now, he's somewhere between "make you cry on your knees for forgiveness," and "belt your ass all night until you call Vegas."

Neither sound very promising right now.

You sink back down on your knees against the mattress and huff, and when your eyes roll, you swear they're rolling on their own. It's like you don't even have control over what you're doing, your body is just acting for you without a thought.

"Hey, you wanna —hey. Look at me when I'm talking to you," Steve barks.

You lift your eyes to his face where he remains towering over you. It only takes a second of gazing into your round little eyes for Steve to realize something is wrong. He softens a little, forehead smoothing as he shuffles closer to the bed and places his hand on your cheek.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you deny, but your voice has been diminished to a whisper.

Steve is framing your face with both hands now, palm warm and persuasive against your cheeks.

"Y/N, come on. Don't do this right now, just talk to me."

His use of your name instead of the usual "baby," or "angel," makes your lip wobble. He rubs his thumbs over your cheekbones in small circles to coerce it out of you, whatever it is that you need to admit. You tip your chin down toward your lap, fingers fiddling with the glimmering watch on your wrist.

"I just...I don't know, I've been feeling...antsy."

"Antsy?"

You squirm, adjusting on your heels.

"Anxious. We've just been away for so long, and I miss my friends. I miss our house, my family, our grocery store. We've been away so long, Steve, that I miss the grocery store!"

Steve's knees crack as he sinks down in front of you, crouched to meet your gaze. Amusement lightens his features as he smooths your hair away and tucks it behind your ear. He gives you earlobe a little tug.

"They have grocery stores here, honey."

You smile softly and reach up to weave your fingers through his. You hold his hand in your lap and sigh.

"You know what I mean. I miss going to the library and seeing everyone, and playing house with you. I just sort of feel like I'm going crazy here, Steve."

His free hand rubs your upper arm, thumb massaging into the muscle soothingly.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

You trace over his knuckles, focusing on a fading bruise.

"What could you have done? It's not like I can ask you to just ditch and go home. There's people counting on you."

"I don't give a fuck about anyone but you."

You lift your head and meet his gaze again. It bores into you, those almond-shaped brown eyes, ever so serious and intense. You don't know what to say, so you remain quiet. Steve squeezes your hand and leans forward, sighing.

"You want to go home?"

You nod.

"I just miss how simple it is there. I miss our life outside of all this."

A pinched look comes to his face for a moment, a brief flash of strained pain plaguing his features.

"But...this is my job, baby."

You sigh, looking off toward the bathroom.

"Fuck, I know, Steve. This is why I didn't wanna say anything."

You wriggle out of his hold and stomp off toward the bathroom, smacking at the light blindly to turn it on. Steve remains crouched down in front of the bed for a moment. He listens to the clink and clank of your jewelry hitting the marble counter, the whoosh of drawers opening.

Steve assumes your spot on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through the front of his hair. He curses lowly, rubbing his eye.

"Look, maybe I can talk to Mikey, tell 'im we need some time off. We can postpone the fight in—"

"—no, no, absolutely not! You're not postponing anything. I'm just being a baby, I'll get over it," he hears you call from the other room.

Steve stands after a beat and trails into the bathroom.

Your hair is gathered up, tied in a ponytail at the back of your head. Your makeup is gone, and you're rubbing soap into your cheeks as he comes into view. You can see him in your reflection, studying you, lost in thought. He watches you, propped against the doorframe on one shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, as you clean your face and pat it dry. You rub cream that smells like oranges into your skin and smooth it down your neck. You shake your hair out when you're done, letting it fall down against your shoulders again.

Steve saunters forward, removing his hands from his pockets to wind his arms around your waist and pull you against him. He nuzzles his head into your neck, nosing at your freshly cleaned skin, inhaling your sweet scent.

"You're my baby," he murmurs into you, the low hum of his voice shooting a spark up your spine.

You laugh, head falling back against his chest.

"That was cheesy. When did you get so cheesy, Harrington?"

Steve inhales sharply through his nose, and then his teeth sink into your shoulder. You yelp, jumping in his arms, and they tighten around your waist.

"Watch it. I'm still debating on if I should bruise your ass today."

Your heart flutters at the sentiment, cheeks warming.

"And what's stopping you?"

Steve looks at your reflection before him, eyebrows raised, half his face concealed in your neck.

"Well, I'm thinkin' it would just be a reward to you, and I'm not sure you deserve it."

Your pout returns, eyes meeting his in the mirror.

"But...it would make me feel better," you whine.

Steve pulls his head up from your neck. You can feel his bulge pressing into your ass from behind you and it makes your pussy ache emptily.

"It would?"

You nod eagerly, catching your lip between your teeth. Steve's chuckle vibrates through you, and he props his chin atop your head with a sigh of feigned annoyance.

"Oh, my little nymph. What am I gonna do with you?"

There's a brief pause before Steve whirls you around and pins his hand around your throat.

"Oh, I know."

You're giggling at his theatrics until he drags you from the bathroom by your throat and tosses you on the bed. You hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle as he wraps the leather around his wrist, and look over your shoulder just in time to see him coming to the end of the bed.

"Wait—"

"—nah, I'm done waiting, brat. Eyes forward."

You swallow, turning your eyes toward the headboard.

"Should I be nice and let you keep your dress on?"

Yes.

"No, sir."

"Good choice."

Your eager obedience earns you less than Steve originally had intended, but by the time he's done whipping the belt against your bare ass, you're weeping into the mattress and whimpering the occasional "please, no more." He relents when his arm starts to tire, tossing the belt toward the floor near the suitcase.

Steve huffs and pushes his hair away from his head, sweat collecting along his hairline. He crawls over your rigid body on the bed, straddling your throbbing ass. He scrapes his nails over the blooming skin, painted a vibrant scarlet red, purpling in areas he got more than once. You squealed at the burning pain that shot through you, and Steve hummed from low in his throat.

"You got somethin' you wanna say to me?"

"I'm sorry, Steve," you sniffle.

Steve pats your flaming cheek gently and you jolt.

"Good girl."

He flops down heavily on the mattress beside you, turning on his side to scan your face. You roll it toward him where your head is resting on your folded arms, cheeks damp and eyes pink. He offers you a sweet smile, reaching out to swipe a tear off with his knuckle.

"Doin' good?"

You nod, a pitiful smile crinkling your eyes.

"Good, Stevie."

He chuckles, inching forward, and juts a kiss against your wet mouth.

"My pretty girl. Wanna take a shower?"

And when you're all clean and showered again, face smooth and citrus-scented, body covered in his comfy yellow sweater from home, Steve wraps his arms around you and tangles your legs together under the covers.

"I think I'll ease up on the fights, spread 'em out. I want to spend some time back home with my best girl. Want her to put up that green tile in the kitchen she's been askin' for," he says suddenly as he gazes up at the ceiling.

You press your chin against his bare chest and grin.

"Really?"

He looks down and nods.

"Really."

You press a kiss to his jaw and hum, nuzzling into his neck. He reaches over blindly toward the nightstand, fishing through the drawer for a moment.

"And," he starts, straining to reach, and then a familiar black debit card comes into view, "so you can buy yourself somethin' pretty for the plane ride home."

You stare at the card, then tilt your head back and look at him.

"Stevie, I don't —"

"—what's mine is yours, angel. C'mon, take it."

You pluck the card from his fingers and hold it awkwardly in your palm. After a moment of silence, you tip back and look up into his eyes again.

"Will you help me pick it out?"

"I'd love nothin' more."

Mmm what a stern and sweet man Stevie is 💗💗 he LOVES to take his girl shopping, could spend hours watching you try things on, he thinks it's exciting 🥺 I also think reader and Steve would use Sir and Daddy interchangeably depending on how they feel in the moment

Hope you guys liked this one!! I have a lot more planned, idk how many more you guys care for lol. I hope you aren't getting bored of him!! Did not proofread so ignore any mistakes for my own sanity pls xoxoxo RollerGirl

[yourlocalauthor]

Lost (Boxer!Steve x AFAB!reader)

Steve loses a heavily advertised fight that everyone expected him to win. He takes the loss seriously, and takes out his anger on you (in the best way possible).

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy. Read the rest of the Boxer!Steve collection here!

(Warnings: mean dom!Steve, angst, spanking, kneeling, spit-kink, face slapping, degradation, orgasm control, choking, cream-pie)

author note: this is my favorite one so far 💗 my damaged little meanie that just needs control and love

The fight in New York was supposed to be easy.

When the team set it up, they assured Steve that his opponent was a nobody —a lowly fighter with a few notches on his belt won only out of sheer, dumb luck. They told him over and over again that it would be a breeze, that he would win without a doubt.

So it took everyone by surprise when Steve started to struggle in the first couple rounds, himself included. When he was knocked back and bloody by round two, up against the ropes two rounds later with nowhere to go and nothing to do but keep his arms up and protect his head as his opponent slammed his fists into his sides. He felt like he could throw up.

And you watched from your seat beside the ring, clenching every muscle in your body, hands shielding your eyes from watching but hearing every gruesome grunt and punch. Mikey was on his feet beside you, hands on his hips, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, Harrington! Get the fuck off those ropes!"

When the bell dinged, they had to pry his opponent off of him, and you pulled your hands away from your eyes to watch Steve limp over to his chair in the corner. He flopped down heavily, unstable on his feet, left eye flooding with blood. It gushed down his chest, bleeding through the gauze his medical team pressed to his brow. You leaned forward in your seat.

"Steve! Steve!"

He either couldn't hear you over the screaming and cheering or he didn't want to. You huffed and sank back down into your seat, nervously rubbing your hands against your bare legs to wipe the sweat off your palms.

"The fuck is happening! This kid was supposed to be shit," Mikey grumbled to you, keeping his voice low.

You looked up at him.

"Who told you that?"

"His team!"

You barked a laugh, shaking your head at the older man.

"Oh my god, Mikey, please don't tell me you thought they were telling the truth!"

When his face tinged red, your smile dropped. Your eyes widened.

"Mikey, are you serious? You guys barely trained for this, you said it would be easy!"

"I thought it would be! Shit!"

Mikey ran his hands over his buzzed head anxiously, sweating profusely. You had never seen him so nervous for Steve, and that made you terrified. You swallowed and shifted in your seat, legs bouncing. The bell dinged again to indicate another round, and you caught sight of Steve striding back to the center of the ring with his mouthguard back in.

And that night, for the first time in a long time, Steve lost.

The arena became overwhelmed with a chorus of boos when they lifted his opponent's gloved hand in the air to declare his victory. Mikey ushered you toward the tunnel as they conversed in the ring, motioning for the rest of Steve's team to follow you guys. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve in the ring and felt your heart ache.

You knew he would take this loss personally. You knew he would question his skills, his worth, his place in this boxing world. You knew he would wonder whether his fans would still like him, whether they would still support him after losing to someone so new when he was so experienced.

You sat down in one of the comfortable leather chairs in the dressing room and grabbed a water bottle, placing it in your lap for when Steve came in. Your leg bounced anxiously beneath the flouncy material of your floral dress, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you awaited his arrival.

"Fuck!" Steve roared from somewhere in the distance down the tunnel.

You straightened up, stiffening at the guttural sound of his voice. Mikey and the rest of Steve's team readied themselves, murmuring to each other lowly, most likely wondering how they were going to approach their boss when he came through that door.

The door flung open upon Steve's entrance, the man himself stomping through immediately after. His gloves were slung over his shoulder, laces tied together, leather knuckles bloodied. His hands were still taped, the hair on his chest slicked down and coiled in places from sweat. His left eye was bleeding profusely, gushing down the side of his face and causing him to squint. His jaw was set hard, eyes the emptiest you had ever seen them, shoulders so tense that you thought he might pull a muscle.

His gaze immediately found Mikey, coming to a stop in the center of the dressing room to stare him down. His silence was almost worse than his yelling. Mikey looked flustered beneath his glare, throat bobbing with a swallow, palms clamming up at his sides.

"S-Steve, man, listen—"

"You said...you said it was an easy win. You said not to worry about extra training, you said we had it in the bag!"

Steve stomped forward and Mikey stumbled back, holding his hands out nervously.

"Steve, man, I thought we did! I swear, I heard he was an easy win."

"From who?" Steve bellowed, voice reverberating off the dressing room walls.

You quickly scurried over to the door and closed it, returning to your seat to anxiously watch on. You knew you wouldn't be addressed until Steve thought that Mikey had been scolded enough.

When Mikey didn't reply, eyes turning down toward the ground, Steve's back muscles tensed. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, thrumming, pounding, blood rushing to your head. You were nervous for the older man.

"I swear to fuckin' —are you shitting me?"

Steve was hauling Mikey against the wall by the collar of his jacket before anyone could stop him, but an commotion of shouting and fumbling followed shortly after. Steve was in Mikey's face, veins in his neck protruding, skin reddening, spit flying as he shouted at him, calling him every name in the book. And Mikey just cowered against the wall, holding his hands up in surrender, squeaking apologies and excuses.

Big, Steve's coach, entered the room and pulled Steve off his manager. He separated them, holding his arm out to each of them to push them back, and all the yelling came to a stop. Steve pushed his hair back against his head with his taped palm and threw his gloves toward the padded bench, shooting Mikey another glare.

"Fuckin' bullshit, man!" he roared, sauntering toward the bathroom.

Everyone was at a standstill, wondering what to do next. A few of them glanced at you questioningly, but you were just as lost as they were. You had never seen Steve so inconsolable, so easily angered. But then again, he had never lost to someone like this —he had never lost to a fighter so new to the game. Every time he had lost before tonight (a number so low that you only needed to count using one hand) had been when he was against a seasoned, highly skilled fighter with decades on him.

He had never lost to an amateur.

"Get the fuck out!" Steve called from in the bathroom, voice bouncing off the tiles.

The murmuring picked back up as everyone grumbled and mumbled, heading over toward the door.

"Bye, Y/N," they whispered as they passed you, trailing through the door in a line.

You lifted your hand and waved, flashing a small smile. Big stopped in the doorway and leaned in toward you.

"Good luck."

You gave him another smile and nodded. He closed the door after him, leaving you in silence. You stayed in the chair as the water in the bathroom turned on, raining down in the shower. You stood to your feet and paced the carpeted room, waiting for the water to cut off.

Steve returned to the room in a towel with a scowl on his face, eye no longer bleeding but still mangled and ugly. It would need stitches, but you knew he wouldn't go see the medical team any time soon. He was too upset —you could practically feel the fury coming off of him like waves of heat.

He was silent as he stomped over to his bag and took out a change of clothes, dropping the towel and pulling them on with some difficulty. His stomach was starting to bruise, back still littered with old, greenish-yellow ones. You frowned at the state of him, unhappy with the unfair fight he had against him tonight. He hadn't been properly prepared, and you knew that if he had been, then he would have knocked this kid on his ass easily.

Steve tossed his bag onto the padded bench and huffed as he trailed over to the leather chair you had been sitting in and sank down. You glanced at him, then walked over to the table where the warm towels were and grabbed two. Your heels clicked as you walked into the damp bathroom and ran the towels under the sink, getting them wet and then ringing them.

When you returned to Steve, you sank to your knees in front of him and reached out to place your hand on his knee. He kept his hard gaze steadily on the wall ahead of him, jaw clenching and unclenching, chest puffing with each heavy breath he took. You reached forward and cautiously pressed the first damp towel against his eye, watching him pinch his eyes shut to suppress a wince. You dabbed it against his cut, shaking your head to yourself.

You hated when it got this bad. His left eye was always vulnerable, and if he didn't guard it properly in a fight, it always busted open.

"Can you see alright?" you asked him, tipping your head to check his left eye.

It was bloodshot and bruised, the skin swollen underneath. He blinked at you, gaze void of anything, and you sighed as you dabbed at the cut again. You didn't say anything more, knowing he wouldn't reply.

As you pulled the bloody towel away and reached for the next one to clean the blood on his mouth, Steve suddenly grabbed your wrists. You froze in surprise, peering up at him. He had that dead look in his eyes as he looked down at you, taped palms rough against your wrists, fingers tight around the bone.

You knew that look.

It sent a shiver down your spine, a flush crawling up your neck and into your cheeks. Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest. It skipped a beat at his next words:

"Get over my lap."

They were gruff and unemotional, commanding and stern. Your thighs quaked when you pushed off with your knees, dropping the towels on the ground near his feet. You stood in front of him for a moment, trying to decide if the tingling in your nerves were because you were turned on or frightened —maybe it was a bit of both.

And Steve just stared back at you expectantly, fingers tapping impatiently against the arms of the chair. You clenched your hands into fists as you bent over his lap, the fabric of his sweatpants soft against your body. He was sturdy and firm beneath you.

A rush of cool air washed over you as he lifted the bottom of your dress and flipped it over your back. Your ass was on display now, panties tiny and thin. Steve still bunched them up between your asscheeks and shifted in the chair. He seemed to take up every inch of his seat, his presence so large and dominating. Like a king in his throne.

It suddenly occurred to you that his hands were still taped, and you only had a moment to come to terms with that before the first spank was coming down on you. It felt like hot sandpaper, the scratchy gauze of the wraps felt rough and unkind. You jolted forward at the sting settling in your skin, the heat blooming on your asscheek.

Steve didn't give you a moment to catch your breath. His hand reigned down on your ass unmercifully, holding you down against his lap with his other forearm pressed firmly into your spine. You whimpered and whined and yelped into the arm of the chair, eyes pinched closed, mouth drooling over the leather where your cheek was squished. It was clear, as he continued to spank you, that he was taking his anger out on your poor little ass.

You lost count of how many he gave you, but your ass was on fire and you knew it would be bruised within a few hours. Your cheeks were wet with tears, nose snotty and messy. And, of course, your panties were fucking soaked.

Steve tapped your ass lightly to signal you to get up, and you stood shakily to your feet. You lingered in front of him with your arms hanging at your sides, sniffling, eyes cast down, ass throbbing. Steve took a moment to gaze at you before standing to his full height, towering over you.

"You remember your safe word?"

Excitement shot through you. You tried not to let it show, keeping your eyes down, your body still. You nodded. Steve remained unemotional as he lifted a hand to your face and pinched your chin between his fingers. He tilted your gaze up, giving you permission to meet his eye. You loved how empty those brown eyes were.

"Good. You might need it."

**

Steve insisted on driving back to the hotel, barking at Mikey to give him the keys to his car. Mikey knew he was good for it, that he would return his car back tomorrow unscathed, but everyone was on edge around Steve right now. You scampered after Steve in your heels, trying not to wince and flinch every time your dress brushed against your abused ass.

And when you sat in the passenger seat, the car humming beneath your feet, the leather of the seats bit into your bruises and burning skin. You shifted uncomfortably, hit with a stinging pain from your full weight pressed into the seat. You twisted your fingers in your lap and tried to lift up, taking some of the pressure off your ass to ease the pain.

Steve glanced at you from behind the wheel, elbow on the window, the other on the wheel.

"Sit down."

You looked over at him, cheeks burning again. You slowly sank back down, whimpering at the pain. He was being cruel.

You loved it.

When you continued to shift uncomfortably, Steve huffed and reached over to grab your thigh. His fingers dug into your squishy flesh painfully.

"Knock it off."

"Sorry," you murmured quietly, voice small.

Steve shook his head, eyes set steadily on the dark road ahead.

"I fucking had that. They told me this was a throwaway fight, that it didn't even —I knew I shouldn't have listened to fucking Mikey. Fuckin' dipshit with two brain cells —now I look like an asshole!"

His voice was even louder in the small confines of the car, ringing in your ears. You jumped under his hand when the other came up to punch the wheel. You tensed, and Steve felt it. His eyes cut over to you, softening for a second. His hand loosened on your thigh, kneading the flesh.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm —god, I'm fuckin' pissed."

You glanced down at your lap.

"S' okay."

Steve's head turned from you to the road in a quick succession.

"You'll tell me if I go too far? Cause...," he trails off, stops, rolling his tongue over his lips as he shakes his head, "I'm not gonna be nice."

You tried not to get too giddy when he said that, but you just couldn't help it. Every time he said those words, you felt like you came to life.

"I can take it."

The car falls silent. The rumble of the engine fills the void, the rest coated in impenetrable tension. Steve takes his hand off your thigh and returns it to the wheel, where he holds it in a white-knuckle grip. He shifts in his seat, and presses his foot down harder on the gas. The engine roars as you begin zooming down the busy road.

"Shouldn't a' said that, baby," he growls, shaking his head again.

Oh, but you're so glad you did.

**

When you get to the hotel, Steve tugs you in and leaves you to stand in front of the closed door as he stalks into the bedroom area of the suite. It was a fully decked out room, the biggest (and nicest) in the hotel. A mini bar in the corner, a sitting area with a television, a bedroom with a ginormous and exceedingly comfortable bed, the walls a pretty peach wallpaper.

Steve returns but doesn't acknowledge you. He walks over to the bar and grabs a bottle and a stout, chubby glass. He pours some of the dark liquid into the glass, and drops some ice cubes into the bottom from the ice bucket. They clink together as he strides over to the sitting area and flops into the armchair, spreading his legs wide.

"C'mere."

You step forward, but stop when Steve holds up a finger. He doesn't even look at you, just keeps his eyes down on the drink in his hand as he swirls the liquid against the ice.

"On your knees."

You flush brightly as you sink down to your hand and knees, slowly slinking over to him. You crawl between his legs, where you sit back on your knees and try not to squirm from the feeling of your heels biting into your sore ass. Steve still doesn't look at you, bringing the glass up to his lips to taste the drink. He smacks his lips together and hums absently.

It's so mean for him to be spread open like this in front of you, his hard bulge right in front of your face, straining against his sweatpants. You can smell him, musky and sweaty and bloody with just a hint of the soap they keep at the arena. You feel like you could burst at any moment if he doesn't touch you soon. Your pussy weeps between your legs, still clothed in your damp panties beneath your dress.

"Light me a cigarette," he demands lowly.

You immediately crawl to the cigarettes on the coffee table, pulling one out and, in a quick decision, put it between your lips. You return to Steve and hold up your chin to offer him the cigarette in your mouth. His lip quirks slightly at your antics, but he suppresses it expertly, reaching out to take it from you wordlessly.

You take his lighter from his pocket and flip it open, holding the flame to the end of the cigarette in his mouth. When it's lit, you pull it away and set the lighter down on the side table next to the chair. Steve eases back into the chair and spreads his arms out, puffing on the cigarette and creating a haze of grey smoke.

The silence is killing you, and the way he blows out that smoke drives you crazy. God, you're so fucking horny, why can't he just—

"Open."

God, finally. You immediately unhinge your jaw and open your mouth, even sticking out your tongue in hopes it would excite him. But oh, Steve, your tough, solemn, and stern big man, just leans forward and spits into your mouth. You jolt in surprise, but otherwise stay planted firmly between his legs on the ground.

Steve sits back again and takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Just hold that open like that, honey. Don't drool, you'll make a mess."

Your face is on fire, burning in the best way possible as your tummy flutters. You hold your tongue out and try not to let your saliva drip all over, trying to tip your head back and let it sink back into your mouth before it comes trailing out. Steve grabs your jaw and tilts it back down, puckering his lips before spitting in your mouth again. His cigarette smokes from between his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

He leans back again and takes mercy on you.

"Alright, honey, you can swallow."

You roll your tongue back in and swallow down his globs of spit, letting the warm liquid slide down your throat. It's so disgusting that you love it, and you can feel your pussy drenching your panties. Steve takes a sip of his drink and then sets it on the side table. Your eyes follow it eagerly, waiting for him to get to the good part.

"You wanna play with me?" he asks you, looking down at you with his head resting back against the chair.

His eyes are hooded heavily, gaze intense. His chest rises and falls with short, shallow breaths. You nod eagerly at him, shuffling forward on your knees.

"Yes, please."

"M' not gonna be nice."

"Please don't be nice, daddy, please."

Steve grunts at that sound, at those words tumbling out of your mouth. He reaches forward and snatches you by the hair, fingers tight against your scalp as he squeezes his fist.

"Fuck, I love you. Get that mouth on me, come on."

You're beside yourself as you yank his sweatpants down over his hips to rest at his knees, pushing up on your own to hover your mouth over his crotch. He doesn't help feed his cock into your mouth like he usually does, opting to let you struggle with whether or not to reach out and touch him. He hadn't said you could. He only mentioned your mouth, not your hands.

You reach forward tentatively, and when he doesn't say anything, let your fingers wrap around his silky cock. As you tip it back toward your mouth, Steve lets his hand smack down against your right cheek. You yelp, letting his cock slip from your hands and drop back down against his stomach.

"I didn't say you could touch."

"Sorry, m' sorry."

He juts his chin toward his lap.

"Try again."

You lean forward and open your mouth, using your tongue to try and push the head of his cock away from his stomach and into your mouth. You suck tightly when you're successful, relishing in his deep, guttural groan.

"Just like that, pretty girl. Mm, such a good mouth."

He keeps his hand anchored in your hair and uses it to guide you up and down. You hollow your cheeks out and keep a tight suction around him, drooling all down his cock. You keep your hands in your lap, fisting the material of your dress tightly. You're grateful for the small relief given to your ass while you're up on your knees like this, but it still aches hollowly behind you.

You realize, as you kneel between his legs on the ground and let him hump into your mouth, tucking your hands behind your back and looping your fingers together, that Steve isn't angry.

He's lost.

Both literally and figuratively, in every sense of the word. If Steve isn't a winner, then what is he? If he isn't the best, then what is he? Steve can't accept defeat, can't stand failure, refuses to settle for anything less than perfection. It's a byproduct of his father's parenting, something he never outgrew.

And the failure he endured today made him feel out of control, made him feel small and insignificant. He wanted that control back.

He needed that control back.

Steve pulls you off him by your hair, and his cock falls from your mouth with a pop. Your lips are slick and swollen, perfectly rosy and plump. You look up at him as you pant, swallowing down the thick pre-cum coating your throat. He hums from low in his throat and reaches out to stroke your face, running the pad of his finger down along your tears. You can't tell if he's trying to smear them in or clean them up, but your eyes flutter closed anyways at the soft touch.

His finger circles your mouth, running over the soft, wet surface of your lips. He traces their shape, leaning forward to inspect your face silently, to let his eyes wander over every inch of you like he's memorizing your features. Your heart pumps in your ears, in your throat, in your pussy, aching hollowly, painfully, eagerly.

His gentle touch only lasts so long. He shoves two fingers into your mouth and straightens up at the sound of your gagging, other hand coming to circle your throat. Your eyes widen a bit as they gaze up at him, glimmering with tears, cheeks reddening when your back hunches with another gag.

"Oh, gotta work on that, honey. Thought I taught you better," he admonishes you, though you both knew there was no actual way for you to avoid gagging with his fingers prodding at your throat like that.

But when he pulls his fingers from your mouth and wipes your spit against your cheek, squishing them together with his hand around your jaw, you tell him exactly what he wants to hear:

"I'm sorry, daddy."

He hums again.

"Well, you can make it up to me."

He takes one last sip of his drink, cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray. You hadn't even seen him put it out. Your eyes were probably closed, trying to focus on his cock or his fingers lodged deep in your throat.

"Come on," he calls, already walking away, snapping his fingers like the asshole he is.

You scurry after him, crawling your way to the bedroom. You see him bending to grab his belt from the floor from earlier and falter, stopping where you are.

"But, I—daddy, wait—"

"—I didn't say to talk. Come on, on the bed."

You slowly crawl up the bed, eyeing the thick brown leather belt in his hands warily. You had already been spanked throughly tonight, you weren't sure if you could handle being belted. You didn't want to call "Vegas," because you didn't want to stop playing, but a belting would be too far.

"Relax," Steve grunts as he pushes you onto your back and pulls you by your wrists up to the headboard.

He loops the belt around your wrists and feeds it through the buckle, pulling tight. You gasp at the small bite in your skin, back arching off the mattress as Steve yanks your wound wrists to the headboard and loops the rest of the length of the belt through the bars. When you're secured, he taps your cheek firmly.

"See? So pretty all tied up," he coos, squeezing your cheeks together and giving your face a shake.

When you didn't reply, heart fluttering and pussy weeping, the amusement on his face vanished, eyes narrowing. His fingers tightened on your face until you squeaked.

"Now what are you supposed to say?" his voice was low and dangerous.

Your heart sped up.

"Thank you, daddy," you chirped sweetly, voice higher than usual.

Steve relaxed his grip, though his face didn't soften.

"Better."

He released your face and turned, walking toward the end of the bed. Your eyes followed, tracing his every movement. He was slow as he took off his shirt, arms stiff as he yanked it over his head. He tossed it somewhere on the floor and shoved off his pants, kicking them away.

And there he stood in all his bruised and battered glory in front of you, muscles pulled taut and sculpted. His hair had been tousled from removing his shirt and hung in his eyes. He seemed almost predatory as he loomed over you, presence overwhelming and godly. He was so fucking pretty.

"You want me to fuck you? Want me to make you cry on my cock?"

You nodded vigorously, mouth salivating at the sight of his long, thick cock hanging between his legs. Your belly clenched, your pussy ached. Steve cocked his head, quirking a brow. You quickly caught on, wetting your lips before speaking.

"Please fuck me, daddy, please make my cry on your cock," you whimpered, voice higher than normal due to your pathetic desperation.

Steve sighed.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem like you really want it, baby. Maybe I should just go fuck my hand in the—"

"—please, daddy! Please, please, please fuck me! I'll be so good, I promise," you cried.

Steve was on you in an instant. He crawled the length of the bed and wedged himself between your legs, yanking at the buttons going down your dress until the thin fabric split in two. He flipped them away from your body to expose the curves of your figure to him. He pulled your panties down your legs and flung them somewhere across the room.

His hands consumed the space of your thighs as he placed one on either side of his torso, cock brushing against your weeping pussy. Your heart sped up, panting impatiently as you watched him from your tied up position below.

He plunged into you with one rough push, cock prodding the deepest part of your tummy. You shrieked when he bottomed out, back arching off the bed as your jaw unhinged to hang open. Steve grunted, fingers biting into your thighs as his hips began to snap forward.

He started up a rhythm that was unrelenting and cruel, full of fury and animalistic hunger. His eyes were so far gone, fucked out on the power of looming over you, of controlling you entirely —in the same way you got fucked out from Steve's rough hands and mean voice. You could only gasp and mewl, writhing on the mattress as far as Steve's hands and your wound wrists would allow.

One of his hands came slamming down next to your head to prop himself up, the other still gripping onto your thigh in a bruising grip.

"Fuck, look at you. Just a fucking whore for me, aren't you? A little fucking whore, huh?"

Your eyes rolled back, a tremulous breath leaving you heavily.

"Uh-huh!"

"Such a filthy little girl, you are. You like bein' slapped around, baby? You like when I hit you?"

Steve's hand came down hard on your cheek and your eyes popped open, then immediately sank closed again with a pleasured whine. The pain that bloomed in your skin sent a sensation like swarming, buzzing bees in your belly. You felt like you were vibrating. Steve smacked you again and then wrapped his hand around your jaw, fingers digging into your sore cheek. You whimpered, looking up into his dark gaze. You could feel the tears coming on again as a familiar pressure began to build up in your belly.

"There they are. Cryin' already, baby? What's a' matter, too much?"

You nodded, pouting up at him. But Steve's smirk was evil, vindicated by the way your face screwed up and your body tried to twist away when he began to hammer into your harder. Your head bumped the headboard with each rough push between your legs,

"You're gonna fuckin' take it," Steve growled between clenched teeth.

"M' take it, daddy, I'll take it," you mumbled dazedly.

Steve dipped his head down and latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking in just the right spot, just over your pulse point in the juncture between your ear and your jaw. He could feel your pulse throbbing in his mouth as he sucked the skin, pulling a raspy cry from your throat. A tingle trickled down your spine and brought goosebumps to your skin.

All the while, Steve hadn't stopped moving. Your thighs were burning, your ass aching painfully where it rubbed against the sheets, your legs quaking, toes curling, hands clenching into fists between the belt. You were so, so close.

"Don't cum," Steve grumbled into your ear, breath hot on your skin.

You sobbed. Your tears spilled over and your heart ached because he was being so mean. He knew you were close, could feel your body wind up like a coil, ready to spring. But he wanted to see how far he could push you, how long you could hold out just because he told you to.

"Please, daddy!"

Steve ignored you, moving to the other side of your neck to suck over the same spot. He shoved your head to the side by your chin and latched on, grunting at the cry you released. He slowed his hips a tad but continued to hump into you cruelly. If he really wanted to be mean, he'd wrap his hand around your throat and snake the other one down to rub at your clit.

He knew you'd cum and he knew you'd start weeping, apologizing profusely for cumming without his permission. He didn't know if he should be that mean tonight, you had been a good little angel, after all.

You were teetering on the edge, and as Steve released your skin with a wet pop, teeth marks and a purple bruise left in his wake, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. You squeezed out a few more tears, streaming down your cheeks and onto the pillow beneath you.

"Daddy, please, please, lemme cum!"

Steve slammed his mouth onto yours. He captured your lips in a feverish kiss, tongue gliding along yours. He tasted like bourbon and cigarettes. You cried into his mouth as his hand crept down and his thumb pressed into the slick button of your clit.

"Cum," he grumbled against your lips.

You screamed into his mouth, and he quickly pulled back to slap his hand over your mouth. Your muffled cries made the backs of his thighs shake, and he pinched his eyes shut as he spurted into your pussy. An elongated moan left him, the sound pornographic and beautiful. He pumped into you slowly to milk the rest out of him, hand leaving your mouth to drag down the column of your throat. He squeezed firmly, thumb digging into your bruised pulse point, and slipped out of you with a gasp.

Cum immediately seeped out, milky liquid coating your puffy pussy lips and the satin sheets below you. Steve hummed happily, reaching down to gather some of it on two of his fingers. He lifted them to your mouth, where you latched on and suckled them clean.

"Good girl."

His fingers returned to your pussy, where he pushed the cum back into you until it was deep inside you, leaving you full and used. He released your throat and sat back on his haunches with a satisfied smile.

"Always so good to me, angel."

You flashed him a dazed and exhausted smile, head lolling to the side. He spanks your ass for good measure as he stands and reaches over to unbuckle the belt holding your wrists to the headboard. They crash limply to the mattress when he releases them, and he reaches down to rub his hand over them soothingly.

"You doin' okay, honey?"

You nod, blinking slowly and blearily. Steve slides his arm under you and scoops you up into his arms. You hear the water rushing into the oversized tub as he sinks down against the quartz ledge, propping you up on his lap as he peels your dress off the rest of the way. He unhooks your bra and sets them on the tiled floor, rising to his feet to lower you into the tub.

He steps in behind you and grunts as he sinks into the warm water, squeezing his eyes closed at the tension and aching in his muscles. He leans back against the curve in the tub and runs a wet hand over his face. You turn and look at him, angling your body sideways, coming to a little more.

"Hey," you call to him softly.

He opens his eyes, blinking back at you.

"Yeah."

"It's just one fight, baby."

You whirl around to face him fully, ass scraping painfully against the bottom of the tub and you wince a little. Steve reaches out and steadies you by the arm, brows furrowed.

"You okay?"

You nod, placing your hands on his cheeks. You rub your thumbs against his cheekbones and smile.

"I'm perfect. You know that it doesn't matter if you win or lose, right? Not to me."

Steve sighs, looking away, down toward the water. His lip does that little thing it does when he's upset, curling up toward his nose, and he shakes his head softly.

"I just...I hate feelin' like this, you know? Just feelin' like such a fuck up."

You frown, tipping his head up toward you.

"You are not a fuck up, Steve. You have achieved such great things, and one loss doesn't erase that. Your worth can't be measured by how many fights you win or lose. You're worth more than these, you know."

You collected his hands in yours, bringing his knuckles up to your lips. You sprinkled kisses along the backs of his hands, pulling a soft chuckle from him. He smiled down at you fondly, pliant to your touch.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You smiled up at him, lacing your fingers through his.

"Musta been something good, huh?"

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Mean dom!Steve that turns to gooey soft!Steve means so much to me. He loves slapping you around and then kissing it better 🥺 he's so yummy, I love him.

Sorry this one took a little bit!! I hope you guys still love it 🥺 I think it's my favorite Boxer!Steve blurb so far xoxoxo RollerGirl

[yourlocalauthor]

Pressure (Boxer!Steve x AFAB!Reader)

When the pressure of his rise to fame causes Steve to partake in some nasty extracurriculars, you voice your concern. A strain on your relationship might just be fatal.

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

Read the rest of the Boxer!Steve collection here!

(Warnings: drug use, verbal argument, angst, make-up sex, kitchen floor sex, soft Boxer!Steve, cream-pie)

The paparazzi was everywhere these days.

They were outside your house, outside Steve's gym, outside the arenas, inside the arenas, waiting at the curb of every restaurant, zooming by every stoplight the car came to —all to try and get a picture of King Steve and is pretty little girlfriend.

It had gotten to a point where Steve didn't even like you going anywhere by yourself, too afraid that someone would follow and harass you. You couldn't blame him, but you were starting to feel stifled. You felt like everywhere you turned, there was going to be somebody waiting for you.

You missed the privacy and peace of anonymity, and you could tell that Steve did, too.

He was irritable lately, even more so than usual. Grumbling under his breath about "those fuckers with the cameras," glaring at everyone that walked by in suspicion that they would come up to him wanting something, snapping at pretty much everyone about everything. He tried not to let it affect you two, tried not to be too grouchy with you, but he hadn't been the nicest.

You knew it was because he was stressed, because he had two fights two weekends in a row and back to back training, never given a moment to breathe or a second to rest. His body ached all over and he was in constant pain. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him without his sunglasses on except for when he was sleeping. He wore them everywhere to combat his throbbing headaches.

You had barely even had time to fuck with his busy schedule. By the time you guys got back to the hotel or back home from a fight or training, he would just crash in bed from exhaustion. And maybe the fact that he couldn't release any of the tension he was harboring, any of the rage that was festering by fucking you into the mattress hard and rough, was exactly why he was so moody and mean lately.

Tonight, Mikey had scored you and Steve an invitation to a rockstar's party in Hollywood. You were in California for a fight, which Steve had won by knockout last night. You had a few days before you had to fly to Seattle, so everyone thought it would be a good idea to celebrate his victory with a night out.

"I think I might just stay in tonight," you pouted as Steve wandered around the hotel room, rooting through the luggage on the floor for something to wear.

He turned and looked at you over his shoulder, the evidence of yesterday's fight still fresh and colorful on his face.

"What? Baby, come on, I need you there."

He pulled a black t-shirt over his head and pushed back his hair, still damp from the shower. He sauntered over to the bed where you were sitting and eased himself down, reaching over to catch your chin in his palm. You pouted in his hand, cheeks squished by his fingers.

"I just don't feel like partying, Steve. I'm tired."

He sighed, disappointment touching his face.

"Not even for a little bit? Half an hour, then make something up about a stomachache and dip?"

You giggled, causing his lip to quirk.

"You really want me to go that badly?"

"Yes!"

You sighed, eyes softening.

"Alright, fine."

He scooped you up and off the bed, twirling you around with an excited growl. You giggled and squealed, kicking your legs to be let down. He tossed you on the bed and tried not to wince at the aching in his back.

"Come on, get dressed."

**

Both of you were in good spirits as you rode to the party in the limo called for you by his manager. Steve was sporting his sunglasses and all black attire, hair a neat and luscious heap atop his head. He smoked a cigarette on the way, leg bouncing anxiously as the limo drove past a sea of flashing cameras and bumbling bodies eager for a picture of all the guests.

The rockstar was well known and all their guests tonight were famous, Steve included. And while the attention might not have been centered solely around him, they were still more than willing to turn their cameras and snap his photo the moment you stepped out of the car.

He came out first, standing to his full height with a scowl on his face. He reached in for you after, taking your hand and hoisting you out to stand on the pavement beside him. You intertwined your fingers as you headed up the winding driveway toward the ridiculous mansion up ahead. It was alight with lively music, noisy chatter, and different colored lights.

"Steve, Steve, look over here!"

"Steve, are you and Y/N going to get married any time soon?"

"Steve, how do you feel about the fight with McGregor on Friday?"

Steve was gripping you tight as you headed away from the shouting voices and flashing cameras, jaw clenched tight and eyes narrowed.

"Fuckin' vultures," he grumbled angrily.

You glanced back at them at the bottom of the driveway. They had moved on to their next victim, a pretty movie star exiting her Mustang. You sighed and leaned your head against his firm bicep, rubbing your hand against his forearm soothingly.

"Let's just try and have fun tonight."

But Steve must have misunderstood what you meant by "fun."

He was bombarded with greetings the moment you stepped into the house, and you tried to figure out exactly who it belonged to based on the framed photographs ascending the stairway. Steve pulled you along as he shook hands and slapped arms, but refused to stoop and kiss cheeks of the women saying hello out of respect for you.

"Steve-O! Come on, there's some guys you gotta meet," Steve's manager, Mikey's voice broke through the chatter, the man himself appearing in a day suit under the archway of the living room.

Steve patted the man in front of him on the shoulder and started heading Mikey's way, keeping a tight hold on your hand. You skittered after him in your tiny heels, eyes wandering around the expensive home. You were admiring a painting on the pristine white wall of the hallway when you entered a dingy, hazy room full of half naked people.

You stopped short at the sight of practically naked women perched on the lap of every man in the room, passing blunts and chopping up lines of cocaine on the glass coffee table. Your lips parted in dismay when one man in an oversized purple suit leaned over and snorted the white line through a rolled up dollar bill.

"Alright, so this is Chris. Chris, this is the big man, Steve," Mikey introduces Steve to another man sitting on a clean white couch.

The other man stands to shake Steve's hand, and Steve refuses to let you go even as he does so. You swallow as you look away from the drugs piled on the coffee table and over toward the stranger in front of your boyfriend.

"Great to meet you, man, I'm a big fan," Chris gushes.

You sigh, shifting your weight on your heels. Steve lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, cutting his eyes to Mikey while clearing his throat. Mikey looks at him, then at you, and gets pink in the face.

"Oh, right! Chris, this is Y/N, Steve's girlfriend."

Chris looks at you then and reaches out to grab your hand. He presses a kiss to your knuckles and smiles, but you find yourself creeped out rather than charmed. Your stomach churns and flops uncomfortably.

"Lovely to meet you. You're gorgeous."

"She is," Steve deadpans sternly.

You push closer to Steve as Chris lets your hand go, clearly getting the hint. Steve continues to stare him down as his fingers dance along your waist, jaw set tightly.

"Right, so, I thought we could do some business," Mikey speaks up, clapping his hands together to break the thick tension.

"What kinda business?" you inquire.

Chris merely glances at you.

"Big boy business, hon."

You scoff, straightening up where you're pressed against Steve, heels clicking on the hard floor beneath you. Steve's hand tightens on your waist.

"Hey, watch your mouth," Steve barks, turning to Mikey to glare at him next," the fuck kinda business am I gonna have with this douche?"

Mikey sighs in annoyance and shifts in toward Steve, leaning up to murmur in his ear. You strain to hear what he's saying over the booming music and lively chatter, the sound of ecstatic shouting somewhere in the distance. You think you hear a splash where there must be a pool.

When Mikey pulls away from your boyfriend, Steve's face has changed a little. While attempting to remain stoic, his glare has softened a little, jaw unclenching. He looks down at you, then over at Mikey, and shakes his head.

"Nah, man. We're good."

"Oh, come on! You need it, man, you've been a little tense lately. The endorsements are gonna start seein' it and questioning your state of mind."

Steve barked a laugh, genuinely amused by his manager's bullshitting.

"Fuck, you're funny. Fine."

You look up at Steve, scanning his face. His sideways smile hardens again as the men start to move toward the sofa. Chris beckons everyone to scoot and make room, and you refuse when Steve sits and tugs you down. He looks up at you through his sunglasses, lips parted.

"What?"

You look over at Chris as he grabs a tiny baggie of cocaine and pours it out onto the dusty glass, residue from earlier still sprinkled across the surface. Your stomach churns almost painfully, getting sick just watching him line up the drugs. Your skin is buzzing and your head is starting to pound, and you just want to leave.

"You're...you're really doing this?" you ask Steve.

His head turns to watch Chris and Mikey snort up their line through the rolled up dollar bill, and then Mikey is passing it to Steve.

"It's not a big deal, honey," Steve tells you lowly, spreading his legs apart on the oversized couch.

You feel a flush creep up your chest and down your back, gathering sweat beneath your dress. The room feels stuffy and sticky and small, like the walls are closing in on you. You can't remember a time when you were so uncomfortable.

"I don't —I'm not sure that's—"

Your stuttering is cut off by Mikey patting Steve on the back.

"Come on, Harrington! Are we doin' this or what?"

Steve takes the rolled up money from Mikey and leans toward the coffee table. He lines up the end of the makeshift tube with the top of the line and then inhales through his nose, plugging the other. He swipes down until the line is gone, vanishing up his nasal cavity.

He straightens up when he's done, sniffing loudly and swiping at his nose with his bruised knuckles. He clears his throat and bounces his leg, shaking his head out a little to clear the tingling in the bridge of his nose.

"Shit," he coughs, passing the dollar back to Mikey and Chris.

If he had bothered to look at you, he would have seen the look of shock on your face, muddled with disgust. You shook your head to yourself, cheeks sweet with the familiar sensation of sickness coming on. You stepped away from Steve and scoffed, tearing your eyes away from him.

"I can't believe you just did that," you bit harshly.

Steve finally turned to look at you, peering through the darkened shades over his eyes, only to catch a glimpse of your figure rushing through the crowded room.

"Fuck," he barked as he leapt to his feet, stumbling over the glass coffee table.

"Aw, gotta go check in with the wife," Chris teased.

Steve stopped short on the other side of the coffee table and glared at him.

"Shut the fuck up."

He was too eager to find you to bother staying and arguing with the man over how to speak about you, to punch him in the nose and mess up his ugly face. He ran out of the room and through the house, scanning every inch of the mansion for your familiar face. His head was getting fuzzy, vision blurring, limbs heavy —the cocaine was taking affect.

You were heading down the path toward the driveway when he found you, immediately rushing your way.

"Y/N!"

You continued on, ignoring his call for you. You heard him curse lowly and then heard his hurried steps, until he soon appeared before you. He placed his hand out to stop you from moving, reaching for your arm.

"Y/N, come on. Where are you going?"

You yanked your hand away, glaring up at him.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Do you have any idea what that shit could do to you?"

Steve's lips parted at the sound of such harsh words tumbling from your mouth. You rarely ever swore, and never so crudely. He had never seen you so upset before.

"Wh—Y/N, come on. It's not a big deal, it was—"

"—not a big deal? All it takes is one night to become addicted, Steve. That was so fucking reckless, even for you," you snapped, pushing at his chest out of anger.

Steve stumbled back a step but caught himself, jaw clenching. He reached up and yanked his sunglasses away, letting them dangle from his hand at his side as he stepped back in front of you.

"You know, my recklessness pays the bills, honey. My recklessness bought you that pretty little dress, this necklace, those shoes," Steve's voice was getting loud, and you could tell his anger was beginning to cloud his judgement when his hand came out to tug at your dress and pluck at your necklace.

You pulled away from him, turning your body to the side while hardening your gaze on him.

"Fuck you, Steve, I never asked for any of it!"

"But you took it, didn't you? Took it all! You know, you're really becoming spoiled."

You guffawed at Steve, eyes bulging up at him. You felt your chest constrict, your stomach drop painfully. You had never spoken to each other like this. You knew anger was fueling the both of you, fogging over your thoughts.

But right now, you didn't like how this felt. You didn't like that empty look in Steve's eyes, the way his brooding, stern glare was fixated on you. He wasn't pretending to be upset this time, he really was.

And what did he have to be upset for? He was the one who was in the wrong. However, it was clear that Steve didn't see it that way.

"Spoiled?" you echoed breathily, scoffing humorlessly.

Steve huffed through his nose like a bull, tipping his chin up to look down his nose at you. You hated that look. You felt so small and insignificant under it.

You didn't like who was standing in front of you right now, and that hurt you. Your lip started to wobble and your eyes stung with hot tears, and suddenly you were that girl —that girl standing in the driveway in front of all these people and those cameras getting yelled at by her boyfriend.

"I wanna go home, Steve," you whimpered.

And you felt like a kid for crying and pouting, standing there like a lost little girl with her teddy in her hand. Chin shaking, nostrils flaring while you attempted to keep your tears at bay. Steve became a blurry blob as they pooled over your eyes.

"Fine, I'll fuckin' take you home," he grumbled, taking a step toward the mansion to no doubt say his goodbyes.

"No. Hawkins, home."

Steve stopped, shoes scuffing agains the pavement. His back stiffened where it was facing you, muscles pulled taut. He sighed when he turned around, shaking his head at the ground.

"What?"

Your heart ached for home. You hadn't been home in weeks, stuck in a constant cycle of fight, train, plane, fight, train, plane; bouncing from hotel to hotel, attending dinners and parties and soirees where you knew nobody but Steve and his team. You missed your friends and your family, and the familiarity of your small Indiana town where everything was cozy and small, and it didn't matter if your dress was the prettiest and you weren't being followed by a man with a camera.

You missed being you. You missed a life of your own.

"I wanna go home," you croaked.

Steve lifted his head, red-rimmed eyes softening on you.

"Baby, please. Come on, let's go back to the hotel and talk about this, okay? Let's just—"

You shook your head, sniffling as you reached up and wiped away your tears. At the end of the driveway, the cameras started to flash.

"No, I'm going home. I'll take the car, you can ride with Mikey."

You started down the driveway, heels clicking past Steve, and he lifted his arms in the air in an empty gesture before they came flapping back down.

"Baby!" he bellowed after you, ignoring the cameras capturing the two of you.

You wiped your tears frantically and sniffled, hugging your arms around your middle in a protective stance. You suddenly felt violated by the cameras and strangers watching you. You ignored Steve calling for you and found your limo driver at a table near the valet, playing cards with another driver. You sniffled as you slowed near them.

"Can —excuse me, can you drive me back to the hotel?"

He looked up and let his eyes find you, immediately putting his cards down on the table.

"Of course, honey."

He stood quickly and grabbed the keys to the limo from the valet cart. You walked together to the limo where you he opened the door and let you slide into the back. It started up soon after and he pulled onto the grass to get around the other cars lined up, whirling around to zoom down the winding, private drive.

The driver glanced back through the rearview mirror as you sniffled and cried into your lap.

"Can I take you anywhere else after the hotel, honey?"

You lifted your head to look through the window as he drove, watching the hills of Hollywood with its bright lights and extravaganza roll by.

"Just the airport, please. I'm heading home."

**

You got the first flight out to Indianapolis and called your friend from the library at the payphone from there to pick you up when you arrived the next morning. She arrived two hours later with snacks and a box of tissues, having caught wind of your tone over the phone —she could sense something was wrong by the nasally sound of it and the fact that you didn't mention that Steve was with you.

You cried the whole way back to her house, telling her all about your night out with Steve and his uncharacteristic drug use, how uncomfortable you felt in that room with all those people, how unheard and unseen you felt with the man that was supposed to love you.

"I just don't think he loves me anymore," you sniveled before blowing into the tissue.

Your luggage was stuffed in the boot of her car, your carry on sitting at your feet. You had packed everything up in a rush when you got back to the hotel last night, and the driver took you straight to the airport. You thought about leaving Steve a note, but decided against it. You could have sworn you caught sight of him heading into the hotel as the driver pulled out of the parking garage.

"Oh, Y/N, of course he does! He's just stressed, and making dumb decisions. If he's a real man, he'll come fly home and apologize in person," she tells you, glancing between you and the road ahead.

You sniffle, looking out at the trees whizzing by.

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I need a pizza and ice cream stat."

So, you cozied up at your friend's house like when you were teenagers, setting up her bedroom with your favorite rom-com on VHS and a pint of mint-chip ice cream, an extra large cheese pizza, and your comfiest, pinkest pajamas. You wanted to take your mind off Steve, and while doing so, didn't realize how much stress you had been under as of late. As you relaxed into her cozy pillows and listened to all the small-town gossip you had missed out on, you realized just how long you had been away, and how much you longed for you and Steve to partake in a life centered in Hawkins.

You loved him, not his job —but they were a package deal, and you had agreed to it happily. But now, maybe it was time to settle down. Maybe he could sign on for less fights and take more time off, really start a life here together in your big, empty house.

Steve arrived the next day in his BMW. You watch from over the top of your friend's couch through the bay window as he exits the car and fixes his hair. He stands there for a moment, lips moving as he murmurs to himself, adjusting his collared polo. You felt your lips quirk when he rounded the car and came into view, his jeans and striped polo making him look soft and anything but scary like he usually did.

And grasped in his left hand was a bouquet of pink roses in holographic cellophane. You watched him stride up the driveway with his chest puffed out, looking determined, and stood slowly to your feet. You waited for the doorbell to ring to approach the door, nodding at your friend lingering in the kitchen. She nodded back before wandering off to the bedroom.

You smoothed down your hair and pinched your cheeks before swinging the door open, coming face to face with your handsome boyfriend. His eyes were softer than usual, jaw unclenched, shoulders slumped. He looked younger, but you wondered if that was just because he was back home again.

"Hi."

You swallowed, leaning against the door with your hand around the knob.

"Hi."

Steve look his bottom lip between his teeth and looked down at the flowers in his hand. He awkwardly extended them to you.

"These are, um, for you. I —pink is your favorite, so I thought those would be nice."

You accepted them gingerly, not wanting to seem to eager though you were already picturing where you would place them back at your house together. You imagined them in the center of the dining table during dinner while Steve held your hand atop the table.

"Thank you, they're lovely."

Steve looked at you for a moment, longingly and torn, before sighing and placing his hands on either side of the doorway.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of that shit, I was just —I've been so fuckin' stressed lately, and I know that's no excuse, but...I just think it's a lot, you know? All this fuckin'....pressure," he grunted, knocking his knuckles against the wood of the doorframe.

You tucked the flowers in the crook of your arm and tilted your head, watching him. He exhaled sharply and glanced up at you through his lashes.

"Your friend told me you were, I hope it's okay that I came. I just...I was worried sick about you, baby. And I slept like fuckin' shit last night without you," he chuckled lowly, rubbing at his eye with his knuckle.

You let a smile break through, but pushed away the urge to reach out and brush his hair away from his face.

"I'm still upset, but...wanna go home and talk it out?" you asked him.

Steve perked up immediately, standing to attention.

"Yes. Yeah, baby, of course."

"Okay, just...wait here."

And Steve did just that, pacing the length of the porch as you closed the door and hurried to grab your luggage from the hall. You had already packed up this morning, knowing Steve would be on his way. You never planned on staying here, and though you were still upset with Steve and wanted him to understand how you felt about the situation, you didn't want to be anywhere but home with him.

You returned to the door with your luggage and flowers and smiled at him.

"Okay, let's go."

The ride home was peacefully quiet, but you didn't mind. You watched the familiar streets and old buildings pass by through the window, thinking of all the memories you had on every corner of this town.

When he pulled into the driveway of your house, Steve quickly opened your door for you and helped you out. He carried your luggage inside and kicked the door open with his foot, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were following.

"I'll just go put these upstairs—"

"—leave 'em. I wanna talk first," you told him, wandering off toward the kitchen.

You heard the clank of your suitcase wheels hit the floor as Steve set it down, and then his footsteps followed after. He appeared in the kitchen just as you bent to get a vase from the storage in the island, pulling it out to fill with water. The creak of the faucet and the rush of running water filled the sudden, uncomfortable silence.

You unwrapped your flowers from the cellophane and grabbed the scissors from the butcher block to trim the stems, glancing up at Steve through your lashes where he stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

"I just don't get why you did it. I mean, you saw how uncomfortable I was, you know I don't like drugs, and you know that if they drug test you before a fight, you could get into huge trouble," you start, huffing as you clip the tough, green stems of your roses.

They scatter to the floor with each snip of the sharp scissors. Steve crosses his arms as he watches you, leaning back against the fridge.

"I know. I don't know, baby, I just wasn't thinking. I wanted...I wanted to stop feeling so tense, make my pain go away —fuck, it's stupid," he huffed, looking away.

You stopped cutting and placed the scissors on the marble countertop. You padded over to Steve and stopped in front of him, reaching out to cradle his cheeks and level your gazes.

"It's not stupid. You don't have to be so tough and serious all the time, at least not with me. You can talk to me about how you're feeling."

Steve nodded between your hands, skin hot against your palms. He smelled so good, like Christmas and coffee. You could tell he had smoked on his way to pick you up, the scent still lingering on his lips. His brown gaze scanned your face for a moment before settling on your mouth.

He lifted his hands and let them mimic your own, cradling your face with his big palms. His thumbs rubbed over your bare cheeks. You felt your heart hammer at his touch. You had only gone a day without it, but you craved it with every second that went by. The rough callouses scratching your skin, the warm, heaviness of him weighing down on you.

"I never shoulda said you were spoiled, honey. You're not spoiled—"

"—well," you giggled with a guilty shrug, cheeks warming, "you do spoil me."

Steve lips quirked.

"Yeah, but I fuckin' love it, honey. Love throwin' money at you and coverin' you in pretty jewels. Love when you smell so good for me and wear those pretty little sweaters —fuck you smell so good," he groaned as he leaned in and pressed a kiss along your jaw.

One hand slid to the back of your neck while the other spanned the length of your jaw, tipping your head back with his thumb pressed under your chin. You gasped as his lips found the column of your throat and pressed firmly. Your hands slid from his face to his thick, sturdy arms. His skin was hot beneath your touch.

"Never wanna fight again. Never wanna be without you again," he murmured as his lips traveled the length of your neck and down to your collarbones, shown off through your low cut shirt.

You whimpered and slid your fingers into his hair, feathering the thick locks and grabbing at them desperately. You pinched your eyes closed and perked up to your tip-toes.

"Never," you echoed in a needy whine.

Steve lifted his head and smiled at you, lips slick and pink. His mouth ghosted over yours, nose brushing against your cheek, hair tickling your forehead.

"You still my girl, honey? All mine forever?"

"All yours, Stevie."

He moaned into your mouth when he captured it in a kiss, lips meeting hungrily. His hands slid from your face and neck down to your waist, where they slid along the curve of your figure and down to your ass, giving it a squeeze through your jeans. You whimpered into his open mouth, breathing heavily against each other.

Steve pushed off the fridge, rattling the cereal boxes sitting on top. He walked you slowly backwards, bumping into the stools at the island so that they screeched across the tile noisily. You grunted as he lifted you up, hands coming to grab at your thighs and wrap your legs around his hips. He placed you on the island and let his hands knead your thighs, big palms and long fingers spreading across the squishy flesh through your jeans.

His mouth never left yours as he worked blindly to undo your pants, popping the button and yanking down the zipper. You reached for his belt and pulled at the buckle, yanking the leather through until it was hanging loose. You pushed his shirt up his torso until he pulled away from your mouth to pull it over his head, tossing it on the floor. He took a moment to tear yours off your chest before returning his lips to yours.

It was when he struggled to pull your jeans down in your sitting position that you giggled breathlessly against his mouth.

"Floor, floor," you urged, shimmying off the island.

"Fuck, okay."

Steve yanked your jeans down to your ankles and waited for you to step out of them. Soon, both your jeans were sitting on the other side of the kitchen in a messy pile of clothing, and you were writhing on the floor, pinned beneath him, as he attacked your neck and collarbones with hot kisses.

When he sucked at the juncture between your ear and your neck, you moaned loudly and wrapped your legs around his hips. His cotton-clad bulge pressed against your panties and made your pussy throb, the heavy weight of him rubbing against your clit.

"Need you, Steve, please."

"I got you, baby, I got you," he murmured gently, propping himself up to reach down and remove his boxers.

He pulled your flimsy panties down the length of your legs and kissed back up the length of them as he came back up. You whined and squirmed, desperate for him to take you, skin aflame and buzzing with need. He wedged himself between your legs and rubbed the head of his cock against your wet slit, pulling back to watch your face screw up with a gasp.

When he pushed in, he went in slow. Steadily feeding his cock into your tight pussy, letting your slick moisten his length and finally bottoming out with a wet squelch and a loud moan. His jaw dropped, cheeks flushing, and his hand came up to cradle the side of your face as he settled inside of you.

Your thighs immediately began to shake where they were spread on either side of him, accommodating his thick body between your legs. His head brushed that spongey, pressurized part of your belly, and when you looked down, you could see it bulging where his cock was sitting deep inside you. You whimpered at the sight, fueled by his possession of you.

He rutted in slowly, humping deeply with long strokes that pulled tremulous whines from your throat. They echoed off the tile of the kitchen, rang through the quiet of the house, became muddled with his breathy grunts and groans. His fingers buried in the hair at the nape of your neck as he cradled your face and kept your eyes on him, watching each other come apart.

"I'm sorry, baby," he breathed as he pumped into your pussy, brown eyes round and hazy.

You blinked up blearily, out of breath and sweaty. Your only response was a soft, heavy breath. Steve watched your face heat up, felt the skin burn under his touch, watched your eyes search his lovingly.

"I'm sorry."

He continued to hump into you, slow and steady and sweet, lowering himself onto his forearms to press your foreheads together. Your body and his body clung to each other with damp skin, nothing between you but a thin layer of sweat. His hot breath fanned your mouth with each huff he exhaled as he pumped into you, quickening just a tad bit when his thighs began to ache and clench.

He reached back, holding himself up with only one unstable and flexing arm, and pressed the pad of this thumb into your clit. He rubbed in slow circles and felt his heart hammer at the sound of your tiny mewls. He watched you intently, his intense gaze a silent demand to not look away. And you didn't.

Not even as your toes curled and your legs tightened around him as you gushed over his cock, crying out loudly. Not even as he plunged himself deep into your pussy and coated your fluttering, aching walls with his hot seed, milking it into you until you swore it was all in your belly.

He collapsed against you weakly, panting into your neck. You shakily stroked the back of his head and pressed a kiss to his temple. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly as he pressed his cheek to your bare chest.

"Love you so much, angel."

You smiled to yourself, sighing into the ceiling dreamily.

"I love you, Steve."

Yummy. This made me so fucking horny.

A little bit of soft!Steve, he's so angsty. This was requested in my asks, but I already had this idea in mind for them to have an argument and then have makeup sex in the kitchen like desperate little nymphos. They love each other so much 💗💗

Next Boxer!Steve blurb will have more dom! content for those of you little freaks who love it like me ❤️‍🔥 I hope this was worth the wait!! xoxo RollerGirl

[yourlocalauthor]

Vegas (Boxer!Steve x Librarian! AFAB!Reader)

Steve can get a little lost in the moment when you go at it like animals, but he might have gone just a little too far this time.

Read the rest of the Boxer!Steve collection here!

Uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

(Warnings: use of safe-word, dom!Steve, rough sex, possessive behavior, degradation, choking, spanking, slapping, face-fucking, angst that turns into soft gooey shit.)

It was rare that Steve got a day off. He was always at the gym training, or at an arena fighting, or schmoozing with potential clients and their posse. And even if he did get a day off, Steve usually took that as an opportunity to train more, and would slip off to the gym the moment he could. He felt useful there, doing something he was good at rather than just sitting around all day.

He could hear his father's voice in his head any time he stopped to rest:

"A man fights for what he wants, Steven. I don't see any fight in you."

But then you came along, and Steve started to enjoy days off a little more. So today, when his schedule was clear and Steve felt like nursing his wounds and resting his sore limbs, he expected you to be home to enjoy it with him.

However, the two of you were back in Hawkins, which meant you could pick up shifts at the library and catch up with your old friends. They always swarmed to you when they saw your face between the stacks, ecstatic at your presence and curious as to what sort of stories you would tell them this time. You always came back with all sorts of tales of new celebrities you met (mostly rockstars and things you'd seen backstage at fights.

You enjoyed spending your time at the familiar brick building. The library hadn't changed in the slightest since you were a child, when your mom used to walk you through the doors and let you wander around for hours, plucking the most fascinating books from the shelves and plopping down right there in the aisles to read them. She had to bribe you with ice cream to get you to leave.

So, you spent the afternoon at the library while Steve slept in, leaving him with a kiss on his cheek and a gentle caress of his hair. He woke groggily and padded around your shared home: a tiny brick bungalow on Heather Lane that you had decorated just the way you wanted, with floral wallpaper in the bathrooms and quartz sinks, big cozy couches and linen curtains. He wandered around for a while with a pout before sliding back into bed.

When you returned home, a pep in your step and a giddy smile on your face from an afternoon of laughter and reminiscing, you were surprised to see Steve in the kitchen. He turned quickly at the sound of your footsteps shuffling in, dark eyes finding you with urgency. He was wearing only a pair of blue sweats, hung low on his hips with his hairy chest and freckled torso on display. You felt your heart skip at the delicious sight.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd be home," you admitted, placing your purse on one of the stools by the kitchen island.

Steve rounded the island and approached you, body tipped slightly to one side to nurse his tender ribs. The fight over the weekend had really done him in, sending him home with another busted and throbbing eye, tender ribs, and an abundance of violently colorful bruises. His hair had just been washed and smelled like shampoo when he crowded your space, lifting his hands to give your hips a little shove into the island behind you.

You chirped in surprise when he wrapped a hand in your hair and silently bent down to kiss you, devouring your lips with fervor. He inhaled your scent where his nose was pressed up against your cheek, groaning at the way it tingled his senses.

"Missed you so fuckin' much," he grumbled against your mouth as his hands found your ass, kneading and groping, yanking you against his body.

You immediately felt the hardness between his legs and your eyes bulged, pulling your head away to gaze up at him amusedly.

"I see that."

Steve chuckled softly, dipping down to kiss you again. Your lips smacked together softly, heavy breaths echoed between each detachment, hands exploring every inch of your body through your dress.

When Steve pulled away, he looked you over with a satisfied hum. He rolled his lip between his teeth and inhaled deeply, as if preparing himself for the ride he was about to take you on. You felt your body begin to buzz and thrum with familiar heat, every nerve beneath your skin set alight by his dark gaze.

He pulled his hands away from you and placed them on his hips, standing back.

"Well? Get upstairs."

Oh and he sounded so disappointed, like you should have known just by the look he was giving you that that was where he had expected you to be by now. But knowing it was all a game, a fantasy you both relished in happily, you let yourself become overwhelmed with lust and excitement, and it fueled you as you skittered across the kitchen tile and up the stairs.

You shed your heels by the bedroom door, throwing them toward the walk-in closet. You considered unzipping your dress, but you knew that when you had time like this, enough time to spend hours playing your favorite game together, Steve liked to undress you himself. He found it exciting to peel back your layers and discover what was waiting for him underneath.

He sauntered in stiffly, very obviously still in severe pain but more than willing to work through it to fuck you. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you lingered in the center of the room, the bed waiting behind you. He pointed a finger lazily toward the floor and you immediately dropped. He said not a word as he walked past you toward the bed and flopped on it. He hadn't made it since this morning, so the sheets and blankets were rumpled at the edge, the decorative pillows strewn along the floor near the dresser.

"C'mere, honey."

You immediately crawled over, hips swinging and hands clawing eagerly. You climbed onto the bed and began your journey toward his long, sprawled out body. He had an arm tucked behind his head, propped up on the pillows, watching you through hooded eyes as you crawled between his legs slowly. You waggled your ass a little and Steve's eyes followed, admiring your body for a moment. Your dress had bunched up at your hips from the position you were in and the crawling done a moment ago, and in the mirror on the bedroom wall behind your figure, Steve had the perfect view of your little panties underneath.

You watched him intently, gnawing on your lip as you waited (rather impatiently) for his permission to touch. You knew better than to slide your hand over his clothed cock without it, no matter how desperately you wanted to. You would have had him in your mouth minutes ago if it weren't for the consequences that would have followed. Steve had a very heavy hand, and you had learned that the hard way enough already.

But you liked when you were just as bruised up as he was, marked by his big, rough hands.

"Go 'head, baby," he murmured finally.

You immediately rubbed your hand over his crotch, a gasp of delight falling from your mouth when you discovered he was bare beneath his sweatpants.

"Can I?" you inquired softly, batting your lashes at him pleadingly with a pretty pout.

Steve looked at you blankly, though his chest was already trembling with each ragged breath he took.

"What do you say?"

"Please may I have your cock, Steve?"

His breath hitched, like hearing his name come from your mouth was something new. He groaned before lifting his hips a little, grinding up against your hand.

"Go 'head, baby, s' all yours."

You eagerly yanked his sweatpants down, freeing his cock and watching it slap against his bruised abs. You immediately inched up to cover the tip with your mouth, pulling back until you were nestled between his legs suckling happily at his weeping slit. A long groan leaved him at the sensation of your warm, wet mouth over him and his muscles tensed.

"Fuck," he grunted.

He gave you a few moments of freedom, time for you to play and bob your head, run your fingers over his silky skin and look up at him with dry eyes.

But his patience quickly wore thin.

His hand came down heavily on your head to punch it down, the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The unexpected movement had your back hunching as you wretched loudly, and Steve sighed as he pulled you up by your hair bunched in his fist. Tears were already gathering in your eyes, welling up like shiny little globes, sniffling when you met his eyes. That blank, disappointed look touched his features.

"What did we talk about, hmm?"

You tensed between his legs, whimpering. You fisted the sheets in your hands as you awaited it, the consequence for forgetting his training —and it came in the form of a sharp slap against your cheek. You pinched your eyes closed and flinched at the contact, gasping at the slight sting gathering on your cheek. Your face grew aflame at the degrading touch; but it was something you had agreed upon previously, a green light you had personally given one hot and heavy night in Las Vegas.

You opened your eyes to look up at Steve again, who was waiting for your reaction patiently. When you didn't protest, he maneuvered your face to hover back over his cock and you silently opened your mouth in invitation.

His hips snapped up to begin fucking your face, and you squeezed your eyes closed and focused on breathing through your nose to fight the gags you were tempted to let out. You tightened your throat and hollowed out your cheeks, straddling his thigh and gripping it tight. Your nails dug into his meaty thigh and caused him to grunt, fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fuck, honey, so good. Fuck, baby."

Steve pulled you off with a pop, tapping your reddened cheek firmly with a breathy grunt, lifting you to sit atop your knees by your hair.

"Come on, hands and knees."

You got into position, facing the mirror you knew he liked to fuck you in front of. You took a moment to gaze at your reflection: your mascara was dripping down your cheeks from your salty tears, your lipgloss smeared across your mouth and along your chin, your hair a tousled mess from Steve's hands, left cheek bright pink with little imprints of Steve's fingers in the flushed skin.

Steve settled behind you, reaching forward to pull open the buttons at the back of your dress. He popped them open roughly, and yanked at the ties around your waist once they were done. The dress slid down your arms and away from your chest, and you let him pull it over the mount of your ass and across your legs until you were left in your lacy set.

He placed his hands on either side of your ass, squeezing the supple flesh between his palms. His teeth sank into the bare flesh immediately, pulling a high-pitched shriek from your throat. His other hand left your cheek to pull away and come back down with a sharp crack, jutting you forward with a gasp. He did it again just to hear that little sound, watching you in the mirror over your shoulder, your face screwing up in pleasure.

He soothed the wet bite mark on your ass cheek with his tongue before pressing a firm kiss to the bruising skin.

"You okay, angel?"

Steve was rough, but he liked to check in. He never wanted to go too far, push you too hard. He was terrified of hurting you in a way you didn't receive pleasure from.

You nodded eagerly, and even though he caught the movement in the mirror, he still rubbed his hand against your asscheek and said:

"Say it for me, honey."

"I'm good," you murmured dazedly.

Steve patted your ass gently as he straightened back up on his knees.

"There's a good girl."

His praise sent flutters through your chest. He didn't praise you often while you were fucking like this, determined to remain rough and demanding and stoic, so hearing those gentle, loving words fall from his lips felt like a gift. You flushed warmly at his words echoed in your foggy brain, pushing back into his crotch as he pressed it up against you.

He shoved his cock into you with one push that lacked any form of softness. You felt like the air had been punched out of you at the sensation of his cock filling you out and brushing the deepest parts of your insides. You toppled over onto your arms against the mattress at the sudden intrusion and Steve smacked the side of your thigh.

"Get that ass up," he demanded gruffly, tone void of any emotion.

You quickly sprang back into position, stomach dropping. You didn't want to disappoint him so quickly into the game. He didn't acknowledge your obedience, and you thought about yelping an apology, but any thoughts bouncing around your little mind were brushed away when Steve began pounding into you.

Slick squelches echoed off the wallpapered walls as Steve pumped in and out of your creamy pussy. You gripped the sheets tightly in your fists to anchor yourself, though Steve was holding your hips so tightly that you couldn't go anywhere even if you tried. However, his rough fingers slowly began to slide along the curves of your ass and across the dip in your waist. He traced the outline of your figure with his hands, touch like scorching sandpaper.

His hands came to a halt at your breasts, which he grabbed roughly, causing you to yip. He pressed up against your back, hunched over your figure, the hair on his chest tickling the plain of your back. His presence was looming, exuding nothing but a heavy warmth that overwhelmed you like the scent of his smoky musk.

His fingertips explored the smooth skin of your chest, wandering away from your breast to tickle up the slender column of your throat. A choked gasp left you when his fingers wrapped around it, pressing firmly into your airway. All the while, Steve never stopped fucking you. He kept a steady pace of jack-hammering, rutting into you like an animal in heat. Your mouth fell open to gather in air that you were struggling to find.

When he pulled out to change positions, his hand refused to leave your throat. You found yourself lying flat on your back against the mattress, slammed into the soft surface rather roughly. The abrupt movements had your head spinning, and you weren't given even a moment of anticipation before his cock was nestling itself back inside of you, humping into your gummy walls.

Steve braced himself against the mattress next to your shoulder as he inched you closer to the edge of the bed, letting your head hang over. His lips attacked your jaw, hand tight around your neck, unrelenting.

The light of the room dimmed as your vision grew spotty. All the blood in your body seemed to rush straight to your head, pooling in the center and making you red in the face. You strained to reach your hand up and pull at Steve's wrist. The pressure in your belly from his cock nestled deep, the sting that nipped at the inner corners of your thighs from accommodating his thick body between them, the tingle in your clit as the thick patch of hair gathered above his cock brushed against it —none of it was enough to distract you from the heavy pool of blood gathering in your face, the discomfort the lack of air was leaving you with.

You started to panic, smacking at Steve's hand repeatedly as you wriggled around. Steve loosened his hand and you immediately gasped, trying to lift your head.

"Vegas! Vegas, Vegas!" you shouted your safe word loudly.

Steve immediately pulled out of you, the separation noisy and slick. Cum dripped off his long cock and onto the sheets as he knelt between your legs, hoisting you up by the arms to sit up straight. You coughed and spluttered, the pressure in your head beginning to subside as the blood dispersed back to the rest of your body. You placed your hand over the tender skin of your throat, which was sore from the coughing and straining, and you winced as you swallowed dryly.

"Fuck! Fuck, Y/N, are you okay?"

Steve's hands were brushing away your hair, framing your face rather roughly —he never seemed to be aware of his own strength. He turned your head this way and that, checking your pupillary response, watching the color in your face return to normal. You placed your hand gently over his own on your cheek and nodded silently, gasping in as much oxygen as you could.

Your thoughts slowly began to return to you, the fog that Steve created seeping out.

"M' okay —" you were cut off by your own coughing, gathered from deep in your chest.

Steve shuffled back to give you room, pushing your hair away from your forehead with his large palm. He pushed his thumb beneath your chin, fingers splayed out across your warm cheeks, and inspected your neck.

His heart fucking dropped.

The once smooth and perfect skin of your neck was now tainted with a red, splotchy imprint of his hand. He swallowed thickly as he pulled his hands away from you, scrambling off the bed. He stood over the mattress stilly, arms dangling at his sides limply, with a terrified look on your face. You watched him through blurry vision.

"Steve, it's okay," you cooed, slowly rising to your knees to crawl the distance between your bodies and reach out to him.

Steve jerked back as if you had slapped him, blank eyes settled firmly on your throat. You reached up and covered it, knowing what would be there. But you weren't upset. You had said your safe word and he had listened. You had done exactly what you were supposed to do, and so did Steve. You knew that Steve underestimated his strength sometimes, didn't know when he was gripping too tightly. Sometimes his hand came down too heavily on your ass and the pain lacked pleasure, but he never meant it maliciously. Sometimes he gripped your thigh too tightly when something pissed him off, but it was a subconscious reaction that couldn't be helped.

But this was the only time that Steve had ever marked you like that. This was the first time that Steve had ever made you panic like that, and no matter how temporary that fear was, the sight of it sickened Steve.

Because he did that to you. He put those marks on your throat, had made you fear those seconds without air.

Steve's hands were trembling as he skirted away from the bed and toward his sweatpants dangling over the edge of the bed. He snatched them quickly, pulling them over his legs and up his hips as he hurried toward the door. You watched after him helplessly, chest constricting painfully as he disappeared down the hall.

You had seen the look on his face, the way his cheeks had colored pink, the way his eyes had rounded like a puppy dog's, the way his shoulders immediately tensed. You knew, without a doubt, that he was thinking the worst of himself right now.

You heard the back door slam downstairs and sighed. You slowly pushed yourself off the bed and walked to the dresser, where you pulled one of Steve's Hawkins High sweatshirts from the drawer and slid it over your head. The sleeves were warm and inviting, the fabric soft and scented of Steve. You pulled a pair of his old gym shorts over your damp panties and tied the strings tightly to hold them up, heading downstairs.

You went straight for the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, where you spotted Steve in one of the lawn chairs placed around the pool with his head in his hands, hunched over his lap. A cigarette wafted grey smoke from where it was tucked between his fingers, curling against the evening light.

You slid the door open and approached him carefully, making sure your steps were loud and clear. Steve didn't move an inch, eyes pinched shut firmly, head hung low in shame and guilt. The muscles of his back were pulled taut, stiff with tension.

"Steve," you called gently, coming to a stop in front of him," would you look at me, please?"

He was silent. Dark ashes crumbled from the butt of his cigarette. You sank down to the cement in front of him, rough and scratchy against your knees. You crouched before him and reached out, running your fingers through the soft heap of hair flopping against his forehead. You smoothed it back and leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to his hairline.

"Stevie, I'm okay. I know that was scary, but...that's why we have safe words, for situations like that. I said my safe word, and you respected it. We did exactly what we should have done, and that's it," you assured him in an even, gentle voice.

Steve lifted his head and you were taken aback by the puffy pinkness that surrounded his pretty brown eyes. His eyes were shiny with unearthed tears, to which you immediately sighed and dragged your hands along his arms in a soothing manner.

"Oh, Steve. Oh, baby, c'mere."

You flung your arms around his neck and pulled him against you, shoving your way into his lap. It took a moment, but then he was clinging to you, wrapping his long arms around your body and squeezing tight. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck and hid his face, hair tickling your tender neck.

"I'm so fucking sorry, baby, I'm so sorry," he murmured, voice muffled by your skin.

You shushed him softly, caressing the back of his head.

"It's okay, I know."

"I don't ever wanna fuckin' hurt you, baby. Never."

Steve pulled away and met your gaze, shaking his head.

"I'd rather fucking die than ever lay a hand on you, Y/N. I swear to fucking god—"

"—Steve, don't say that!"

"I swear to god, Y/N, I'd rather die. I would never —please, baby, I would never do that on purpose, I promise—"

You placed your hands on either side of his face, skin burning up against your palms.

"I know, I know, Steve."

His eyes flickered between yours for a moment, studying the even expression of your face, the unwavering adoration in your eyes. He seemed to deflate with a sigh of relief, leaning forward to press his head against your chest. You tucked your chin over his hair and smoothed it down again, closing your eyes.

"I know," you murmured again, scratching your nails gently against his scalp.

His fingers gently caressed the bare skin of your back beneath the sweatshirt, creating small, uneven circles with his fingertips. You shivered at the sensation, huffing a giggle into his hair.

"What?" he mumbled against your chest and you giggled again.

"Tickles."

He mimicked your laughter, pulling his head up to peer at you. His eyes bored into yours intensely as he stopped his caressing.

"Do you forgive me, angel?" he whispered.

You ghosted your thumb over his brow bone, where a purple and yellow bruise decorated his skin and a blood-crusted scab slashed across the hair nestled above his eye. He didn't flinch or move an inch, keeping his gaze steadily on you.

"I'll always forgive you, Stevie. Always."

He kissed you delicately, lips baby soft and sweet.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you, Steve."

And maybe for a while after, he refused to choke you or treat you in any way other than with caution. But how long could Steve last, in reality, without treating you like the little slut you desired to be? xxx

My poor Build-A-Bear sat in my lap like this 🧍🏻‍♂️ watching me write this. The things he has seen. But dom!Steve melting into soft!Steve 🥺 he truly couldn't live with himself if he ever hurt you. Don't worry, my lovelies! More Boxer!Steve content soon (so many asks lol) xoxoxox RollerGirl 💗