𝓌𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒
summary: Steve and Dustin were not on the best of terms right now. It left a strain not only on their friendship, but also on your own relationship with your boyfriend. It wasn't easy to be there for both of them and understand their respective points of view. Yet when that famous Henderson attitude pokes the bear one too many times, your boyfriend knows of better ways to put your mouth to use. word count: 3.1k a/n: heavy smut, mdni 18+, blowjobs, Henderson!reader, mean!Steve, degradation, praise, vulgar language, sloppy top, little angst, afab! or female!reader though could be gn!reader, semi-public smut, no beta
To say the past year and a half had been difficult would be the understatement of the century. Between being quarantined in Hawkins with no end in sight, the numerous crawls to scout Vecna, and many unsaid things in the air, everything was constantly tense. Living so close to the end of the world kept everyone on edge. The military’s arrival had cut short any period of mourning for everyone. It wasn’t just one person in particular; everyone in the party was suffering through their own shitty circumstances. And yet, the hardest task of all was playing middleman in the battles of constant bickering and miscommunication.
With another technical issue with the tower's frequency, Steve immediately left you alone to search for the manual in the green room by yourself. He had a habit of asking others to tell him how to fix his problems, which was equally endearing and frustrating. From the other room, you heard Steve slam the antenna back into the walkie.
Your head poked around from the doorway with an inquisitive glance. Steve immediately spotted you, and you could tell from his posture that he was aggrieved. It was becoming more difficult to ignore the growing rift between Steve and your brother with each passing day.
“You heard his tone, right?” Steve set the walkie aside. He paced around the lounge, “He can never admit that he’s wrong, it’s just so-”
“Frustrating?” You cut in, “I know, babe. You keep going in circles.”
“Because the kid is driving me crazy,” He huffed and ran a hand through his brunette hair, “And he doesn’t listen. Not just to me, but to anyone.”
A sigh escaped past your lips. Steve was right. Dustin’s spark had dulled since Eddie’s untimely death, and his eyes lacked their usual bright curiosity. It was… painful, to say the least. You never wanted to pressure your little brother, yet at the same time, you so desperately wished he would open up to someone.
“I get it, I do. It’s rough, but you need to watch how you talk to him.” Your hand came to rub against the back of your neck, “He’s having a hard time.”
“How I talk to him? Babe, you can’t think that I’m the problem.”
“I’m not saying you’re the problem, but I mean, you have this… tone when you talk to him. I mean, do you listen to yourself, or do you have to be told everything?” You pointed out as he came to a halt in front of you. Steve gave you his signature look of confusion, and you had to force yourself not to roll your eyes. You stood from the couch, “Don’t give me that look.”
“I’m not giving you a look,” Steve grumbled, “... And I don’t have a tone.”
“Oh, really?” You cocked your head to the side in disbelief, “Because now you’re giving me that look and attitude.”
He took a half step closer, “You’re wrong—”
“And your humility is out the window, too, it seems.” You shook your head and pressed further, “So tell me again how this little quarrel between you and Dustin is just him being a moody teenager.”
His brow furrowed at the underhanded accusation, “So now I’m the problem? Don’t act like I haven’t been trying to get through to him.”
As much as you loved Steve, he did have a terrible habit of becoming defensive. It was this silent need to shift the blame from himself, a way to evade being labeled a bad guy again. He cared, but it wasn’t easy to be so empathetic with each verbal lashing from Dustin.
When you didn’t immediately reply, the frown lines on his forehead deepened, “So you think it’s my fault.”
The accusation stung. Because when the three of you crawled out of that hellhole with Nancy and Robin last year, Steve did feel this deep-seated guilt because he couldn’t get back to the gate fast enough to save Eddie. When Steve had pried Dustin off Eddie’s body, and explained that they couldn’t safely get his body back to the Right Side up. He took care of Dustin while Nancy and Robin addressed your wounds from the demobats. It was Steve who sat with Dustin for hours as he sobbed, while you sat shell-shocked in your bedroom.
“No, no,” You sputtered out in an attempt to get through to him before his walls went up, “But… you’re an adult, and- and he’s a kid who lost his best friend—”
“His best friend?”
His tone made you cringe, and it was clear that Steve had no interest in de-escalating the argument. With a sigh, you clarified, “One of them. Obviously. He’d be just as distraught if he lost anyone in the party, or me, or you. C’mon, don’t be so dense, Steve.”
And that was just the cherry on top for Steve. The floodgates of his frustrations were now open, except instead of Robin calming him or Dustin arguing back, it was all directed at you.
“Of course you’re taking his side. ‘Henderson’s stick together’ or whatever bullshit it is you say to make yourselves feel better,” He griped and leaned against the wall.
Your eyes widened at his remark, “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Steve scoffed and started up the stairs towards his bedroom on the upper floor of the station.
You gawked at him and the sheer audacity. Your eyes narrowed as you glared up at him, “Why are you being so bitchy?”
Steve simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, as if giving a response to the question was beneath him. He paused midflight, hand on his hip as he met your stern gaze, “Bitchy? That’s rich coming from you, princess.”
When you couldn’t respond fast enough, he continued to slink up the stairs. Defeat settled in your stomach. You didn’t want to provoke the issue further when it was clear neither of you would reach a consensus. Instead, you retreated outside to catch some fresh air.
— — — — —
It was time for the evening broadcast at The Sqwuak, which meant observing another intrinsic dance between Robin and Steve. While Robin queued up the next track, she was giving another one of her beloved anecdotes to the townfolk of Hawkins. Behind her, Steve moved with a practiced agility; his eyes moving between Robin, the soundboard, and, occasionally, you. Steve was typically so fluid with his movements, but tonight he was rigid, almost like he couldn’t get off the airwaves fast enough to go back upstairs and pout.
After another harsh glance in your direction from your brown-eyed lover, you’d had enough. They clearly had everything handled, and the broadcast was nearly over anyway. It was obvious they didn’t require the assistance of their handy radio technician.
You swiftly moved into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea before bed. As the water boiled, you turned off the PA systems that you had patched in. You just need one moment of silence to yourself, without the rest of the world ending, boyfriend troubles happening around you. And for a couple of minutes, it was peaceful. The smell of camomile tea leaves wafted from your mug, and you permitted your shoulders to sag for a moment.
But a moment was all he needed to piss you off again.
“Why did you leave your station?” Steve swiftly entered the kitchen. His hands settled onto his hips as he looked at you in disbelief.
Your brows furrowed at his incredulous tone, “My station? Please, this isn’t the Big Mac.”
“The MAC-Z,” He was quick to correct you, “And you need to start taking things more seriously. I mean, what if something happened and the signal went down but you weren’t there to just… fix it.”
“Well, I would hope that you and Robin could utilize your one shared braincell in a moment of panic,” You scoffed in return, “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Steve.”
You expected a jab, sneer, or any kind of retort, really. But a stiff silence filled the kitchen instead. Your eyes flicked across his frozen frame, noticing each little detail. The way he clenched his jaw, his right hip slightly jutted, the scowl sketched into his brow. Something ignited in your chest from that smoldering gaze. It was unfair to look so good when you were at each other’s throats.
“You Hendersons…” He hums lowly. His brown eyes darken, pupils dilated as they flick over your frame, “Can’t fix his attitude. But I know how to take care of yours.”
Something warmed in your stomach from his intense gaze and the touch of trouble in his tone. Your mouth parted to respond, but the whistle of the kettle cut you off. With a slight shake in your hand, you grabbed the mug, and you pulled it off the burner. As your tea bag steeped, two large hands settled on your sides, his hips pressed firmly against your lower back.
“You still upset that we had to cancel date night for the last crawl?” He mumbled the question as his nose grazed over your ear.
A chuff sounded under your breath, “I’m not mad that we canceled, but… it feels like you’re not concerned about rescheduling.”
“I’m plenty concerned,” Steve gritted out, “But my biggest concern is keeping you and the kids safe. And both you and your brother give me shit for that. Date night out isn’t always the safest, but I can make sure your needs are still met, honey.”
His hand dipped to tease at the waistband of your jeans. A light gasp breathlessly escaped you as he nipped at the shell of your ear, “I think you’re pissing me off and starting arguments on purpose. Is that it? I didn’t give you enough attention, so you gotta pout like a brat?”
“I’m hardly pouting, Steven,” You lightly shoved at his forearms, just needing an inch of space to breathe. A low growl escaped him as you used his full name, “We wouldn’t be arguing if you just took some initiative. And I’m not just talking about the date.”
“I take initiative, quit acting like I’m some manchild,” Steve glowered down at you.
“Then quit being one,” You sharply retorted, your quick tongue only getting you further into trouble.
His jaw tensed once more, “So that’s how it’s gonna be? I tried to redirect, but you’re so damn insistent, fucking nagging me on.”
Your eyes widened as Steve’s sass turned vulgar, “Watch your mouth. You wouldn’t be talking like that if—”
“Shut up,” He cut you off as he spun you around. His hips pinned you against the cabinets, “You keep running your pretty little mouth a little too much. Maybe the quarantine’s got you stir crazy, or the crawls are getting to you, but I’m gonna take care of that mouth of yours.”
Steve tapped your thigh twice as he grunted out a sharp request, Knees. And who were you to argue with a man who looked like he was using all his restraint not to just pounce on you and truly ruin you? Sinking to the concrete floor, your hands came to rest on each of his jean-clad thighs. Your fingers gingerly grazed the outline of his prominent bulge.
“This for me?” Your eyes flicked up to his face with the joke, but his brown eyes continued to bore into your skull.
“Thought I told you to shut up,” Steve grunted, “But that’s okay, honey. You’re gonna apologize by taking care of me like you always do, huh?”
His hands moved to undo the zipper of his jeans, but his gaze never wavered from your face. It kept you frozen, though desire began to pool in your lower stomach. You leaned forward, your nose grazing against his knuckle and down to brush against his bulge through his briefs. You took in his heady sent, but Steve’s firm hand captured your chin before you could continue.
“Don’t act so greedy, honey,” He snarled as he forced your head back up, meeting your needy eyes once more. The sight almost made him moan, but he swallowed in down with an easy smirk, “You’re acting desperate. Was that the issue? I didn’t give you enough attention and now you’ve got to give me attitude. Are you a child?”
You blinked up at him, surprised by the shift in Steve’s demeanor.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, sweetheart.” His fingers tightened on your jaw.
“No…” You responded with a shaky breath.
“No,” He repeated in a mocking tone, “Could’ve fooled me. Acting worse than your brother, been a real brat to me all day—”
You interjected, “Don’t act like you—”
But you couldn’t finish your retort as Steve’s large hands moved to cover your mouth, “God, you just never stop running this pretty little mouth. You need something to keep you quiet.”
His hips jutted words, grinding against your face so that you could take in his musky scent. You lapped at his bulge, your saliva leaving a wet patch.
“You want more, honey?” His other hand moved to release his cock from the restraint of the briefs. His length stood proud, the tip an angry red, leaking with precum. His hand pulled back, and his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, admiring your wide eyes watching his aching cock.
“I’m gonna take care of this bratty attitude,” Steve stated, “But you know what to do if it’s too much, honey.”
You eagerly nodded, a secret promise to use the safe word if things went too far.
Steve didn’t need to second-guess himself, knowing that part of you liked getting in trouble like this and making it up to him. But what really got him was the way your pupils dilated each time his tone or words got a little too sharp.
Your fingers held supported the tip of his cock while your tongue worked its way up from the base. A grunt escaped past Steve’s gritted teeth as you traced along the prominent vein. Another followed when you swirled your tongue around the tip and across the slit. His salty taste was heavy on your tongue.
“Don’t tease, honey. I know you want to take all of me in your mouth, practically choke yourself on my cock,” His fingers slid through the roots of your hair to grip the stands at the back of your head. “That’s why you’ve been so mouthy.”
He firmly tugged your head back, your jaw slackened with a gasp, “Steve—”
“Shut up,” Steve snarled. He lightly began to rut his hips, his cock prodding at your lips and face. You stuck out your tongue, mouthing at him from any angle you could access. The sight was incredibly lewd, the way his cock continued to smear your spit and his essence across your face. His cocky smirk returned as he examined your appearance, “God, all you needed was some dick. Acting like a bitch in heat. Keep going.”
And you didn’t have to be told twice. Steve’s words of encouragement spurred you to take things further. Your right hand trailed up the inseam of his jeans, fingers ghosting the length of his thigh. When you took the tip into your mouth again, your hand moved to cup his balls, gently fondling them. His hips stuttered, wanting to force you to take more, but knowing you needed to get adjusted to the weight of him in your mouth.
“Relax your jaw,” He ordered, his nails scratching against your scalp. Steve made small rocking movements, the tip of his length bruising against the back of your throat. Drool started to pool at the corners of your lips, collecting to ease the intrusion of his cock. He soon pushed your head to take more of his impressive length down your throat.
When the pressure of him was too much, you patted his thigh as your hand lightly squeezed his balls. Your mouth came off with a soft pop as you caught your breath for a moment. Your free hand continued to pump his length, eyes steady on each other.
Steve’s fingers caught your chin, “Open wide.”
You did as he commanded, your pink tongue peeking out at your head tilted back. Steve bent over you, face hovering above yours. A string of saliva poured from his lips and onto your awaiting tongue. His foot moved between your thighs, the toe of his boot firm against your clothed core, “Show me how sorry you are. Show me that you’re not such a fucking brat all the damn time.”
You began to rock your hips against his boot, chasing a touch of relief. Yet you weren’t paying enough attention to Steve. He pushed your mouth back onto his length, holding your head in place for a moment as you drooled all over his cock. When he felt your throat relax, his guided you up and down his length, your free hand pumping the remainder of what your couldn’t take. As he continued the assault on your mouth, your hips were greedily grinding away against his boot. You both knew the scene of completely obscene, but you were so caught up in the tension of the moment that the lustful mix of frustration and need kept both of you going.
“Fuck. Fuck, honey,” Steve’s thrusts started to become sloppier, shallower. You knew he wouldn't last much longer, and you were determined to make him crumble.
You doubled your efforts, alternating between pumping his cock, greedily sucking, and worshipping his balls. His hands released your hair, gripping at the countertop instead, knuckles white. His grunts had melted away into whines of restraint, restraint that was fading fast. With a few more messy thrusts, Steve’s cum shot down your throat, some of his spend dribbling down your chin as he pulled out.
When Steve returned to his senses, he quickly tucked his length back into his boxers. He took a deep breath and snagged some napkins off the counter. He kneeled to meet your needy gaze, “You alright, sweetheart? Too rough?”
Your eyes flicked across his handsome face. A shaky hand reached to curl your fingers into the material of his sweater, “Green.”
He let out a low chuckle and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. His gentle hands wiped at the corners of your lips, under your nose, and the waterline of your eyes, “There you go, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Stevie,” you gratefully hummed. His smirk quickly returned as he let go of you and made his way towards the stairs. When he reached the first step, he paused and glanced back at you, “Are you coming? Or do you have to be told everything?”
