⚠️SMUT WARNINGS: mentions of virgin!reader (steve's her first), dom/sub dynamic, thigh riding & cowgirl (r’s first time at both), dry humping, so much nipple play, steve sucks loves on the titties a lot, fingering, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, slight crybaby!reader (she’s a bit sensitive & emotional), soft!dom!steve & slightly mean!dom!steve (condescending/mocking), heavy praise kink, dirty talk (steve marathons his filthy ass mouth. i’m not even joking), vocal!steve, one (1) degradation (little cockslut), innocence kink (kinda? reader is slightly clueless in some things about sex ngl), unprotected p in v sex (don't try this at home), breeding kink (r is on the pill tho!), steve's Massive Meat Sceptre™️, hickies (and i mean lots of them. steve turns into an Artist™️ lmao), aftercare, morning wood, taking top-naked polaroid photos (it's more sweet than sexual tbh) ~ lemme know if i missed anything! <3

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Itty Bitty Pretty

You sighed in relief as you crossed the street, somewhat finding a sense of comfort after such a shitty day once you saw the familiar green and orange sign of Family Video—more so, the people you were about to see once you got inside.

Balancing the two boxes of baked goods in one hand, you pulled the door open, quickly noticing the silence of the still broken bell. You rolled your eyes. It had been like that for almost a month now, obvious proof of Keith being too cheap to get something so little fixed.

Entering the premises, you heard Steve first before you even saw him.

"I love boobies—hell, everyone loves boobies more, Robin, it's just facts."

You felt your cheeks warm at your boyfriend's words.

In the six months you've been with Steve—and a few months more of knowing him—he had never been shy when it came to anything remotely sexual. It was expected, you supposed, for someone formerly called King Steve, known to have gone around, leaving girls satisfied enough to share stories and to deem him worthy for them to sing his praises.

Said stories that had been proven true to you by His Majesty himself quite recently.

But still, it never failed to surprise you how loud and open Steve can be when talking about anything sex-related.

Because you, on the other hand, couldn't be more opposite of him.

You wouldn't exactly class yourself as a prude, you were just shy. You simply had a hard time speaking about sexual things out in the open, let alone, loudly in public.

Perhaps it came with the fact that you were inexperienced, that you weren't familiar enough with sex yet to be able to talk about it with confidence and prowess. Maybe, the more you got into it, you'd eventually come out of your shell.

Or perhaps it would simply be a shyness you wouldn't be able to shake off. Maybe you just weren't the kiss-and-tell type of person.

Sure, you talk to Steve about it, but that should be expected and important, him being your partner and all. But the furthest you'd gone to sharing your sexual encounters—which frankly, wasn't a lot and was always disclosed in so little details—was to Robin.

That's it.

Craning your neck, you finally saw that familiar mass of hair sticking out of one of the shelves. But as you were about to walk over to them, Steve's next words froze you on your spot.

"Especially when they're big, round, voluptuous breasts o—"

Oh.

Thwack.

"Ew! Don't be a pig!" Robin interrupted.

"How am I being a pig?!" Steve shrieked. "Right, curse a guy for liking boobs."

"I was just saying they're a bit overrated."

"Overrated?" he scoffed, sounding slightly offended. "You see it in magazines, in movies, on TV—you see boobies everywhere!"

"That's exactly why they're overrated!"

"No, no, it just means statistically, people like boobies more. The demand affects the supply."

"Statistically bullshit, that's what it is."

"Don't tell me you don't like seeing boobs now?"

"I still do!" Robin sighed. "But God forbid a girl wants to see a bit of ass here and there, right?"

"Hmm, I don't know," Steve hummed, and you could almost hear his smirk when he added, "Because there's only one ass I can get behind on."

"Gross!" Robin gagged, another thwack ringing in the air. "That's my best friend!"

"Yeah, and that's my girlfriend!" Steve countered, snorting. "Am I not allowed to appreciate my girl now?"

"Not when you're disclosing details of your sex life, which frankly, I've already heard enough of, sometimes literally," Robin shuddered, your whole face heating up at her words. You and Steve might or might not have gotten slightly busy in the backroom once twice. "Seriously, dude, you're corrupting her."

"I'm not!" Steve laughed, the lightness seeping into his tone. "Besides, I can't deny her if she wants a taste of the Harrington Special Sausa—Ow! Stop hitting me with that magazine!"

"Then stop being gross!"

"There's this thing called a joke, you should try it."

There was a beat of silence.

"Where did you even learn the word voluptuous, anyway?"

"Shut up, I know my big words," Steve scoffed, before grumbling, "I read a thesaurus the other day."

Robin burst out laughing.

"It was a slow day! Henderson left it on the counter and I got bored!"

If it was any other time, you would've found the interaction greatly amusing.

But once your brain picked up on those three words, the rest of their conversation had turned slightly muffled. Those three words simply sat at the forefront of your mind, and they hadn't stopped repeating themselves.

Big. Round. Voluptuous.

You didn't know if Steve meant that was what most people liked generally, or if it was a personal preference. But you did know one thing though:

Those words didn't apply to yours.

"Hey!"

You jumped, eyes wide when you met Steve's gaze, too distracted by your thoughts to even notice him walking up to you.

"You okay?" he asked, brows furrowed in concern, his hands coming up to rub your arms in comfort. "How long have you been standing there?"

"O-Oh, I just got here," you lied with a small smile. "And I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm." You nodded, lifting the boxes with a smile. "I brought you guys your favorites."

"You are a gift!" Robin appeared out of nowhere, taking the boxes from your hands with a loud, smacking kiss on your cheek. You giggled. She turned to Steve, sticking her tongue out before disappearing into the breakroom.

"Real mature!" Steve called out, playfully rolling his eyes. Turning back to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, a smile on his lips, but the concern was still evident in his eyes. "Now, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is," you said, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips. Before Steve could even deepen the kiss—and judging by his tightening hold and his low groan, he was just about to—you placed a careful hand on his chest, pulling away. "Can I use the bathroom real quick?"

"Yeah, sur—"

You were gone before Steve could even finish his sentence.

The second the bathroom door closed, you peeked at your chest through the collar of your shirt, frowning when you found what you'd already known and been seeing for years.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, head tilted, lips pursed. It was a moment of weakness, grabbing your shirt from behind, pulling the fabric tight to your body only to feel even worse by what you saw.

It wasn't like they'd grown a few inches bigger in the last couple of seconds.

Running a frustrated hand over your face, you sighed, shoulders slumping, frown deepening as your heart ached.

You would think you'd grown a thick skin when it came to things about your breast size. After all, it felt like you'd already heard everything about it in school—from strangers to bullies and even sometimes, friends alike. Mean words in the guise of jokes ranging from, 'where are they?' to calling your chest a chopping board, saying how it's similar to hugging a wall, and so on.

It was ridiculous, truly, people needing to point it out as if you weren't already aware of it yourself, as if you didn't see it every single day, as if you weren't the one they're attached to.

Over time, you'd grown to live with it, reminding yourself that it was more a reflection of their character than it was of yours. Small boobs didn't make you less beautiful. If a person thought otherwise, then you honestly had no time for such shallow minds.

Besides, when someone had something to say about your breast size, insensitive words that would only make you feel insecure about yourself, and even sometimes, have the audacity to compare it to others, then it was more than enough of a reason to chuck them back into the trash. It was a good red-flag-detector if being honest.

Yet now, here you were again.

In your defense, Steve's words simply caught you at the wrong time. You weren't in the greatest mood before you even got here, energy already depleted from work, and a little cloud of sadness had already hung over you since this morning.

Then again, this was Steve.

His opinion mattered so much more to you than some bullies in school who had nothing good going on in their lives.

Granted, Steve had seen you fully naked before, but only once. And that was when you lost your virginity to him. Still, he never showed signs of not liking them, nor had he ever said anything mean about them, not even in a remotely joking way. If your memory serves you right, his eyes practically lit up when he saw them for the first time.

But also, Steve was a good guy. Maybe he did have a preference, he simply didn't outwardly say it to avoid making the wrong impression. Maybe, as bad as it sounds, he was simply settling for what he could get. But you were a people-pleaser—only with people who you cared most about, but still—you didn't want Steve to settle for less of what he preferred. You wanted to give him more of what he deserved.

So what then if you weren't able to give that to him? What then if what you have to offer would start not being enough? 

Or perhaps Steve meant absolutely nothing of it, that he truly didn't care about the size of your boobs. He might've grown up to be quite a shallow person—rich parents, campus heartthrob, star athlete, the King of all jocks, what'd you expect?—but that part of him was long gone now. The Steve you're with now was compassionate, selfless, kind, sweet, had the biggest heart, the most caring boyfriend you could ever ask for, a new and improved great man.

But that didn't stop your brain from thinking the worst.

After all, it was easier to latch onto the negative voices in our heads, no matter if it was true or not.

The next thing you knew, you'd already dug yourself into a hole, filling it up with your insecurities until you were drowning.

It got to a point where you'd been changing the way you were acting around Steve.

You did your best to be subtle, small changes to not make a big deal out of it, to avoid what could be quite an embarrassing conversation if it all comes out into the open.

Not that Steve would ever make you feel bad about your insecurities. He'd been the best at making you feel comfortable and safe about it so far. And there's been quite a considerable amount you'd shared with him. It was mostly involving stuff in the bedroom due to the difference between your skill levels, but still.

It was more, your own fear of being proven right. You were scared to find out that he, in fact, had a preference, and they were far from what you have.

And as the days went by, it was working—well, you thought it was. You simply forgot to put into account one thing:

Your boyfriend was the most attentive person in the world, and then some.

•••

Steve noticed how you'd been acting weird lately.

The first odd thing he encountered was a change in your hugs.

They weren't as tight nor did they last as long anymore. You probably thought he couldn't tell but this was your hugs we were talking about. Of course he could tell. It was as if you were keeping him an inch away now, so little to others but too goddamn far in Steve's opinion.

The second thing was your cuddles, which were mostly the same when it came to your hugs, an inch or two too far.

But whenever he would try to lay on top of you—which you disclosed you always loved, him being your very own warm, weighted blanket—you would always shift away, gently pushing him onto his back so you would be the one who'd lay on his chest. But even then, not quite. Because now, you only went as far as resting your head on his shoulder, arm loosely draped over his stomach with a literal space between you. If Steve could insert a piece of paper between you, then you were too goddamn far.

Something was wrong and it was making Steve worry.

The most he noticed the change, though, was when you two would have sex.

Of course, Steve had been making sure that you were going at your own pace. He had been the one who insisted on taking things slow because you were more inexperienced compared to him. There was no way in hell he'd make you feel pressured, would not even risk nudging you close to your boundaries.

He cared about you too much.

But it wasn't that.

You still had that eagerness in you, the same one that's always been present even before you finally did the deed, the same one that got dialed up after you got your taste. Steve could confidently say that you were just as needy, if not, needier for him than ever before.

The way you'd give him that look every chance you got, your fingers skating across his thigh whenever you'd go for a drive, the way you'd nose his jaw, kiss the back of his ear, your little tells he'd grown to memorize—it was more than enough proof you still wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

It was when his hands would so much as graze the hem of your shirt that he'd notice something. It would be a split second where you'd flinch, and then the second after that, you'd take his hands and interlace your fingers together.

At first, he thought you simply wanted to hold his hand during it, a gesture so intimate, so adorable, so sweet, something that was just so you. It made Steve's heart grow softer, his dick swelling a little bit harder.

But then it kept happening, again, and again, and again and only when his hands would come anywhere near the area around your chest.

Maybe you'd grown not to like being touched there anymore, which was perfectly and utterly fine with him.

Your comfort and safety were always a top priority before his own pleasure.

But his gut was telling him something was up, and so far, it never once had wronged him.

Other than that, and God he really didn't want to sound like such a guy, more or less, a whiny baby but—

Steve missed your boobs.

Sure, he'd only seen them once—and by 'seen them' he meant, in all their bare and gorgeous glory—but once was more than enough to have him already obsessed.

Besides, Steve liked to think he had a photographic memory—well, when it came to you, anyway.

But recently, you'd been adamant about keeping your shirt on whenever you two got on with it.

Okay, there were other factors as to why that could be.

His parents were home for the week, and Steve had been avoiding the place like the plague. Waking up early to coming home late to avoid crossing paths with either of them. He could sneak you in, but Steve would rather not deal with the scrutiny of his asshole father and risk having you get caught in the crossfire. Besides, your schedule at the bakery and his hours at Family Video did not coincide. It would end with Steve leaving you in his room early in the morning and he would never let you face his parents alone.

Your own house was a no-go with how nosily toxic your mother was when it came to your privacy. A closed door warranted entering without as much as a knock, what more, a locked one? With what you'd told Steve about her so far, he wouldn't be surprised if she kept a spare key to your room in her pocket at all times.

It was why you'd been taking extra shifts to save enough money so you could finally move out of the place. And secretly, Steve had been doing the same in the hopes that you two could move in together—if you wanted to, of course.

Premature? Probably. After all, you'd only been together for half a year. But Steve would do anything to make you happy and keep you safe. And if that meant helping you out of that house quicker? Then moving too fast be damned. Hell, if it was up to him, he'd already be paying half the rent of an apartment even if he was giving you the whole place to yourself.

Head over heels? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Besides, if you know, you know.

But the point was—and Steve's a bit embarrassed to admit this purely because you deserved so much better—you mostly had only done quickies in the backseat of his car. So there hadn't been enough time for the both of you to get fully naked.

Steve hadn't had the chance again to take all the time and properly shower you with affection, praise, and—he had yet to say this out loud but it always burned in his heart every time he looked at you—the love that you rightfully deserved.

But still, there was a nagging voice in the back of his head saying that something was stopping you from baring yourself to him again.

Obviously, not seeing your boobs for a while wasn't the end of the world—it was in Steve's, to be completely honest—but it was worrying him that he might've done something that made you feel uncomfortable and he didn't catch it during the moment. Even worse if he'd let it simmer for days without doing anything to reassure it.

But Steve was sure he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, hadn't changed anything at all, much less tried something you two hadn't done before. You didn't have any trouble letting him know about things you didn't like, either. Even then, you were such an open book, expressive. Whatever you were feeling, Steve could usually tell right away with one look at your face—a purse of your lips, a scrunch of your nose, a crinkle between your brows, a twinkle in your eyes.

He was also confident enough in the fact that you were comfortable around him already. He'd not been short at reassuring you that you could tell him anything.

So maybe it wasn't a big deal.

Until it happened again.

•••

It's been absolute bliss.

The house was left to Steve once again, and obviously, he'd taken advantage of the empty space right away.

It's even more bliss that this wonderful Sunday was both your days off.

You slept over last night, and Steve had woken up to the sight of your beautiful face in the morning. It was made even better when you two got to sleep in, staying in bed for longer with no rush getting up. You made out for what felt like hours, lips numb but hearts warmer. The only reason you stopped was because you got hungry to the point where Steve managed to hear your stomach grumbling.

It was almost domestic bliss when the two of you tried to cook brunch together. Huge emphasis on tried. Because when Steve ended up eating something on the kitchen counter that wasn't particularly food—it was the best dessert, though—you two decided to order pizza instead.

Now, you'd both agreed on a lazy afternoon, huddled up in Steve's bed, warm blankets, warmer bodies, planning on burning through whatever VHS tape he had at your disposal.

The movie was barely even out of its sleeve and it was already long forgotten.

Because it was absolutely fucking bliss having you sat prettily on his lap, whining and moaning as you rubbed your barely clothed cunt over his hard cock that was hidden underneath his boxers.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, throwing his head back against the headboard when you started to add a little bounce to your movement.

Steve was letting you have your fun, to see what it was like being on top since it was one of the many things you hadn't done before.

Most people call it teaching, Some call it training, others call it corrupting.

You called it practice.

Steve liked that better.

And as always, it was at your own pace, slow and careful, sometimes nervous, but definitely absolute fucking torture.

It was like you were teasing him, bringing him oh so close only for your hips to stutter and unfortunately, stop for a few seconds, wiggle on your seat with a whine for a couple more, before starting up again.

You were honestly edging him to the brink of insanity.

The catch? You weren't doing it on purpose.

You were practicing, after all, testing out the angles, which direction to circle your hips, if grinding or bouncing was better, and how hard it was you needed to press yourself on him. You were trying to work out what feels good for you and—like the angel that you are—what feels good for him too.

But fuck, and not to toot his own horn, but Steve genuinely admired his patience. Because the number of times he had to stop himself from flipping you over and fucking you into next week was far too many to even count.

Steve didn't know how long you'd been humping him, using him for your own (and his) pleasure like he was your personal toy. But judging by how fucking wet you were, so much to the point that you'd already soaked through your panties and his boxers—it was long enough.

He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you away from where you'd been hiding your face on his shoulder and bringing you in for a bruising kiss.

Licking into your mouth, he started rutting his hips up to meet yours, his grip on your ass tightening when he felt the vibrations of your moan against his lips. One particularly hard thrust had you pulling away with a gasp.

He didn't let you get too far as his firm hand gripped your jaw. Tilting your head to the side, his mouth was quick to attach to your warm skin, kissing, nibbling, sucking, trailing further down, in need to taste more.

Steve groaned in frustration when his lips met the collar of the oversized shirt you wore.

"Need this off, baby," he whispered, fingers carefully tugging at the hem.

And just like before, you froze.

He didn't even need to ask where your hands were going when you removed them from his shoulders. Because in the next second, your fingers were already intertwined with his.

"Can I keep it on?" you asked, tone shy, smile soft, but your eyes—there were hints of worry in them, maybe even fear.

Steve sighed, bringing your hands up to his lips, kissing each knuckle to the insides of your wrists. He placed each of your palms flat against his cheeks as his fingers curled around your hips. He looked at you knowingly, his smile all the more reassuring as his thumb rubbed comforting circles over your clothed waist.

"Wanna tell me what's up?"

The way you averted your eyes was enough to confirm that something was definitely going on.

"What do you mean?"

"Baby, I know we've only had sex a handful of times," he said, tilting his head. "But that doesn't mean I don't notice that something's changed."

You frowned at that, hands falling to rest on your lap before you started picking at your nails. Steve was quick to cover them with his own, stopping your nervous fiddling with a reassuring squeeze.

"It's just—" You scrunched up your face, shaking your head before you hung it low, grumbling, "It's nothing."

Steve frowned. "Doesn't seem like it's nothing."

"It's stupid," you breathed out.

"Hey, it's definitely not if it's bothering you," he reassured, dipping his head to try and catch your gaze. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

There was a moment of silence, but Steve could see that you were thinking about it. So he waited, hands squeezing yours from time to time, making you aware that he was here, and you could talk to him, but also, there was no rush.

"I—" A deep breath, before you continued, "I overheard you and Robin talking about a week and a half ago about, uhm..." you paused, eyes everywhere else but on him. "Boobies."

Steve blushed.

"God, did I really sound like such a pig?" he asked with an embarrassed smile. Though, if you were acting this way because of what you heard, then maybe he did sound like such a pig and it made you feel uncomfortable enough to change your habits. "Sweetheart, I swear, it's nothing like that, I was just—"

You shook your head fervently. "No, no, It's not that—well, not really."

Confusion filled him up then.

"Then, what's wrong?"

"You said you love boobs—"

"I mean, yeah." He smiled at you sheepishly, and there was no doubt his cheeks were as red as they were going to get.

"But you love…" your voice dropped to a whisper, "Certain types of boobs."

Steve's brows furrowed. "I don't think I understand."

Okay, he might seem a tad bit slow here. But in his defense, he couldn't find fault in loving boobies. It was normal, right? He was a man, after all. Even then, everyone loves them.

So, what was wrong with it?

As if you read his mind, you spoke up, "There's nothing wrong with liking boobs, obviously. But mine aren't like, you know," you sighed, waving your hands. "They don't look like the ones in the movies or-or, magazines and stuff."

"Yeah...they don't," Steve slowly agreed. It was something he already knew, obviously. He'd seen your boobs and he'd also seen the ones on screen. There was a difference. But still, what was wrong with that? "I still don't see what the problem is here, sweetheart."

"Mine's—" you groaned, eyes screwed shut, your frustration obvious. Then, your whole body deflated, voice defeated as you gestured at your chest,

"There's not much there."

It took Steve a moment.

Mainly because he thought, in pure honesty, your boobs were perfect.

It took him a moment to grasp the fact that they were perfect only to him, and that you didn't share the same thought. You didn't view them as such.

It also took him a moment trying to remember what his exact words were, mind a bit fuzzy about the things he'd said that you might've taken the wrong way.

Then it hit him.

"Especially when they're big, round, voluptuous breasts o—"

Oh.

"You think I won't like your boobs because they're on…the smaller side?"

You nodded, pouting as you let out a shaky breath, body slumping as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

"Hey, nuh uh, look at me," he said softly, gently pulling you away from your hiding spot. He held your face in his hands, heart aching when he saw your glossed-up eyes, tears threatening to spill as you bit your bottom lip to stop them from trembling. Steve asked worriedly, "Did I make you feel that way?"

He silently cursed Robin for interrupting him that day. Because if she hadn't, then Steve would've been able to list other traits of boobs he liked which would've been the opposite of what he had said. He would've been able to continue the or part. 

But most importantly, he would've been able to rave about how yours were his favorite of them all.

"N-No, uhm, not really. But when I heard you say what you said I just thought, you know, you'd like them better if they looked like…uhm, the way you described or similar to the movies or just—" you paused, taking a deep, shaky breath before finally saying, "Typically, guys just like it when they're…bigger."

Steve frowned.

That couldn't have been farther from the truth—to him, at least.

You misunderstood what he had said. Then again, he hadn't been great at wording it, either, nor did he get to say his whole piece.

Because Steve did love boobies, but not bigger boobies, not smaller boobies, just...boobies. He honestly couldn't care less what shape or size they were, as long as he gets to see boobies, then he's a happy guy.

The happiest when it's yours, though.

"First off, and I don't want to sound cliché here, but I'm not like your typical guy," he said, his smile teasing yet soft as he took your hands in his. "Second, when I said, I love boobies, I meant, all boobies, doesn't matter to me what size they are. Robin just didn't let me finish my sentence. If she had, I would've ranted about how much I fucking love your boobies and I would've gotten smacked with a magazine more."

You cracked a smile, though Steve felt his heart pang when it was gone only a second later.

It was obvious you didn't believe him.

"I mean it," he added. "I'm not just saying this just because."

"No, I know, it's just," you sighed, frown deep, eyes trained on your intertwined hands. "You said it yourself, Steve, how most people like what they see on screen, you included. And mine are just—they look nothing like them."

"Okay, yeah, the ones they show in the movies or on TV or magazines, a lot of them look bigger and rounder, whatever. That doesn't automatically mean they're better or prettier, definitely not compared to yours. Boobies are boobies, they all come in different shapes and sizes and they're all pretty. Any guy should feel lucky to even just get the chance to just see them," he sincerely said, hands cupping your face, thumb caressing your cheeks to urge you to look at him. He smiled brightly when you did. "And yours? Yours just happen to be the prettiest in my eyes."

Your bottom lip went, voice soft and a little shaky, "You're just saying that."

Steve shook his head, kissing your pout away before giving you a genuine smile. "I honestly think you have no idea how obsessed I am with your boobs."

"You're not," you insisted, head dipping to try and hide again. But Steve gently kept you in place, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

"Oh, but I am, you want to know why?" It was rhetoric, you knew it was. But still, you nodded shyly, and Steve immediately delivered, "One, because they're genuinely so pretty to me. And two, they're yours. They're attached to the person who I'm honestly so head over heels for. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and that doesn't change when it comes to your boobs."

You looked at him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips as you sniffled, and then, a soft giggle, "That's weirdly romantic."

"Look who you're talking to, babe, weirdly romantic is my thing," he scoffed, teasingly rolling his eyes, his heart melting when you giggled again, much louder this time. But still, he could see that the apprehension didn't leave your eyes. "I wished you believed me though."

You sighed, your smile turning small, apologetic.

"Hey, it's okay. We all have insecurities, and they don't just go away overnight," he quickly reassured you before you could even think to say sorry. "But, for what it's worth, I'm going to keep telling you how pretty they are until it sticks."

You nodded, leaning closer to kiss him warmly, sweetly, before whispering against his lips, "It's worth a lot."

Steve hummed, thumb caressing your jaw as he tilted his head, kissing you a little deeper.

"I'm sorry I made you think that way, sweetheart," he said once he pulled away.

"It's okay," you hummed, brushing your lips against his with a small, reassuring smile. "You didn't mean to."

"How about I show you how much I'm obsessed with them?" he suggested, kissing the tip of your nose, once more on your forehead, and lastly, adoringly, on your lips, hands rubbing your arms affectionately. "If you'll let me."

Steve would've happily obliged if you had refused. And he thought you were just about to when you leaned back, putting some space between you both.

But then, you started playing with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up an inch or two before stopping.

"Baby, there's no pressure," he said, squeezing your thighs. "You can keep it on, I won't mind."

But you shook your head, silently saying it wasn't that. And then, you asked,

"Can you close your eyes first, please?"

Steve did so without question.

He felt you shift slightly on his lap, his thumbs caressing soft circles on your bare thighs. There was a pause, then a nervous breath. Steve ran his palms up and down your skin to reassure you. A second later, he heard the rustling of your shirt, shortly after, the sound of the fabric landing on the floor.

His grip tightened.

Still, he kept his eyes shut, waiting with bated breath.

Steve heard you sigh, and then ever so gently, you took his hands, warm palms close together, his thumbs instinctively drawing circles on your skin. Squeezing, you said,

"You can open your eyes now."

With a deep breath, he did, following your instruction carefully as he kept his gaze on your face.

You said he could open his eyes, you didn't say he could look yet.

Besides, the nerves were evident on your features—teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, eyes on his only fleetingly before looking away—that he didn't want to push you too far, too fast.

Steve was going to do his absolute best to make you feel as safe and comfortable as possible in his presence. And small, careful steps were usually the best way to go about it.

"Whenever you're ready," he whispered, squeezing your hand.

Only when you gave him a small nod of consent did he look down and—

Steve involuntarily moaned at the sight of them, his cock twitching in his boxers, a fresh bead of precum pooling at the tip.

Fuck.

Even he didn't know that he missed them this badly.

"Kinda hate you for denying me of this pretty sight for too fucking long now," he grumbled, no heat in his tone, even when he shot you a teasing glare. His heart quickened as he let his eyes drink up more of the absolute beauty that sat before him. "I mean, look at them."

"Sorry," you murmured, smiling shyly, body slowly relaxing under his gaze. Your fingers loosened around his before you took his hands and placed them on your bare waist, skin to skin. And fuck, you were so warm to the touch it was making his chest burn.

Steve smiled affectionately when you wrapped your nimble fingers around his wrists, slowly pushing his hands up and up, stopping just on your ribs. With a smile, you let him go, as if you were handing him all your trust from now on.

The thought made his heart skip.

"S'okay, baby," he breathed out, thumbs skimming just underneath the swell of your breasts, so close, but not touching. Not yet. "You're letting me see now. That's more than making it up for it."

"Do you really like them?" you asked timidly, a little worried.

"Like them?" Steve scoffed, slightly offended. "I'm fucking in love with them."

You grew even shier at that but didn't do anything to cover up. If anything, he saw your shoulders fully relax, back arching towards him slightly, a little more confident.

Steve took that as a good sign.

"Can I touch?"

"Yeah," you sighed, biting at your bottom lip, nodding, whispering out a soft, "Want you to feel them."

Fuck.

You were going to be the death of him.

Which would probably happen any second now judging by how much you were already killing him when you've done absolutely nothing.

So Steve didn't waste any more time.

He lightly ran his fingers over them, carefully at first. He couldn't help but revel in the way you shivered, adding a little pressure when you started leaning closer to him, needing more.

"Beautiful," he gushed, running his thumb over your nipples, groaning when they started to harden under his touch. "Gorgeous." He covered them with his palms, his breath hitching when they felt perfect in his hold just like he remembered they would, his fingers squeezing, kneading them delicately. "So fucking pretty."

"Steve," you sighed, your eyes fluttering shut, head lolling to the side. You absentmindedly arched your back, pressing onto him more, your hands on his shoulders to help steady yourself.

"Can't believe you dared to talk badly about my babies."

You snorted, eyebrow raised when you looked at him again. "Your babies?"

"Yeah, well, since you don't like them and aren't showing them the love they deserve, I'm going to do it myself. So, they're mine now," he teased, leaning forward. But before he could let his lips touch your skin, he stopped. "Wait, hold on."

He reached over his bedside table, rummaging around his drawer until his fingers felt the familiar, thin, metal frames. He put them on, quickly turning back to you.

"Okay, how the fuck," Steve gasped, hands going back to where they were before, where he was sure they belonged, holding your beautiful boobs. He looked up to meet your confused gaze, his mouth open, eyes widening a tad bit more for extra dramatics as he gushed, "They got even prettier!"

You threw your head back, laughing that lovely laugh of yours, and his heart might as well have jumped out of his chest and landed on the palm of your hand.

Steve was sure it did.

"You're too much," you said, giggling, pushing back the hairs that landed on his forehead before adjusting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"You're too much," he grumbled, slowly leaning closer. "Can't fucking handle how gorgeous you are."

You shook your head, laughing when he all but smushed his face on your chest.

"God I missed you," he whispered against your boob, earning another giggle from you, the sound replaced with a gasp when he started mouthing around it, suckling gently on the warm flesh. His kisses moved across the valley to show the other one affection as well. "And you, obviously."

"Think they missed you too," you hummed, breath hitching when he swirled his tongue over your nipple, fingers playing with your other boob. He made sure to be overly generous with his kisses, light and affectionate to fervently hungry, leaving marks on his wake, groaning in response to your sweet moan.

"And of course—" He pulled away after a moment, cupping the back of your neck, smiling brightly as he met your eyes. "I missed you."

You shook your head, leaning forward to kiss him, only to stop when you nudged his glasses, making them sit wonkily on his face. He groaned, taking them off and placing them back on his bedside table.

"But I like them on you," you complained, pouting.

"I don't know if that's a new kink I've unlocked," he teased, bringing you back into him, grinning once his lips touched yours. "But I'd rather not poke your eye out."

You giggled against the kiss, shaking your head, "You said you missed me?"

"So fucking bad," he sighed, licking into your mouth only for you to pull away slightly.

"But we've been together the whole day," you hummed, eyes twinkling, your breath fanning over his lips.

"And?" he grumbled, holding your face still with his fingers, gently pressing your cheeks together until your lips were forming a small O. "Now will you please let me fucking kiss you properly?"

You nodded, eyes crinkling as you laughed.

Steve lurched forward, tongue immediately slipping into your mouth, chuckling when you squeaked.

It didn't take long for your lips to fall into a rhythm, his tongue dancing with yours, coaxing sighs and pretty little whines. His fingers wandered up your waist until he was cupping a boob in each hand. You sighed into the kiss, moaning when he started circling your nipples with his thumbs. You pulled away with a gasp when he pinched them lightly.

Steve kissed your jaw then, trailing down your neck, nipping at the spots that had you whimpering against him. His hands continued their ministrations, featherlight, teasing touches to one with a firmer grip, a different one for each boob as his lips reached your collarbone.

Looking at you through his lashes, he took your tit in his mouth, covering as much as he could. Then, he started sucking.

Your hand flew onto the back of his head, mewling loudly as you tangled your fingers into his hair. His eyes fluttered close, groaning when you pulled at his strands, getting a moan in response when you felt the vibrations of his sounds. One hand on your ass, the free one groped your other boob, rolling your nipple between his fingers, making sure it was getting the love it deserved, too.

Your hips bucked against his when he started swirling his tongue around your nipple, flicking the hard nub before pulling away with a pop. Steve teasingly blew cold air on your wet skin, chuckling when you shivered before he switched sides. 

His free hand found your hip, encouraging you to move, growling into your skin when you started grinding on him at a steady pace.

It was overwhelming.

The sensation of having your clothed cunt rubbing over his hard cock paired with the feeling of your warm tit in his mouth, it was quickly rushing to his head.

Carefully, gently, he rolled your nipple between his lips, lightly tugging it with his teeth.

Your body lurched forward with a squeak, stuttering his name out when he soothed it with his tongue. Arms tightly wounding around his shoulders, you rested your chin on top of his head, unknowingly smothering him closer to your chest.

And Steve was in fucking heaven.

He didn't know how long he was making out with your tits, fingers playing with the other that wasn't in his mouth.

But fuck, he didn't want to stop.

Not when you were making the prettiest sounds for him, your whole chest vibrating with each loud moan, each whimper and whine, spluttering his name over and over, the only broken record he'd beg to listen to.

Not when you'd press harder against his cock, nails digging into his shoulders in a deliciously painful way, fingers tugging at his hair, writhing on his lap as he mouthed and groped and sucked, licking and pinching—switch and repeat.

He was humming in satisfaction like he was licking up ice cream on a hot summer's day. He was muttering against your skin like he was praying in a church, whispering all the sweet praises of how beautiful they were. Or you could say he was confessing all his sins as he groaned absolute obscenities of the things he wanted to do to them—like using them as a canvas for something that wasn't paint.

Steve didn't know how long he spent pressed against your chest. But honestly, he didn't fucking care.

And he would've gone on for even longer if you hadn't gently tapped his cheek, three times, signaling him to stop.

He let go with a soft pop, a string of his spit connecting your nipple and his lips, your skin glistening from the wetness.

Steve's dick twitched at the sight.

Blinking away the haze, he looked at you with dark eyes, his chest heaving, voice hoarse, "What's wrong?"

You didn't say anything. Instead, you took his hand and guided it between your legs.

Steve chuckled darkly, gently tugging his wrist off your hold, placing his palm flat on your thigh, squeezing in warning, "Sweetheart, we've talked about this."

"Hurts," you whined, forehead landing on his shoulder as your hips jerked forward. 

"Aww no, your pussy hurts?" he cooed, cupping your face and urging you to look at him. And as he expected, your pout was already in full play when he met your wide, doe eyes. He mocked the gesture, jutting his lip out. "It's not getting enough attention?"

"No," you breathed out, shaking your head, blinking at him innocently. 

"Then ask."

Your shoulders slumped slightly, pout turning more prominent. But then, you leaned closer, brushing the tip of your nose with his adorably, your eyes darkening as you so sweetly asked,

"Need your fingers please, Stevie."

How could he say no to that?

"See, that wasn't so hard," he hummed appreciatively, one hand on your cheek, tilting your head for a kiss as the other moved to cup your heat.

Steve moaned.

Because holy fucking shit you were throbbing. He could actually feel your clit pulsating against his palm.

"You enjoyed that so much, huh?" he hummed against your lips, swallowing your lewd moan as he pressed his thumb on your swollen bud. "Like it when I suck on your tits, don't you, baby?"

You nodded in haste, eyes shut tight, panting against his lips as you moved against his finger yourself. You were unconsciously doing the work as he kept his hand still, too impatient to realize, so desperately needy to care.

It was adorable.

"Oh yeah you do," Steve chuckled, moving to flatten his palm against your heat, squeezing. Your hips stuttered to a stop with a choked moan. He pushed your soaked underwear to the side, teasing his finger into your hole only to throw his head back with a groan, "Jesus Christ, you're fucking dripping."

"S-Steve," you mewled, looking like you were so close to tears if he didn't do anything soon.

He was almost tempted to.

"I know, pretty girl, I know," he hummed, turning his head to kiss your temple before inserting two fingers into your weeping hole, sliding in so easily. "Shit, there you go."

He couldn't stop his chuckle when you didn't even wait for him to move his hand. Despite it being slightly unsure—this was your first time taking his fingers this way, after all—the neediness was evident as you rocked your hips against his digits.

"So desperate," he hummed, free hands cupping your tit, rolling his palm over your nipple which had you keening against him. "I mean, look at you, so needy, so pretty fucking yourself on my fingers."

"Steve," you moaned, eyes screwed shut as your forehead landed on his. "O-One more."

He felt his head spin.

You'd only ever done two before.

"Yeah?" He curled his fingers, grinning when he earned a whine. "Sure you can take it?"

"Y-Yeah," you whimpered, nodding repeatedly. "I can take it, p-please, Stevie, n-need more, please."

He could never say no when you beg him like that.

"Okay, okay, now stay still."

Steve gave you what you wanted, your grip on his shoulders vice-like, moans short and breathy as he slowly eased another finger into you. He grabbed your ass with his free hand, squeezing, urging you to move.

You managed to grind on it once, twice, five times. But when Steve curled his fingers, you clenched around it hard, your hips suddenly stuttering, legs twitching, head thrown back as loud, broken moans spilled out of your lips.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he watched you fall apart before him, a wave of arousal gushing out of you, coating his fingers and dripping onto his palm.

You came out of nowhere and it caught you both off guard.

"Shit—fuck," you choked out a sob, forehead on his, eyes teary. "S-Steve, Steve."

"It's okay, you're okay, just ride it out," he cooed, aiding you through your orgasm with gentle strokes, whispering over and over, "That's it, I got you, did so, so good."

He stopped when you shook your head, thighs tightening around his hand, whimpering when he slowly pulled his fingers out. He brought them into his mouth, sucking them clean with a content hum, your half-lidded, curious eyes blinking at him.

"Maybe what you eat does affect it," he hummed, smacking his lips. "Tastes like watermelon."

He chuckled when you whined, hiding your face against the crook of his neck as your arms snaked around his shoulders.

He turned his head slightly, rubbing his cheek on your temple as he murmured, "You good, sweetheart?"

"Didn't mean to," you whispered, your frown evident as you hugged him tighter.

"I know," he said, chuckling softly, hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It's okay. It happens, especially when it's just so good."

You nodded in agreement, giggling. You emerged out of your hiding spot, giving him chaste kisses on the lips as your hand traveled down. "Your turn?"

"Babe, wait—fuck," he groaned, hips involuntarily jutting up into your palm. He hastily pulled your hand away, shaking his head. He was going to bust too soon if you keep going. "I need to be inside you or I'm going to fucking lose it."

You nodded eagerly.

His grip on your waist tightened when you started lifting yourself off of him. He shook his head, smiling at you knowingly.

"Want you to ride me, baby," he hummed, hands gripping your waist, slowly pulling you closer and then pressing you down on his cock. He groaned, "Fuck, want to see all of you properly." 

Your eyes widened. "But I don't know how—"

"I'm going to teach you. I always do." He moved closer, brushing his lips against yours with a reassuring smile, hand cupping your cheek, thumb caressing the warm skin affectionately. "And you've been practicing. It's not much different with my fingers."

"But it is because you're going to feel it too," you said, always taking him into account. Such a sweet girl. "What if I'm going to be bad at it?"

"You won't be," he reassured, kissing your jaw before pulling away to get a good look at you. "Because so far? You've been a goddamn natural."

You started nibbling on your bottom lip, so obviously thinking. And when your apprehension didn't lessen, he quickly added with a warm smile, "Hey, no pressure. You don't have to if—"

"No!" you protested a little too loudly. Steve bit his cheek to stop a smirk, his heart melting when your voice started to grow shy again, "I-I want to. It's just—"

You were nervous.

Steve could tell purely because you always got like this whenever you'd try something new. It wasn't so much that you didn't want to do it that was making you nervous, it was the fact that you did want to do it, but you want to do it well.

It was the people pleaser in you, or in this case, boyfriend pleaser. Or maybe it was the perfectionist. Either way, you always ended up being too hard on yourself.

Being inexperienced, you told him you didn't want to disappoint him, that you wanted to be able to please him just as, if not better compared to the ones before you. You wanted to be good enough for him, even though he'd already assured you countless times that nobody else could even come close to how you make him feel.

Nobody could ever hold a candle to you.

Besides, no one turned into an immediate sex god after the first time doing it. Much like everything else, it came with the eagerness to actually learn and enhance your skills or, in your words, practice. 

And yes, he was speaking from experience.

With that said, though, he also couldn't stop you if you so badly wanted to be good for him.

To be his good girl.

Steve's dick twitched at the thought.

If only you knew just how much you make him feel so good by doing so little.

Like now.

Squirming on his lap, thighs rubbing together, pouting all cute but your eyes darkened with lust, it was more than enough to make him feel a little dizzy.

It also gave him an idea.

"Want to practice some more by riding my thigh?"

The way your eyes widened yet twinkled, lips parting as you slowly blinked at him, sweet innocence laced with fervent hunger—Steve knew that look all too well.

"Yeah, you want that? Of course, you do. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at me when I wear my good old, school gym shorts, baby," he chuckled darkly, hands trailing up your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh before he hooked his fingers on the hem of your underwear. "Off."

You didn't need to be told twice.

The ruined fabric was thrown with the other clothes that littered across his bedroom floor. Spreading his legs slightly, he grabbed your hips, guiding you to straddle one thigh.

Your breath hitched as you sat on the muscle, Steve groaning at the mere feeling of your cunt, so warm and so fucking wet on his skin.

He leaned back against the headboard to get a good view. Taking your hands, he kissed the insides of your wrists before placing your palms flat on his chest, keeping you sitting upright, no more hiding.

And fuck, what a sight.

"So pretty," he gushed, running his hands up and down your forearms. You shook your head, eyelids screwing shut, face scrunched up. He tutted, "Hey, none of that. Let me see you, come on."

You opened your eyes with a pout, whimpering slightly when he flexed his thigh under you.

"You can move, baby," he hummed, nodding encouragingly.

The moan you let out at the first rock of your hips went straight to his dick.

"Fuck," he groaned, his grip around your wrists tightening slightly, absolutely taken by the way you were grinding on his thigh, his skin glistening more and more with each back and forth. "That's it, pretty girl—fuck, love it when you make a mess."

You moaned, hips moving even faster, head thrown back in pleasure. 

Steve's eyes fell on your chest, a deep groan vibrating in the back of his throat as he watched your tits move in sync with each snap of your hips.

He shook his head in awe, pushing himself off the headboard to wrap his arms around your torso, his mouth immediately attaching to your boob.

You lost your rhythm, hips faltering for a moment when he started suckling on your tit, fingers rolling the other.

He gripped your waist with one hand, guiding you back and forth, urging you to keep going. And you did, hands on his shoulders for support as you slowly gained back your momentum.

Steve switched sides, flicking his tongue on the hardened nub, wrapping his lips around it, sucking, moaning, and then going back to flicking. One hand groped your chest, and the other found your ass, digging his fingers into the flesh to aid your movements, flexing his thigh to meet your thrust.

You keened, gripping his shoulders so tight, surely leaving your own marks.

"Holy fuck," he groaned, forehead pressing against your chest as his gaze fell onto your cunt, loudly squelching and tightly squeezing on his thigh. "Can feel you fucking clenching, sweetheart."

"S-So good, feel so good, Stevie," you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, guiding his face back onto your chest. "Please don't stop, want your mouth, please."

Steve growled and didn't even waste a second to do as you asked. 

And he was all over you.

Open mouth kisses to ones with tongue and teeth, his lips moving around the whole expanse of your chest, leaving calculated marks, making sure there was no space left untouched.

Both his hands were wandering your body, fingers scratching down your back, palms pawing at your ass, squeezing your thighs, hands running up your stomach to then grope at your breasts, just needing to feel every. single. inch. of your warm skin he could reach.

Steve was everywhere, but nowhere at the same time. He was so close to you, but not close enough.

Because he fucking needed to be inside you.

And the way you were pulsing against his thigh, clenching around nothing, coating his skin with your slick, it only made him even more desperate to feel that fucking cunt around his cock.

But you beat him to it before he could even ask.

"Stevie?" you whimpered, hips stuttering, slowing.

"Hmm?" He lifted his head from your chest, hand finding your jaw, stopping your head from lolling back so you could keep your gaze on him. It took you a moment to blink away the haze clouding your eyes, still gasping, still fucking his thigh. He hummed again, gripping your jaw tighter to get you to focus. "What'd you want?"

"N-Need more," you panted, eyes fluttering close. "Please."

"More what?" he returned, lightly tapping your ass.

Your hand immediately cupped his dick, squeezing, telling him exactly what you wanted.

Steve hissed, shaking his head, spanking you a little harder, making you whine. He warned, "Words, sweetheart, come on."

There was no hesitation this time.

"Want your cock now."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned, nodding before he tapped your thigh, urging you to lift yourself up so he could pull his boxers off, throwing them haphazardly on the floor.

Steve will never get tired of the look on your face every time you see his cock, hard and leaking just for you. 

"Come here," he hummed, snapping you out of your trance, offering both his hands to you. He sat you down on his stomach, knees on either side of him. "It's going to feel a little different than when you're lying down. So it's okay if you can't take it all the way right now. We stop if it gets too much."

You shook your head, brows furrowed, eager and determined. "I can take it."

"I'm sure you can, baby," he hummed, not doubting your drive to actually do it. But, he wasn't exactly the easiest size to take, especially not when it's your first time being on top. "But we need to go slow, okay?"

You nodded. He shot you a look.

"Okay."

"Good girl," he praised, pulling you in for a sweet, adoring kiss, a stark contrast to the sharp moan you let out at the pet name. He chuckled, tapping your thigh. "Now up."

You did as told, shuffling on your knees before sitting back, your ass resting on his thighs. You watched him patiently, wide doe-eyes twinkling with your hands on your lap, fiddling with your fingers as you waited for further instructions.

So fucking cute.

You innocently moved as he beckoned closer, signaling you to stop once you were hovering just over his throbbing length.

Then, he offered you his open palm, chuckling when you tilted your head, confused.

"Wet my hand for me?" he asked.

Your eyes widened in realization, nodding as you gently curled your fingers around his wrist.

Steve fully expected you to spit on it, maybe even lick it, just like the times he'd taught you before.

But then, catching him completely off guard. you guided it towards your pussy instead.

Steve moaned as you scooped up your slick for him, his hand now wet and glistening. He hissed as he wrapped it around his girth, moaning and shuddering as he moved fingers, giving himself relief after what felt like hours of being too fucking hard for comfort.

"You're adorable but fuck me you're a little devil too, huh?" he gasped, reveling in the way you were practically drooling as you watched him stroke himself, his hand gliding over his length so easily due to your cum. "It fucking drives me insane."

"Steve," you whined, teeth nibbling at your lip, thighs rubbing together.

He chuckled darkly, one hand finding your hip and urging you closer, holding his cock upright for you with the other.

"All yours, sweetheart."

You both moaned in each other's mouths the second his tip touched your entrance.

Perhaps it was a rookie mistake and you just didn't know any better. Or perhaps you were simply too eager and too drunk from lust that his fair warnings were all fogged up in your head. But all of a sudden, you pushed yourself down, way too fast.

You winced.

"Hey, easy," he reprimanded, gripping your hips to bring you to a stop, pulling you forward to sit you back on his stomach. "What did I just tell you?"

"S-Sorry, I just—want it so bad," you whimpered, absentmindedly dragging your cunt over his happy trail, soaking up the hairs with your slick.

Steve tried not to moan at the sight.

Another time.

"I know you do," he said, cupping your face, brushing his thumb under your eye. Your waterline was starting to fill up, a sign of your frustration Steve knew too well. "And you and I both know you're gonna get it no matter because you're my fucking spoiled girl, aren't you?"

You nodded, sniffling with a pout, "Yeah."

"So don't be greedy. You're gonna hurt yourself if you're impatient," he said firmly, tapping your thigh encouragingly, wrapping his fingers around his cock with a hiss as he held it up for you. "Now, go again, slowly."

You eagerly positioned yourself over his tip once more, hands gripping his shoulders for support. And then, you sunk on him, carefully this time, gentle, so fucking tight.

It was so hard for Steve to keep his eyes open, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched your cunt slowly but oh so sweetly wrap around his length.

"That's it, easy, sweetheart, t-that's it," he panted, muscles tensing as he forced his hips to stay planted on the mattress. "Taking me so so well, that's a good girl—fuck!"

You clenched around his tip with a choked moan, and goddammit you already felt like heaven and he wasn't even fully in yet.

"Okay?" Steve breathed out, chest heaving as he drew reassuring circles on your hips. 

"More."

He shook his head in disbelief, chuckling, "Then take more, sweetheart."

Steve swore sharply when you did, cunt fluttering as you sunk down on him further, your breathy moans fanning against his face as you rested your forehead against his.

Then you stopped, fingers digging into his shoulders, eyes screwing shut as you whimpered, "Steve, n-need—"

"I got you, baby, I got you," he hummed, licking his thumb before finding the swollen bud between your legs, rubbing gentle circles that had you keening.

A chorus of expletives spilled out of Steve's mouth as you opened up for him more, pretty pussy slowly taking him in inch by delicious inch, dripping so much that he could feel your warm slick coat him down to the base of his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're so fucking tight," he moaned, eyes screwing shut, grunting when you clenched around him with a needy whimper.

He forced his eyes open, gaze dropping only to see that you'd taken more than half of his cock already. His grip on your waist tightened when he saw just how much of your cum was practically leaking on him, covering the tops of his curly hairs.

"Holy shit, baby, look how much you're soaking me," he gasped, rubbing your clit faster that made you gush over his dick some more. "Christ, you're so fucking wet."

"A-All for you, Stevie," you mewled, nosing his cheek. You tried to kiss him, only to end up yelping in his mouth when his hips involuntarily jerked at your words, sheathing more of himself into you.

His apology died in his throat, a guttural growl rumbling out of his lips instead when you sunk even further, burying his cock all the way inside until he was fully wrapped by your tight, heavenly walls.

Steve was sure he was seeing stars.

"Good?" he asked after taking a second to catch his breath, trying so hard not to move as he let you adjust. Arms wrapping around your form, he trailed soft kisses on your shoulder, moving to the side of your neck, up your cheek before kissing you. You sighed, lips languidly moving with his. Steve hummed, "How does it feel?"

"Bigger," you breathed against his mouth.

"That so?" he chuckled, hands rubbing up and down your naked back. It wasn't exactly what he was asking, but he didn't mind an ego stroke here and there. "How about you, baby? How are you feeling?"

"So so good," you whispered, shifting slightly but the movement was enough to make you let out a strained moan. "F-Full."

"Oh yeah?" He grinned smugly, playfully nibbling at your bottom lip before he asked, "You like it better like this?"

You shook your head, forehead resting against his as you pouted. "Please don't make me choose."

"I'm not," he chuckled, shifting his legs slightly before they fall asleep. You whined needily from the slight stimulation. He grinned. "Was just asking, sweetheart."

"C-Can't choose."

"Yeah? As long as my cock's inside this pretty pussy, doesn't matter how I give it to you, right?" he drawled, chuckling when your eyes widened, surprised by his words as if he wasn't balls deep inside of you. Then, you nodded shyly, adorably agreeing. He hummed, "Yeah, that's right, such a cockslut for me, my pretty little cockslut."

That made you shakily gasp.

But judging by the way your cunt practically gripped him like a vice, Steve knew you liked it.

"You can move whenever you're ready, sweetheart," he rasped when you started wriggling in your seat.

Like clockwork, your eyes turned big and round, all glossed up as you looked through his, your swollen bottom lip jutted out.

"Why are you pouting? You're the one who wanted my cock," he tutted, shaking his head. squeezing your waist. "So take it."

And take him you fucking did.

Steve practically felt the air leave his lungs when you moved.

"Just like you practiced, back and f-forth, fuck yes," he gasped, head thumping against the headboard as you built up a steady rhythm, panting, whining, moaning on top of him with each gyration of your hips. "Fuck, baby, that's it, so fucking good."

"S-So deep," you choked out, followed by a loud mewl when you experimentally started moving in slow circles.

"Fuck, I know," he groaned, hands on your hips, aiding your movement but not by any means controlling it. This was all about you, after all. "And you're taking it so well, aren't you?"

You nodded fervently.

"And why is that?"

"C-Cause I'm—" you paused with a long moan, eyes screwing you for a moment before they looked deep into his. "I'm your good girl."

"Fuck yeah, you are," Steve growled, hips jerking off the mattress, earning a high-pitched moan from you when he hit that sweet spot.

"Steve, please," you cried needily, begging for him to do it again.

"Why don't you try bouncing on my cock, sweetheart?" he suggested, hands splayed underneath your ass, squeezing.

You paused with a whimper, grabbing his shoulders before you started going up and down.

Steve almost choked on his own spit. "Jesus, just like that—holy fuck, baby."

It wasn't fast, nor was it too hard, actions still laced with hesitancy but my God, getting to watch you be so desperate to hit that spot inside you, moans broken up with each bounce was enough to have his mind reeling.

But before Steve could encourage you to go faster, you accidentally rose too far up, his cock slipping out.

You froze in panic.

What followed was immediate, the embarrassment, frustration and worry coating your entire being as your head dipped, your body slowly deflating. You leaned forward to hide, probably thinking that you'd ruined everything.

Steve knew your signs all too well.

It also helped that this had happened before, that every time you try something new and the littlest mishap would happen, you immediately would think that you'd done something wrong, that you'd disappointed him.

Like Steve had said, you were such a pleaser.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he rushed, quickly holding your face in his hands before you could have the chance to curl into him. Kissing away the tears that touched your cheek, he cooed, "Ssh, it's okay, you're okay, it happens."

"Sorr—"

"Don't, sweetheart," he cut you off, smiling, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheeks, a few more on your lips before he looked at you properly. "It's totally normal for it to slip out, especially when it's your first time—hell, even sometimes when you'd done it before. It happens."

"Really?" you sniffled, doe-eyes looking at him expectantly, pout in full play.

Fuck. 

He honestly didn't know that someone being adorable was enough to actually make his dick twitch.

Only you, he was sure of it.

"Really, really. You'll get the hang of it, don't worry," he reassured, kissing your frown away. Lightly tapping your ass, he teasingly added, "You should get back on your seat, babe, it's gonna get cold."

That managed to coax a giggle out of you, and Steve couldn't stop his proud smile. One that was quick to be wiped off by a sharp hiss when you wrapped your fingers around his length, guiding him back into your warm folds.

And it didn't take long for you to get the hang of it at all.

Because for the few months you'd been together, Steve was assured about one thing:

You were one hell of a fast learner.

"That's it, fuck yourself on my cock," he grunted, hands digging into your hips as you gradually bounced faster. "Fuck that pretty, wet cunt on my cock, baby—shit!"

Steve's eyes rolled back with a deep moan, when gripped him like a vice.

And Christ, the feeling of your ass slapping against his thighs, your cunt sinking and pulling at his cock as you bounced—

It was fucking heavenly.

He blinked away the haze, just so he could have a good look at you, and fuck yes what a gorgeous view.

Your skin was glistening with sweat, so hot to the touch but God, he couldn't get enough of the burn as he let his hands fondle every flesh he could reach. You look ethereal, and he swore on his life you were glowing.

Your brows were pinched together, eyes screwed shut as your bitten lips formed an O, shape pleasingly familiar, blessing him the prettiest sounds, moans filthy and needy yet so fucking lovely. And your tits, fuck, the way they moved with each snap of your hips was mesmerizing, his eyes unable to stop drinking up the enchanting poison, his mouth open with a little bit of drool.

Steve was in awe, dumbstruck, lovesick.

You looked like his fucking wet dream personified.

Better yet, you looked like the most sinful angel that's ever blessed this earth, let alone his world.

"You're so fucking gorgeous bouncing on my cock like t-this," he panted out, a low groan bubbling in his throat when he felt your walls squeeze him. "Looking like a goddamn angel I swear."

It was utter euphoria.

The pungent smell of sex in the air, the sound of your coupling echoing around his room, skin slapping against skin, the quiet creak of his bed with each fervent thrust, the lewdness of your squelching pussy around his cock.

All of it was married deliciously with the moans you were breathing down his neck, needy uh uh uh's, working in tandem with each whiny Steve, Steve, Steve.

He was letting out his own grunts and curses in response, throwing in sweet praises, mixing them with his filthy words that he knew made you squirm.

He gushed about how he fucking enjoyed opening you up with his huge cock, molding your tight cunt to fit him perfectly so that it would only ever feel full with his dick and his dick only.

That threw you off your rhythm.

"N-No," you sobbed, annoyed, your movements slowing as your legs quivered slightly.

Steve already knew what you wanted the second he felt your pout against his skin. Yet still, he asked, "What's the matter?"

"My legs are tired," you whispered shyly, sniffling.

"Aww no, your legs are tired?" he cooed, gripping your jaw to get you to look at him, copying your pout condescendingly. "Want me to take control?"

You nodded fervently, whining as you shifted. "Please."

Steve lifted his hips with no warning, your body lurching forward with a yelp as he planted his feet flat on the bed. Both your hands flew to grip the headboard behind him, caging his head between your biceps.

You moaned when he coaxed you to lean forward even more, his tip brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

He buried his face into your chest then, wrapping his arms securely around your waist to firmly hold you in place before he started to fuck into you upwards.

Moments like this were mere reminders of your boyfriend's strength, years of being a star athlete definitely paying off.

Because Steve was relentless.

Each thrust of his hips was hard and fast and so fucking deep it was almost as if his goal was to bruise your lungs front the inside. Your moans didn't even have the chance to finish spilling out of your mouth when you were immediately choking them back in, each stroke somewhat stretching you a little bit more.

And you? Oh, you were floating.

Your mind was fuzzy, no other thought except Steve and the front of his thick thighs slapping against your ass.

It was filthy yet exhilarating, the sticky feeling of your skin against his, a culmination of sweat and your mess from when you rode the muscle earlier. It was made obvious since one thigh was definitely much wetter than the other.

Your brain was starting to get muddled, head fucked empty except for Steve and his huge cock driving up into your cunt.

It was mind-numbing, how much you could feel every inch and every thick vein dragging up and down your walls, mushroom tip nudging that spongy spot that had your eyes rolling with a drawn-out moan.

If he thought you were an angel, then you thought Steve Harrington was a god.

Because it was the only explanation as to how he was able to keep up his pace, how his fervent thrusts never faltered, how each draw of his cock was a perfect stroke to your velvety canvas, all while his hands and mouth were busy at the same time.

He'd never given your boobs this much attention before, tongue laving at your hot skin before his lips curled around a nipple, making sure the other didn't feel neglected as he toyed it with his fingers.

But then again, you never truly gave him the chance to.

Your insecurities weren't going to be magically gone in a span of, well, however long you two had been going at it. But they surely were nonexistent in your head at the moment m—nothing existed in your head right now.

Only Steve who'd been insatiably sucking on your tits with all his heart's desire, groaning against your hot and wet skin as if it was the best treat he'd ever had in a while. His large, rough hands were gripping at every crevice of your body he could reach, wandering and needy and praising and hungry, no skin left untouched. Then combining everything with the way his massive cock was pounding up into you, reaching the spots inside of you only he could reach, opening you up, stretching you, so filthy, so delicious—

Steve Harrington was fucking you into your next life.

So you couldn't blame yourself for thinking he was god-like when it came to his skills in the bedroom. He'd proven it to you over and over again and somehow, outdoing himself every single time.

Although, the second he'd open his mouth?

Oh, you were speaking to the Devil himself.

"Such a tight fucking pussy," he grunted, his warm breath feathering across your wet tits, the contrast in temperature making you clench. "Shit–fuck baby, it's like she wants to marry my cock. She won't fucking let go."

You mewled, nails dragging down the thick, straggles of hair on his chest.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nodding as if he was agreeing to something you said when you didn't even say a single word. It was mean and patronizing, but oh does it make your head spin. "Your cunt does want to marry my cock, doesn't she, baby?"

"S-Steve, please," you pleaded, but having no clue what for, too fucked dumb to even try and figure it out.

"If she lets me fill her up so, so good then I might just say yes," he grunted, growling when you squeezed him with a whine. "Yeah? Want it, pretty girl?"

"P-Please, please, please." You nodded, gasping, whining, needing that fire inside you to be put out by that only thing you knew would be able to.

"Course you do," he panted, sucking harshly on one tit before pulling away with a pop. "You know, sometimes I imagine you're not on the pill."

You blinked rapidly, trying so hard to focus on his eyes, brown hues now close to black as you gasped against his mouth, "Y-You do?"

"Mm-hmm, know what that means, sweetheart?"

"I-I get p-pregnant?" you spluttered dumbly, nose nudging with his unintentionally, only due to the way you were bouncing with each snap of his hips. "You w-want me to get pregnant, Stevie?"

The growl he let out went straight to your core, pussy immediately responding by squeezing around his cock.

"Fuck yes," Steve moaned, holding you still by the back of your neck, trying to connect your lips together, unsuccessfully so when you merely exchanged salacious sounds into each other's mouths. It was getting harder to discern which moans and whines were whose. The rumbling growl was Steve's, though, "Gonna fill you up until you're nice and round for me."

You clenched around him, hard.

"Oh?" He grinned smugly, licking into your mouth, pulling away with a groan, "Want to carry my babies for me, sweetheart?"

You whimpered, eyes closing, response a little shy but still, you nodded.

It made Steve go absolutely feral.

You didn't know if it was even possible for him to go any faster than the pace he'd set.

But oh he did.

You shrieked at the brutal shift, one hand clawing at his shoulder as your palm slammed against the headboard, stopping yourself from lurching forward and banging your head on the wood. You pressed your forehead against his, mewling brokenly as you felt the knot in your stomach twist at a rapid pace.

"S-Steve, Stev–fuck, I-I'm cl—Steve."

"You're what, baby?" he panted, growling as he started dragging your hips down to meet his. "Go on, finish your sentence."

You shook your head, overwhelmed-tears pooling in your eyes. "Want–shit, I n-need to c—"

"Aww no, am I interrupting you?" he cooed in fake sympathy, pouting at you. "Want me to slow down so you can talk?"

"N-No!" you choked out a sob, whimpering, nails digging into his shoulder blades, moaning filthily before you finally breathed out, "Close."

"I know, I know," he hummed, his head thumping against the headboard with a sharp hiss, watching where your cunt was swallowing him in and spitting him out, over and over and wetter with hooded eyes. "Cunt's squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Taking me so fucking well like the good pussy that she is."

"S-Stevie, please."

He nodded slowly, eyes flitting up to meet yours.

"Touch yourself for me."

You didn't hesitate.

Your hand left the headboard, trembling fingers immediately finding your clit, gasping at how wet it already was.

Steve instinctively held you up with his arms when you let go of your support, mouth widening with a moan as his eyes watched your fingers carefully stroke the swollen bud, his cock keeping the same steady yet unforgiving pace.

"That's it, fuck, such a needy, pretty girl playing with herself," he praised, eyes snapping up to meet your barely open ones when you pleadingly moaned out his name, choking and blubbering out desperate please, please, please. He nodded, commanding, "Go on, cum."

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your whole body tensing up as the coil in your stomach snapped. Your legs quivered, toes curling reflexively, your gushing cunt clamping down on Steve's cock.

"Shit, shit, shit," he groaned loudly, followed by a whine as his hips stuttered. "That's it–fuck! That's a good fucking girl, milking my cock so fucking well."

Steve didn't help you ride out your orgasm because he didn't stop.

If anything, he picked up the pace.

"S-Steve," you choked out, shaking your head, too sensitive, too overwhelmed, a sob escaping your mouth and into his, body twitching from the overstimulation.

"Sssh, I know, I know," he whispered, grunting, whining, holding you steady with both arms around you as he chased his own high. "Few more, baby, just a few more."

Your head moved. You were trying to nod yes, but you didn't know what exactly you were doing, too fucked out of your mind, literally almost. And it seemed it wasn't clear for Steve, either.

"Can you do that, sweetheart?" he asked, choking out a moan when you nodded eagerly this time, whining out an audible enough yes, always willing to please him. "Yeah–fuck almost there. You're so so good to me, baby, such a good girl—my good girl."

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, forehead pressed against his as you tried your best to keep your eyes open, watching your beautiful man chase his pleasure. You held onto him tighter, and then, with the strength you had left, you started bouncing to meet his thrusts.

"Y/N—fuck!" Steve cried out with a high-pitched whine, whimpering and moaning against your mouth as his hips stuttered. "K-Killing me, baby, you're killing me—shit! M'gonna fucking come."

You never understood why Steve insisted on hearing you during sex at first, scolding you whenever you'd hold back, always encouraging you to be as loud as you pleased.

Not until the first time you heard him let go, mouth flowing with his filthy, crude words, mixing with the sounds of his whines and whimpers, his high-pitched moans to his deep guttural growls—it was an otherworldly experience.

You'll never get tired of hearing it.

"Gonna fill you up, baby, a-and you're gonna take it l-like a good girl—shit, m'gonna come, gonna come, gonna come," he whined over and over and needier and louder, hips thrusting up into you, one, two, five more times before Steve finally came with a growling shout, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

You responded with a loud moan of your own as you felt him paint your walls, forcing your eyes open to take in his head lolling back, the deep pinch on his brows, the veins thickening on the side of his neck and his plump, red lips wide open with breathy moan and needy whines.

You'll never get tired of watching him come, either.

He grabbed you by the back of your head, bringing you close to kiss you messily, lips barely connecting, teeth clashing as he slowly rode out his high.

The second Steve stopped, you let yourself go.

Steve hurriedly wrapped his arm around you when your body slumped, one hand on the back of your head as he cradled you into his chest. Pushing himself off the headboard, he gently laid you on your back, earning a soft whimper from you when his cock slipped out.

"Ssh, you're okay, I'm sorry, I know," he whispered as he situated himself beside you, hands flat against the mattress as he littered your skin with comforting kisses and praises. "Did so so good for me, sweetheart."

He kept doing it, whispering sweet nothings on your lips, on your cheeks, trailing across your face before moving down your body. His mouth followed the trail of his hands, placing gentle kisses on the skin after he'd rubbed soothing circles on your sore muscles with no ill intent. He only stopped when he felt your arms wrap around his neck, tugging at him to come up.

Steve lifted his head up to meet your tired but twinkling eyes, now cleared of haze.

"There's my beautiful girl," he gushed, gently prying your legs apart so his body could slot in between. Supporting himself on his forearms, he hovered above you, his lips quirking up to match your blissful smile. "Feeling okay?"

You nodded, sighing, "Feel amazing."

"Good," he chuckled, kissing your lips a couple more times before burying his face into your chest. "That's good."

"Steve!" you giggled, trying to pry his head away when his mouth found your boob again. You gasped when he lightly kissed your nipple, your hands covering your face as you laughed, "They're starting to get sore!"

"Oh, are they?" he murmured, voice muffled since his lips never left your skin, moving across your sternum to get to the other boob, giving it its deserved attention too. "I'm not quite done with them, though."

"Okay!" you squeaked when he started nibbling around your mounds, making nom nom nom sounds. You squirmed under him as heaps of squealing giggles escaped your lips. "You've made your point!"

He chuckled, giving them a few more kisses each before he pressed his cheek on your stomach, eyes meeting yours. "Just making sure it sticks in that pretty head of yours."

"I feel sticky."

Steve laughed, trailing back up to press his lips on yours. You hummed, legs on his waist, arms wrapping around his neck, your smile evident against the kiss.

"I could do a hot shower, too," he hummed, giving you a few sweet pecks before detaching himself from your body. He walked over to his ensuite bathroom, found a towel, damping it and wiped himself clean. He rinsed it up to do the same to you.

You were grinning to yourself when he got back.

"What're you smiling at?" he asked, picking up his sweatpants on the floor and slipping them on before walking over to you with the cloth.

"I think Robin has a point about the ass thing," you hummed, instinctively making access for him between your legs so he could clean you up like the many times he'd done before. "Because I really like your butt. It's cute and it's hot."

The heat traveled from Steve's face to the whole expanse of his neck.

"Stop looking at my ass, you perv."

"It looked at me first!" you laughed. "All round and jiggling and everything."

"Stop it!" he reprimanded, but he couldn't help but laugh with you, even though he was so sure his chest had gone red too. Only you could have him flustered over the littlest of things. But hey, it worked both ways. "We should eat dinner first then shower since I'm sure you're going to get hungry. I'll heat up the pizza from earlier."

"No," you whined, one arm lightly slamming on the bed as you covered your face with the other. "Snack, hot shower, and nap."

"You're out cold till next morning the second you get comfortable, babe. Don't talk to me about naps."

"Then change it to sleep."

Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes as he went back to the bathroom to take care of the towel.

You were still in the exact position when he got back.

He stood in front of you, hands on his hips as he nudged your foot with his knee. "Dinner, shower, sleep, come on."

"But then I have to wait for the food to digest before going to sleep," you protested, full on spreadeagle on the bed, pouting at him.

"Jesus Christ," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head at you with a fond smile. He offered you both his hands with a chuckle, "Then get your ass in the shower. I'm going to get you water and a snack which is…"

"Do we still have that watermelon in the fridge?" You smiled, excited, taking his hand to let him help you sit up.

"Yes," he said, shooting you a knowing look before picking up your clothes off the floor. "But you are not eating watermelon on the bed."

You slumped back on the mattress with a groan, "But Steve."

"No," he said firmly, handing you a shirt and the shorts you discarded hours ago. "You want watermelon? Downstairs."

"I'm not even a messy eater," you grumbled, sitting back up and putting the clothes on.

Your legs were wobbling the second you stood up.

Steve was immediately at your side, keeping you upright with an arm around your waist. He was grinning smugly, biting his cheek to stop it from growing too much.

Still, you saw—well, not that he was trying that hard to stop it, either.

"Leave me alone!" you whined, hiding your face in his chest, which in turn, made him burst out laughing. "This is your fault!"

"I know," he said unashamedly, guiding you behind him for a piggyback ride. "Come on."

He carried you downstairs, his chest warming when you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, littering it with soft kisses during your journey to the kitchen.

Steve sat you on top of the counter, his heart doubling in size as you absentmindedly swung your legs, watching him with a lovely smile as he moved around the kitchen. You gave him a grateful kiss once he handed you a bowl of a few slices of cold watermelon.

Heating up some pizza for himself, he decided to put four in the microwave. He could usually do with just two, but he had a hunch.

It still didn't fail him.

Because the second he took it out and the smell of it covered the kitchen, you pouted, eyes pleading as you looked at the plate, and then back at him.

Steve deadpanned, nudging your legs apart and situating himself in between, holding the plate of hot pizza in the middle of you both.

You ate like that in comfortable silence, only breaking it with laughs and giggles when you'd inevitably find yourselves in a kiss. Then there was a knowing yet fond sigh, Steve grabbing some paper towels when the watermelon started dripping down your chin. Your pout was in full play when he held your face, wiping it clean for you. He kissed it away, of course.

A full glass of water later, you were on his back again, latched like a koala, yawning like a sloth. He carried you straight into his bathroom, setting you down on the toilet to pee as he got the shower ready.

You were already half asleep the minute you two got under the running water.

Apart from your yawns and the way you were practically leaning on him with your cheek pressed to his chest, you'd been rubbing lazy circles of his body wash on the same spot for the last minute or two, over and over and over.

"That part of my back is going to be shining after this."

"I'm trying!" you whined, switching to up and down movements this time.

God you're so fucking cute.

Steve gently pulled you off of him despite not wanting to, trailing his hands with gentle circles over your chest—both palms squeezing playfully at your boobies which earned him an annoyed groan and a smack on the arm—and then moving to your stomach, earning another smack when he tickled your sides. Crouching down, he soaped up your legs, back to front before standing to his full height.

He chuckled when you immediately clung to him like a magnet, arms wrapping around his neck swiftly. He gave your shoulders massages then, rubbing down your back, teasingly squeezing your ass before moving back up again.

"Hey," Steve called out softly when you slowly got heavier in his arms. "Don't fall asleep on me."

"Feel'so–ugh, s'nice," you mumbled, face pressing against his neck with another you yawned, "So tired."

"I know," he chuckled, pulling the shower off the hook and handing it to you. "Here, rinse up so I can properly clean myself since you did a bad job."

You pouted, glaring at him with no ounce of fire but took the shower and did as told, anyway.

Steve was sure you were running on faulty autopilot by the time you were brushing your teeth. Your figure was wrapped only in a towel, eyes fully closed, brows deeply furrowed as you made languid circles in your mouth, staying on one spot for a little longer before moving to the next, the foam dribbling down your chin and splattering on the sink.

Steve chuckled at your state, thankful that he got to brush his teeth before you so he was able to watch such an endearing sight. He laughed even harder when you flipped him off, placing an adoring kiss on your forehead before he went downstairs.

He was met by your very naked and very lovely ass when he entered his room, your face pressed into the duvet, limbs apart like he had his very own giant starfish on his bed. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he placed the full glass of water on your bedside table.

He gave your cute butt a tap to check if you were still awake.

You groaned in response.

"Naked, shirt, or panties?" he asked, opening the drawer he'd cleared out to make room for your clothes a few weeks ago.

Your voice was muffled by the sheets but still loud enough for him to hear, "Panties, please."

Humming with a proud smile, he pulled out some cotton ones, white and polka-dotted pink with a cute bow at the front. Walking over to you, he tapped your ass again. You groaned softly before you rolled over onto your back. He slipped your panties on for you, guiding you to lie down properly, flicking his lamp on before turning the main light off.

The second he slipped beside you under the covers, you immediately curled into his side, cheek pressed against his chest, arm around his stomach with your leg swung over him.

"G'Night, Steve," you murmured, so sweet and soft that if you weren't practically on top of him, he wouldn't have heard it.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, arms squeezing your form closer as he whispered back,

"Goodnight, my love."

He gave it a few seconds, waiting, a fond chuckle escaping him when his only response was your soft snores.

Steve's so goddamn in love with you and didn't have a clue.

•••

Sometime in the night you two must've switched places, because when Steve stirred awake in the morning, he could hear your heartbeat, loud in his ears.

Slowly coming to, he realized that he'd been roused from his slumber not by the sunlight that leaked through his window. It was by the feeling of your soft fingers running through his hair and the comforting patterns you were drawing on his back—connecting his freckles and moles, probably, a habit of yours he absolutely adored.

"Steve?"

He hummed in response, nuzzling his face against your chest, grin widening when his nose nudged your still naked boob. He gave it a kiss, two more as he affectionately rubbed his cheek on the other, much like a cat.

"I need to get ready," you giggled, nails scratching his scalp, trailing to the back of his ear, making him shudder. "Up, sleepyhead."

How could you ask him that and do that at the same time?

"No," he whined, voice a little croaky, arms tightening around you, cursing whoever gave you an early shift. "Don't leave yet."

"Steve—"

"Five more minutes."

"Which will turn into ten, and then fifteen, and the next thing you know, you've kept me in bed for an hour and I'm already way past late."

Okay, that did happen once...or twice.

"But you haven't even told me good morning yet."

Your chest vibrated as you let out a hearty laugh, the feeling against his cheek making him smile. You cupped his face with both hands, urging him to come up.

Steve obliged, his heart growing twice its size at the sight of your beautiful face.

He loved having you be the first person he sees when he wakes up.

"Good morning, handsome," you hummed, smile glowing, eyes twinkling, the morning sunlight making you look like an—

"Good morning, angel."

"Right, confirmed that the pet name's staying," you giggled, bringing him in for a kiss.

"It's fitting," he hummed against your lips, shifting in his place until he was hovering over you, forearms caging your head. He kissed you for a few seconds more, only pulling away so he could properly look at you smiling back at him, glowing so beautifully. "You look like one."

You giggled shyly, scrunching up your face before you pressed it against his bicep, a poor attempt at hiding.

Steve didn't know if there was something in the air, or if it was the simple act of watching you like this, so relaxed, so comfortable, so secure and so happy—with him. 

All he knew was that he simply couldn't keep it in any longer.

"I need to tell you something," he said, a little nervous as he stroked your temple with his thumb.

You tilted your head at him curiously, "What's up?"

"I wanted to say it last night but I didn't want you to think it's 'in the heat of the moment' kind of thing," he admitted. "Need you to know I mean it the first time you hear it."

"Hear what?" you asked, voice sprinkled with concern as you cupped his cheek.

Steve gave your lips a soft peck, head turning to kiss your palm before he leaned against your touch. And with his eyes reflecting that powerful emotion that was burning in his chest, bubbling and begging to spill out, he said,

"I love you."

There was a soft gasp, your eyes widening slightly, your lips parting. You kept your eyes locked with his, but you stayed quiet. It was probably only a split second long but it was enough for Steve's heart to pick up a nervous pace.

"You don't have to say it back, I just—" He dropped his head, your foreheads pressed together, his nose nudging yours as he gave you a shy smile. "I needed you to know."

Steve felt a sense of relief when he saw your smile grow, letting out that oh so sweet giggle as you tilted your head to give him a quick kiss.

But then you smirked.

"Really pulling all the stops to keep me in bed, huh?"

Steve groaned in annoyance, pushing himself up and plopping onto his back beside you, forearm covering his eyes to hide his embarrassment.

"You are cruel."

You laughed, so lovely, so angelic.

His heart leaped at the sound, another organ jumping when you suddenly straddled his hips.

You leaned down, your bare chest pressing against his hairy one as you kissed his jaw, pulling his arm away so you could look into his eyes. And with your enchanting eyes glowing, captivating smile just as bright, you said,

"I love you too."

Steve sighed with a lovestruck grin as his fingers curled around your waist. "Say it again."

You shook your head, giggling as you pressed your lips against his, whispering into the kiss,

"I love you."

Steve groaned, hand holding the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, the other gripping at your hip to bring you a little closer.

"Oh my—Steve!" You pulled away with a gasp, eyes wide with realization before you buried your face into his neck with a hearty laugh.

He grinned knowingly, feigning innocence when he asked, "What'd I do?"

"Did you just get hard from me saying I love you?"

Yes.

Yes, he did.

"Uh, yeah? Do you know how fucking sexy that is?" he said like it was obvious. Well, he was already sporting a semi when he woke up, dick stirring when you pressed your boobs on him, your words simply made it fuller—just like his heart. "I mean, fuck, you love me."

"God, it's already starting to get into your head," you joked.

"Both heads," he corrected. "Stimulated the brain and sperm cells."

That made you groan, outwardly cringing as you got off of him. "I can't deal with you."

"It's true!" he laughed, making grabby hands as you walked towards the bathroom. "Baby, no, come back! I thought you loved me!"

"Not after that horrible joke!" you called out, the sound of running water following suit.

He shook his head, lovesick smile never leaving his face, not even for a second, sighing contently as he settled back in bed. He had nothing to do this morning but drive you to work, his shift wasn't until after lunch.

Laying on his stomach, he grabbed your pillow and tucked it under his arm, pressing his cheek against the remnants of your warmth and the sweet smell of your hair. It was barely even a substitute for the real thing, but it'll have to do for now until you'd get out of the bathroom so he can lovingly annoy you some more,

It didn't take long for that to happen.

But not in the way he expected.

"Steve fucking Harrington!"

Your glare was burning when you appeared back in the bedroom. But he wasn't focused on that—oh absolutely not

How could he when you were only wearing your panties, top half still completely naked?

And not only were you topless, but you were also marked.

Steve smiled smugly, burrowing his cheek against the pillow as his eyes trailed over the love bites that adorned your torso.

He might have gone overboard with the hickeys—okay, not might. He did.

For starters, there were quite a few—okay, maybe more than just a few—on the sweet spots all over your neck, then one or plenty more as you go further down your collarbone. There weren't too many. After all, he didn't want to overshadow the main piece.

A whole lot more were all over your boobies of course. 

But not scatteredly placed.

Nope.

Steve had a better idea than that.

Two hearts on each side of your chest, a bit lopsided but you could still make out the shape as each circled one of your pretty boobs. And then just a little below your sternum, an S H placed right in the middle.

He had to sign his work of art, obviously, especially when it was quite an amazing feat. To be honest, he didn't know how he managed to pull it off with it actually turning just perfect. But then again, you were too distracted to even realize what he was doing.

Steve felt so proud of himself.

Extremely proud.

It was another way of saying just how much he loves them—creatively, might he add.

"What a sight," he gushed, blowing out his cheeks. "You look gorgeous."

You grabbed the first thing you could reach—which was your bra hanging on his desk chair—balled it up and threw it at him. He fell back on the bed when it hit him square on the face, bursting out laughing.

"I'm leaving."

Steve got out of bed at record speed, his back landing against the door with a thud as he blocked your way.

You glared at him, arms crossed, so clearly frustrated and annoyed. And while he usually found you cute when you were angry, with you being close to naked, tits on full display and covered in his marks? Oh you looked so fucking hot.

It made him want to pull by the throat, press you against the door and kiss you senseless.

"Steve, I swear if you don't stop staring—"

"What? I'm appreciating the art!" he defended, gesturing at your chest with a wide smirk. "Boobs included."

"You're impossible!" you squeaked, hitting his arm before turning on your heels, standing in front of the foot of his bed, hands on your hips.

His eyes wandered down your bare chest again. 

"Steven!"

"Okay! Okay," he conceded, meeting your eyes with the most charming smile he could muster, hands up as he slowly walked over to you. "I think I have a turtleneck somewhere, you can borrow it."

"I can't wear a turtleneck underneath my uniform! I think you've forgotten I work in a bakery," you stated as if it was obvious. When he only looked at you with a confused face, you growled, "There are ovens, Steve, hot ovens!"

Fuck.

You really needed to stop making those noises while your boobs were staring right back at him, eye to nipple.

"Well, then you'll just have to show off my masterpiece," he said, shrugging.

"Steve," you whined, head thrown back, hands rubbing at your eyes.

"What'd you want me to do!" he laughed, taking the last remaining steps before circling his arms around your waist, tucking his face into your neck. "Hmm, want me to kiss them away?"

"No!" you squeaked, the sound swiftly replaced by your laugh when he blew a raspberry on your ticklish spot. "Off me, Harrington!"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, fingers splaying on the sides of your neck as he ran his thumbs across your jaw. "What can I do to help?"

You pursed your lip, thinking. Steve couldn't help but lean down and kiss it, only for you to gasp in his mouth a few seconds later.

"Can you get me a bowl of ice and a metal spoon please?"

It was a trick Vickie told Robin, who then told Steve, who then tried it on you. Because obviously, this wasn't the first time he got too excited about leaving marks on your skin.

This was his best work so far though, and he didn't want it to be gone too soon.

"But, angel, you can't get rid of them." He put on his best pout and puppy eyes. "It's too pretty to get rid of."

"I can't go to work like this!" you groaned, shaking your head, covering your eyes with your palms. "You know that."

The owner of the bakery you worked at was a nice, old lady, quite motherly and cared about her employees, sometimes a little too much. But boy was she a prude. The first time you showed up to work with one—the first time he'd given you one, to be exact—she had pulled you aside. She gave you a whole lecture about sex before marriage, and how sex was the Devil's game until it's been blessed by God in the church, and you shouldn't give into the temptation or else you'll suffer the consequences.

"Well, if sex is the devil's game, then please," Steve had drawled seductively after you retold the story, voice dropping as he leaned across the center console, hand on your headrest, your faces a few inches close. "Call me Satan."

You had buried your face in your hands with a groan, shaking your head. In disbelief? In embarrassment? In utter disappointment? He didn't know. Could've been all of the above, to be honest.

While Steve might've laughed and teased you when you told him the story, he also couldn't exactly blame you if you didn't want it to happen again.

"Okay, I'll get you the ice and spoon in a second."

"But?"

"Can I look at them for a little bit longer?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes, pleading with a pout, "I haven't had the chance to appreciate it."

"I mean, you can always take a picture."

Steve blinked.

This was his girl, his sweet, innocent, shy girl. This was the same one who would hide over the simplest compliment, the very same one who took a while getting comfortable in front of the Polaroid camera which you had gifted him on his birthday. You said it was for taking pictures of the simple yet beautiful things he found in his life, to immortalize them so they wouldn't be forgotten, especially when Steve's memory had been starting to grow faulty, lately. 

Obviously, a lot of the photos he'd take ended up being of you. He had only been able to take one with your full beauty on display when you weren't aware, not until after you'd heard the click. Because you'd be hiding behind your fingers if he'd told you beforehand.

And now, you were the one suggesting that he'd take pictures, and not even candid, innocent ones, nude photos, showing the dark markings all over your chest.

He died last night, didn't he? Because he was sure he was in heaven.

Then again, here you were, still half-naked in front of him.

Last night really must've done something to your confidence. 

Steve loved it.

"You serious?" he asked.

"Yes, Steve, I'm serious," you confirmed, shrugging with your signature shy smile. "And you always keep saying how you want to take one when we do it."

"Are you a hundred percent—"

"Yes!" you laughed, pushing at him gently. "Now quickly because I'm going to be late!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm getting to it!"

Once the Polaroid camera was hanging around his neck, he immediately took your hands, guiding you to sit in the middle of the bed.

You laughed when he moved you around a couple of times, settling for a few seconds, before tugging you to change position again. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration as he tried to see which angle and lighting from the sun would look best.

Finally, deciding on one, he took a step back.

Steve's breath got knocked out of his lungs once his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting on your knees, your hands, palms flat against your thighs as you looked at him with that gorgeous yet shy smile. The morning sunlight was hitting you perfectly, your skin glowing, showcasing your tits beautifully, the marks made even more prominent by the golden rays.

Steve didn't know if there was a mirror somewhere and it was a trick of the light, or if you truly had a real halo above your head. Because you definitely looked like the most beautiful, most breathtakingly stunning angel he'd ever laid his eyes on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How did he get so lucky?

Steve didn't want to get too ahead of himself but he swore he wanted to marry you right then and there.

"Stop gawking, you perv."

He blinked, shaking his head as he grumbled, "Right, right, sorry—pfft, you're fucking distracting, that's not my fault."

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. But he still saw your smile brighten.

"Wait, wait, let me just—" Steve took long strides closer to you, dipping his head and circling his lips on the marks that were fading a little. You gasped when he started suckling, deepening their color again. He grinned against your warm skin when you all but melted into his touch. "Hmm, just needed to touch up some."

"Steve," you whined. "You're not playing fair." 

"Okay, okay, I'm done," he chuckled, giving you a kiss on the lips before resuming his previous position, eyes moving behind the viewfinder. "Now sit still and smile—"

You scrunched up your face and stuck out your tongue.

Click.

"You're usually good at following instructions, what happened?" he tutted, shaking his head, pinching the printed photo between his fingers. "Since you're fucking adorable, I'll let it slide." Smirking, he added, "For now."

You grew shy at that, eyes glossing with that familiar haze before you shook your head, smile widening as you pressed your cheek on your shoulder.

Click.

"Gorgeous," he gushed out, eyes still trained on you as he took the second photo out of the exit slot. "You honestly deserve to be in a museum."

You shook your head, giggling shyly, "Stevie, can you get me that ice now?"

"Few more, please?"

"But Steve," you whined, now moving to cover your face with your hands. "I think we've done enough. I look like shit in the morning."

"Hey! Don't you dare! You look fucking beautiful," he reprimanded, bringing up the camera and taking another photo anyway, despite not being able to capture your face. The more the merrier, he thought. Once it made its signature whirring sound, he looked at you with a smile. "Come on, let me see you, pretty girl."

You shook your head, hands falling back on your thighs as you giggled.

Click.

"God you're so pretty it hurts," Steve groaned, shaking his head in disbelief, fingers now getting full of photos but he was sure it would never be enough. "Like you're definitely not helping with my boner here, babe, it's fucking aching."

"Steve!" you burst out laughing. 

Click.

You gasped, "I wasn't ready!"

"Pfft, I bet you still look stunning," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at you teasingly before he carefully placed the photos face down on his bedside table. "Okay, I'm done."

"Us two?" you asked.

Now, he'd be a fool to say no.

With a grin, Steve quickly settled beside you, taking the strap off his neck so he could hold the camera farther to fit you both in the frame.

He turned to you and asked, "How do you want?"

You shrugged, smiling at him as you cupped his face with both hands, fingers splaying on his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss.

Steve grinned even wider.

Click.

Humming between the kiss, he teased his tongue against your parted lips, slipping it into your mouth not long after, earning a soft moan from you.

Click.

And it went on like that for a few minutes, just the two of you kissing as Steve kept taking picture after picture, the films falling all over the bed and some on the floor. He'd take care of them later. And sure, making out with you with a hand in the air was a task and a half, his bicep gradually aching as the seconds ticked by. But he knew that the photos he'd get will make everything worth it.

Even more as he moved down your throat, your head tilting with a gasp as you gave him easier access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Click.

He went further down, placing open-mouth kisses on your collarbone before moving to your boobs, lips teasingly wrapping around your nipple.

Click.

"Steve—okay, that's enough," you gasped, followed by a squeal when he playfully nibbled, pushing his head away from your chest with soft laughs. "You need to stop before you get carried away."

"Me?!" He glared at you teasingly. 

"You're the one who's addicted to sucking my boobs!

"Well, it's not my fault they're super suckable!"

"Oh God," you groaned, face in your hands. "Can I have that ice now?"

Steve didn't stall anymore this time.

When he got back from the kitchen, he found you sitting on the bed in your jeans and bra, sifting through the Polaroid photos with a warm, proud smile.

"How'd they turn out?" he asked, placing the bowl of ice cubes with two—he was going to help, obviously—metal spoons on the now cleared bedside table.

Steve moved to sit behind you, arm around your waist to pull you closer, chin on your shoulder so he could peer at the photos and—oh my fucking God.

Stunning was a massive understatement.

"Holy shit, look at you!" Steve gasped, taking a few in his hands and fuck you looked beautiful in every single one.

"They do look pretty," you murmured, fanning a couple more in your fingers to show each photo.

"You look pretty," he gushed, turning to meet your eyes. "I don't call you my pretty girl for nothing."

Every single time you hear it, your eyes light up. And every single time he sees that, Steve's heart skips a beat.

It was why he never tired of telling you just how beautiful you were to him.

Kissing your lips quickly yet sweetly, he turned back to look at the pictures, eyes twinkling with admiration.

All of them were gorgeous, don't get him wrong. But one, in particular, caught Steve's eye.

It was the one with you laughing, the joyful and natural glow on your features a stark contrast to how your tits were in full display, bruised up and covered in all his love.

"Now, this," he hummed, taking it in his fingers and showing it to you. "This is going in my wallet."

Your head snapped to look at him, eyes wide. "You can't keep that in your wallet!"

Steve pouted, "Why not?"

"What if someone sees?" you said, voice dropping as if you were disclosing a secret.

"Then they'll get to see how fucking beautiful my girlfriend is," he stated, as a matter of fact, shrugging. A sweet yet apprehensive smile tugged at your lips. Steve kissed it gently, "But, if you don't want me to, just say the words and I won't."

You didn't say a single word.

Instead, you hid your face against his neck, your skin warm against his, so obviously flustered. Yet still, you gave his skin gentle, appreciative and loving kisses. 

Steve grinned.

Because as shy as you may be, he knows you love it when he shows you off.

Steve always did whenever he got the chance.

And later that day as he went and paid for his and Robin's ice cream, he earned a sudden smack on the back of his head. It was from a plastic spoon this time, so it didn't really hurt much.

But still.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Your wallet, dingus!"

Steve blushed, but his smirk was smug and wide, earning a punch on the arm this time when he wiggled his eyebrows.

It was the same photo he claimed earlier but with a slightly new addition.

A scribble of his handwriting on the white space below that said:

My pretty girl(s)

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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