⋆｡𖦹° are you lucid? ⭒˚｡⋆

At work, Robin could tell that something was wrong. You were a little subdued, not your usual self. You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not yet anyway. 

Steve knew, of course. He had been there for you moments after James had left. Had pulled you into his arms and refused to let you go until you ran out of tears. Selfishly, you hadn’t wanted to leave his arms either but you eventually did and he had made you some macaroni and cheese. It was lumpy and not at all like the one you had made him the day he had returned from his parent’s house empty handed but you had appreciated the effort all the same. Appreciated every cup of coffee he left for you on the kitchen countertop. Appreciated the fact he had even stopped stealing your expensive shampoo.

When you did eventually tell your friends about you and James, it was at the bar a week after the breakup.

“Wait—You and James broke up?” Robin gasps—you had a feeling that she was trying her best to look surprised instead of relieved. “Like—for good?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “We broke up.”

“Holy shit,” Jonathan says, leaning back and looking at you carefully.

“Who broke up with who?” Eddie asks quickly.

“Munson,” Steve mutters, taking a quick, careful glance at you. “You can’t ask her that. She doesn’t want to talk about—”

“Did you break up with him?” Eddie presses you, flat out ignoring Steve in his eagerness to unearth the latest gossip. “Did you finally realise how much of a tool he is?”

“Eddie,” Nancy snaps, pressing a sharp elbow to his ribs in warning.

“No,” you say quietly. “He broke up with me.”

That silenced Eddie. Silenced the entirety of the table, in fact. Robin no longer looked relieved, but deeply confused. Jonathan was still watching you, Nancy was glaring at Eddie and Steve was watching the way your hands were fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“But why—” Eddie begins, but this time you’re the one to interrupt him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in a clipped voice, grabbing your drink and taking a generous sip, determinedly not looking at your friends.

The group nodded, even Eddie understood, that now wasn’t the time. That it was too painful for you, too fresh for you to talk about. The irony was—it wasn’t painful at all. But the embarrassment over the reason for the breakup? Yeah, that was pretty real. And you needed to be sure that your friends—especially Steve—never found out the truth. That you took the secret to the grave.

And so, you played the part of the girl who had gotten her heart broken.

You cried at sad movies, devoured a ridiculous amount of takeouts and ice cream, you let your friends and family surround you like a comforting blanket. You even debated a radical haircut before Nancy had vetoed that idea.

Your parents came to visit two weeks after the breakup. They arrived shortly after you had broken the news to them over the phone when they had called initially to invite you and James over for Sunday lunch. You then had to tell them that he had broken up with you and they had dropped everything and rushed over. Steve had been there, hovering as your mom gave you the biggest hug imaginable while your dad grumbled something about James not being right for you. He didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t. Your dad had loved James, your mom had too and you felt as though they would perhaps miss James more than you would. 

“At least you’re in good hands,” your mom says, smiling serenely as Steve sets down four steaming hot mugs of coffee onto the coffee table. “Thank you Stevie.”

You smile a little when you notice how Steve’s ears turn red at the nickname, how there’s now a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You knew that he had hated anyone calling him Stevie but you also knew that he wasn’t going to tell your mom to stop calling him that. He catches your eye and bites back a smile before he turns to your mom.

“Anytime,” he says simply.

Your parents had loved James but they loved Steve. You’re sure it has something to do with the fact that Steve was now almost entirely estranged from his parents and your parents seemed to want to shower him in all the parental love he was missing. Your dad invited him to football games, asked him about his job as an assistant baseball coach and your mom told him that he wasn’t eating enough vegetables and asked questions about his plans for the future. Seeing Steve with your parents made you feel a lot of things at once, complicated things that you decided to ignore for the time being.

When your parents finally left, you overheard your mom say to Steve: “You’ll take good care of her, right Steve?”

“Of course. I always take care of her.”

The words go straight to your core and you begin to wonder what was wrong with you.

You hadn’t gotten off to thoughts about Steve since the night with James. You had felt too ashamed to do so. Too full of guilt. But it didn’t mean you didn’t think about Steve. About him taking care of you. About how good it might feel if he took care in other ways. But instead of using those thoughts to get off—you just lay there, a hot pool of want between your legs and an ache that you kept trying to ease by squeezing your legs together. It never worked. You just went to sleep frustrated and feeling like an awful person.

And besides, Steve had seemed to have stopped having sex in the apartment and so, you hadn’t been able to listen to those delicious moans, groans and dirty words that got you off all those weeks ago. At first, you thought that he was just being quiet. That he was trying to be respectful of the fact you were going through a breakup. But when you noticed the lack of random women’s shoes at the front door—you realised he wasn’t having sex at all—in your apartment, at least.

“You don’t have to like, be celibate just because I’m no longer getting any,” you tell him one night on the couch, a month after the breakup. A bowl of popcorn was perched between the two of you, your eyes on the film but your mind elsewhere. “You can still—you know.”

You see Steve’s ears turn red—a tell-tale sign that he was a little flustered by your words but he seems to decide it was best to pretend not to hear you. And you decide not to press him further about it.

You also decide not to dwell on the part of you that was relieved Steve wasn’t having sex with other women. Sometimes late at night, you wondered if the fantasies you had been having about him meant something more than just you needing to get off. If the reason you weren’t heartbroken in the way you knew you should be was because you felt something more for Steve. But then you remembered that you were going through a breakup and definitely not in the right headspace for such thoughts.

James eventually reached out. It had been while Steve was at his Saturday morning baseball practice and you knew James had planned his call purposefully. He said he just “happened to be in the area”, that he had a few of your things to drop off. You had said yes because the guilt was eating you alive—it had been five weeks and James sounded miserable. Meanwhile you had spent last night at Robin and Nancy’s with a bottle of wine and a seemingly endless game of Monopoly.

James’ knock was so distinctly him that it made something in your chest tighten.

You find yourself checking your appearance in the mirror before you answer the door and you aren’t sure why.

You open the door and are greeted with the sight of your ex-boyfriend, a box of your belongings in his hands and a sad look on his face that you wish you could ignore.

”Hi,” you say by way of a greeting because what else was there to say?

”Hey,” James says, his blue-green eyes sadder than you had ever seen them. The guilt in your gut churns because—you were the reason for that, for his sadness. You were the reason for any nights he had been unable to sleep without you by his side. He may not have fucked your brains out the way you needed but he had still loved you.

You have to look away then and so, you glance down at the box of your stuff he had bought over. Inside, you see a box of tampons, a small toiletry bag of makeup and some spare clothes you had kept at his apartment for when you stayed overnight. “You look well.”

”So do you,” you say, though you don’t really mean it. James looked like he hadn’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. His hair unkept in a way he would never allow, his face unshaven and even his outfit was a little less put together without your input on his wardrobe. It made you feel awful, even more awful than you already do and you wanted him to leave so the guilt would follow him out the door. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. “I have um, some of your stuff too if you want—if you want to come in and have a coffee or…something.”

You were sure he was going to say no. You had moaned out your roommate’s name while he had been inside you and broken his heart as a result—of course he didn’t want a cup of coffee.

”I’d love a coffee,” James says with a small smile.

”Great,” you reply with a bright smile that seemed to mask the fact you were cursing yourself inwardly for extending the offer of a hot drink in the first place.

The next five minutes were excruciatingly awkward. James seemed unable to bring himself to sit down on your pink couch and you couldn’t exactly blame him since it was there you had moaned out Steve’s name while bouncing on James’ dick. The memory of it makes you feel hot with embarrassment and so you’re quick to busy yourself with making both you and James coffee as he takes a seat in the small armchair that sat beside the TV instead.

You handed James his steaming, hot mug of coffee and he gave a nod in thanks. You sat down on the couch with your own cup and the silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t know what to say and James looked as though he was beginning to regret accepting your offer of coffee.

The small talk is painful—about how your parents were, about his job. You find yourself thinking of excuses to get him to leave as he stares down at the mug of coffee in his hands.

“I’m um—I’m heading out soon,” you tell him after a painfully boring conversation about what he made for dinner last night. “I need to go food shopping so um, let me grab your stuff.”

“Oh,” James says, his expression faltering slightly as you set your mug down on the coffee table and get to your feet. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you.”

You take a few steps—towards your room when James suddenly calls your name.

“Could I—could I just ask you something?”

You hesitate but you turn around anyway because you couldn’t say no. Not to the man you had once loved.

“Did you—were you thinking about him?” James asks quietly. “Is that why you said his name?”

The look of shame on your face alone is enough of an answer. You watch as James clenches his jaw before looking away from you.

You take it as your cue to leave and you couldn’t have left the room any quicker. You manage to locate an empty box in the back of your closet and you begin to stuff various items of James’ that you could spot around your room—a few old hoodies of his, a Duran Duran cassette tape and some of his boxers that you found in the back of your underwear drawer.

It’s as you head into the bathroom to grab the toothbrush that he had kept in your apartment that you hear the familiar sound of Steve coming home.

Your heart plummets, landing somewhere deep in your gut. Because the last thing—the very last thing—you wanted was for James and Steve to interact.

You quickly shove James’ toothbrush, an almost empty bottle of his cologne and his moisturiser into the box of his stuff that you had collected as your heart pounds in your chest. You could practically hear it thumping, hear the blood rushing through your body as murmurs from both Steve and James reach your ears.

You nearly bolt out of the bathroom in your haste to stop their conversation.

“—I just think it’s a pretty shitty thing to show up here after blindsiding her—”

“—blindsiding? Is that what you think I did—”

You clear your throat and both men turn to look at you. You see James had got to his feet, that Steve was stood a short distance away from him wearing that jacket and those damn jeans that stretched deliciously over his thighs—

You curse yourself from thinking about Steve and his thighs, especially in this situation, with James barely two feet away from you.

You wordlessly hold out the box for James to take. He’s looking at you with an expression you don’t quite recognise and it makes the sense of dread living in your gut intensify to such a level that you have to look away from your ex-boyfriend.

“Thanks for um, bringing my stuff and stopping by,” you say as you chance a glance at Steve who seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the side of James’ head. The protectiveness of it made you want to press your thighs together as an ache built itself between your legs. You curse yourself again for thinking such depraved thoughts. Steve was just being a good friend. A really, really good friend. 

James grunts in acknowledgement, looking at you for a few more moments before he takes the box of his things from you.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says. “And my stuff. I really appreciate it.”

But he doesn’t move and the fact he isn’t leaving terrifies you. Because now he knows you had been thinking about Steve. And if he decided to tell Steve the real reason for your break up—well, you really didn’t want to think about the repercussions. The embarrassment of it happening was enough of a punishment, the thought of Steve finding out made you feel physically ill.

Steve—seeming to misinterpret the fear in your eyes as something else entirely—steps between you and James.

“You gonna get out of here?” Steve asks James bluntly. “I think you’ve broken her heart enough.”

James’ head snaps towards Steve and you can see the anger that had been hidden there.

“Broken her heart?” James retorts, his fingers gripping the box in his hands tightly. “Is that—I didn’t break shit. This was her doing, she was the one who—”

“James,” you cut across him in a small voice. “Please, don’t.”

James stops at the sound of your voice and as he looks at you, you can see the man who once loved you. The man that still probably loved you despite the fact you had broken his heart by crying out a name at the height of your pleasure that wasn’t his own.

“Sure,” James says finally, jaw set. “I’ll go.”

Your shoulders sag in relief as James finally moves, stepping towards the door to your apartment. He makes sure to shoulder barge Steve as he moves past him. Steve looks as though he wanted nothing more than to call James out for it but one look at your face and he knows to shut his mouth for your sake.

The moment the door closes behind James, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you had been holding. You take a few shuddering breaths before you turn to look at Steve and see his arms are already open for you. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Just like that night that you and James had broken up, Steve’s arms surround you. Strong, sturdy, everything that you needed to keep you afloat. Your nerves were shot, your breathing heavy and Steve was there to hold you through it all. You try not to think about his large hands that were rubbing your back gently, about how you wanted those hands all over your body. How you wanted them to slip between your legs, his thick fingers gliding over your wet, glistening lips before slipping inside—

Steve says your name and it pulls you from your thoughts. You pull away enough to look at him and your breath catches when you find your face inches away from your own. It takes everything in you to not look down at those perfect, pillowly lips of his.

“Yeah?” You murmur quietly, looking instead at those big pools of brown you wanted to drown in.

Steve looks as though he was steeling himself, thinking carefully about his next words as he looks back at you. And you know just by the look on his face what he wanted to ask. You knew, of course you knew, that he wanted to know about the reason for your breakup. For weeks, you had been avoiding the subject because the truth of it was so mortifying and you would rather die than admit it to Steve. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being curious and after what James had said—that breakup was your doing—you wouldn’t blame him if he asked.

But you watch as Steve seems to decide against asking you the question. You see how he swallows before looking away from you, eyes on the box of your things that James had returned. “You um, you good?” He asks instead.

The honest answer was no—you weren’t okay. Not in the slightest. The guilt had returned to a dull ache after seeing James. You also felt confused, incredibly so. About what your fantasies about Steve meant. The fact you also seemed to be stupidly horny wasn’t helping your mess of emotions either.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him simply, making the choice to step away from him before you tell him everything. “M’gonna start dinner, is stir fry okay?”

Steve seems to accept the line in the sand you had drawn and smiles. “Yeah. Sounds great. I’ll cut the peppers.”

A week after you had seen James, you had left work early. You had been nursing a headache ever since you woke up. A dull ache pressing itself against your skull that had been steadily building ever since you headed to work earlier in the morning before finally reaching a peak around lunchtime when Robin finally told you to head home. Eddie happened to be hanging around the station at the time, trying to convince Robin to play his band’s song (which had been turned down by your manager since it wasn’t “radio friendly”) and so, he took you back to the apartment instead of having to call Steve to pick you up.

You don’t mean to be quiet as you enter the apartment but your head was still pounding and so you were avoiding loud noises. You choose to softly close the door behind you instead of slamming it shut like you usually would. You didn’t even call out to Steve to announce that you were home. You just head straight to your room to crawl beneath your covers. 

It’s after a minute of laying there, hoping you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a head that wasn’t pounding that you hear it. A low groaning coming from Steve’s room. 

Your stomach sinks.

“Ahhhh—fucccking hell,” you hear him moan and that sound—that fucking sound—went straight to your core.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You told yourself to ignore it, you had a headache and needed to sleep it off. Needed to not listen to Steve and whoever he was fucking in his bedroom. But still, you don’t reach for the headphones that live in your bedside drawer.

“Fucccck yeah—just like that.”

You found that your thighs were beginning to squeeze themselves together. You hadn’t gotten off in weeks and Steve’s voice—his delicious groans—were making you slick between your legs without much effort. Even if the thought of Steve with someone else made you feel sick. Even if it made your heart feel as though someone was squeezing it and—

Your thoughts were cut off by a moan coming from Steve that was so obscene that your eyes couldn’t help but open. Your headache was almost entirely forgotten as you zeroed in on those unabashed noises that were falling from Steve’s lips. 

It was then you noticed the absence of another voice. It was only Steve’s groans filling his room, only him making noises of shameless pleasure. It was then that you realised—with a surge of something hot that made your body feel as though it was burning with pleasure—that Steve was in fact, alone. That it was just Steve in his room, unaware you were home, getting off. And it was the hottest thing you had ever heard.

You could hear it now—the sound of Steve fucking his fist. Wet squelching that made you painfully aware of the heat pooling between your legs. You found yourself wondering if he had used a lotion or perhaps lube or even his own spit. The thought alone made you so stupidly wet that the slightest twitch of your legs had your pussy aching.

You shouldn’t—you know you shouldn’t. You know you should just grab your walkman and headphones and give Steve his privacy. You know you shouldn’t fall back into this old habit. But then you hear Steve let out a particularly loud grunt and you can’t stop yourself.

You start by slipping your hand beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the skin of your stomach as you listen to Steve and his moans that had you clenching around nothing. Your pussy was practically drooling with want. You weren’t sure how long you had—how long it would take for Steve to come—and so, you didn’t waste any time.

Your fingers shake a little as you unbutton your trousers before slipping your hand beneath the fabric. You have to suppress a gasp as your finger makes contact with the dampness that your slick has caused through your panties. It felt so, so good. Your fingers began circling your swollen and neglected clit through your panties. You had to fight back the moan that was bubbling up your throat, you hadn’t touched yourself in so long that even a gentle brush of your fingers over your sensitive flesh felt electric. And Steve’s moans weren’t helping.

“Ahhh, fuck me—” Steve moans out and you hear the lewd sounds of him fucking his fist faster. “Fuck me, fuccck me—”

Oh, how you wanted to do just that. You wanted him to be inside of you, wanted his thick cock to split you open and put you back together again. You wanted him buried so deep inside of you that you would feel him for days. You wanted him so bad that your thighs were trembling.

Your fingers hastily found their way into your underwear and the moment you made contact with your wetness, you let out a small whimper—

But Steve was too busy chasing his high to notice. You could hear it in how much he was moaning. How he was groaning out nonsense.

You zeroed in on his voice and how fucking desperate he sounded as your fingers collected your slick and smeared it over your folds. It felt incredible. Now you weren’t with James, you didn’t have that sense of shame in your gut as your fingers slid through your wetness. All your focus was on Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.

You plunge two fingers inside of yourself at the thought of Steve. You imagine his pretty brown eyes glassy, lips parted and wet, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour, his chestnut hair mused, messy but still somehow perfect. You imagined his hand pumping his cock which even in his large hands would look stupidly big. You imagine the tip of his cock leaking precum, imagine his hand squeezing his twitching length and throwing his head back to expose that pretty neck of his that was dotted with moles.

You had to bite back a moan as you began pumping your fingers in and out, your hips bucking upwards. You were so fucking wet from listening to your roommate and you couldn’t help but imagine Steve slurping up your slick like it was something sacred.

You add another finger as Steve’s groans pick up. Your eyes close, your head tilts back and you’re in bliss. Your fingers curl inside yourself and it takes everything not to moan out, not to join Steve in those unabashed noises he was making in his room. Your other hand—the other that had been fisting the sheets beneath you—joins the fray, fingers circling your clit as you finger yourself faster. You begin to imagine it was Steve’s thick fingers inside of you as you feel your stomach tighten, the coil in your lower belly close to snapping.

And then—Steve lets out a strangled moan and you know then that he had tipped over the edge. And that sound—perhaps one of the greatest sounds you had ever heard—along with the image in your head of Steve Harrington filling you up to the brim with thick ropes of his cum, is what makes you tip right over the edge with him. 

The warmth spreads quickly. It spreads from your dripping cunt right down to your toes. You feel as though your whole body is humming beneath your skin. All the tension in your body vanishes, even the damn headache you had been nursing had lessened considerably. Your eyes flutter close, your head tilts back as you feel your release dripping down your fingers.

You blink—still floating, still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm. You can hear Steve quietly moving around his bedroom but you don’t want to move yet. Because now reality was settling in and you can’t help but think about that feeling you had in your chest when you had thought Steve wasn’t alone. How now that you thought about it, with a clear mind, how that feeling had felt an awful lot like jealousy. The sort of jealousy you remember feeling at the beginning of your relationship with James, when women would look at him for a little too long. 

And it’s then that you realise why your breakup hadn’t devastated you. You realise why you found yourself looking at Steve so much, why you felt warm and safe when he was near. Why the day felt brighter when you realised he had made you coffee, why you barely thought about James since your breakup. You realise why you thought so much about Steve—not just because you were clearly very sexually attracted to him—but because your heart beat a little faster when he was near. You still wanted to jump his bones, wanted him to fuck you until there was nothing left but you also wanted to kiss him slowly, to trace your fingers over the moles over his back and arms that were scattered like constellations over his skin. You wanted to wake up beside him, wanted to be more than roommates, more than just friends.And that realisation? That devastating realisation that you had genuine feelings for Steve, for your roommate and good friend—that it wasn’t just lust or you being horny, single and confused—well, it made everything so much more confusing.

After that, you were kind of ruined.

On a near nightly basis, you were back to getting off while thinking about Steve. And after, you would let yourself indulge in a different kind of fantasy—the one that saw you and Steve living a life that wasn’t just roommates. You found yourself wanting to ask Nancy what Steve had been like as a boyfriend and in fact, you had to stop yourself from asking her on multiple occasions.

You had even tried to put some distance between yourself and Steve but it had been difficult—near enough impossible—due to the fact that you lived together but you had tried anyway.

It lasted perhaps two days before Steve had pouted at you for turning down a movie night.

You had folded pretty damn quickly after that.

And so, despite your best efforts, you really started to fall for Steve.

But you also knew how complicated admitting your feelings would be. First of all, you lived together. If Steve didn’t feel the same way and turned you down, you would be in a pretty sticky situation. He may even move out if you were honest with him. Secondly, he was one of your best friends. The kind of friend you wanted to remain in your life for as long as humanely possible. 

But it was hard because Steve was Steve and you found yourself wanting him so badly that you couldn’t help but think about him being about yours. About what it would be like to have his arm thrown over your shoulder in a way that wasn’t just a friendly embrace. What it would be like to kiss him whenever you wanted to. You couldn’t help but think about his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his hair, his arms, his hands, his thighs, his—

The sound of jeering rips you from your thoughts about Steve and his damn thighs.

It was a Friday night and once again, you and your friends found yourselves at the bar near yours and Steve’s apartment. It very rarely was busy at the bar, people tended to give the establishment a wide berth but game nights seemed to be the one exception.

“Don’t you just love sports?” Eddie asks the group with a roll of his eyes as he takes a swig of beer.

You weren’t sitting in your usual booth because a group of Colts fans had taken the spot. Instead, you were seated in a much smaller booth which you weren’t complaining about since Steve was pressed against your right side. His thigh pushed against yours. It felt so strong, thick and sturdy and you tried desperately not to think about riding it. How about it would feel to hike your skirt up, straddle that luscious thigh of his and drag your needy cunt over his jeans. How it would feel to watch Steve watching you as you used his thigh to get off, your slick dripping through your panties and onto his jeans. Your swollen, aching clit begging for attention that Steve would happily—

“(y/n)?”

“Huh?”

You had been so deep in your fantasy of riding Steve’s thigh that you hadn’t even registered Nancy saying your name. 

Your face felt warm and you blinked several times, looking over at Nancy as though you hadn’t been imagining yourself getting off on her ex-boyfriend’s thigh.

“Yeah, Nance?” You ask, shifting in your seat to try and put a bit of distance between yourself and Steve but all you did was register just how wet you now were.

“Um, James is over there.”

If there was anything—anything—that would have put your horny thoughts about Steve to bed, it was that.

You feel cold all of a sudden, your eyes flickering over to where Nancy was looking and sure enough—there he was. He was standing at the bar with a few friends that you vaguely recognised. He looked a lot better now. He didn’t look like the guy who had been at your apartment a few weeks ago. No longer looked like the guy who had been weighed down by heartache. He was clean shaven, his hair freshly cut and even you couldn’t deny, he looked good. Even if he still seemed to be struggling with putting together a fashionable outfit without your input.

But the fact he was here made you immediately anxious. James knew that you and Steve only lived down the road. He also knew this was where you spent Friday nights with your friends. It was anything but a coincidence.

You feel Steve sit up a little straighter beside you. You try not to think about it.

“Should we get him to leave?” Eddie asks, glancing at you and looking as though he wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with your ex-boyfriend.

You shake your head quickly, swallowing as you look away from James and his friends. “No—Jesus, no. It—it’s fine, Eddie. He isn’t bothering anyone—”

“—he’s bothering me,” Steve mutters, his arm seeming to subconsciously press against yours. The touch sets a fire deep in your gut that you find near impossible to ignore.

“It’s fine,” you insist, picking up your drink and taking a long sip, just to distract yourself from the conflicting mess of emotions you were feeling.

Eddie looks as though he doesn’t buy it and neither does Jonathan.

“You sure?” Jonathan asks you gently, his eyes flickering over your face as though searching for any hint of uncomfortableness.

“It’s fine,” you repeat with another shake of your head and a slightly forced smile. “I’m fine.”

Jonathan doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the look on his face. You couldn’t exactly blame him because you were practically radiating nervousness. But the very last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

“Let’s just pretend he’s not here,” Robin says and you’re grateful for the suggestion, your shoulders sagging slightly in relief. “Who wants some shots? Something to drown out the sound of sport fans—”

“—Oh shit,” Nancy interrupts her girlfriend, her eyes wide as she looks back in the direction of the bar.

You all turn at the exact same time to see a woman walk right over to your ex-boyfriend and press a not so friendly kiss to his lips.

And suddenly—the reason for James being at your local bar made perfect sense. He wanted to show off that he was moving on. Perhaps even wanted you to be jealous. But truthfully, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your friends however—

“Really?” Robin scoffs as she scowls over at James. “In our bar? Really?”

“What a fucking dick,” Eddie seethes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his lights out? Please? Just one punch—”

“Absolutely not,” you say with a shake of your head. “He’s allowed to move on, it’s fine—”

“—fine?” Nancy repeats. “How is that fine? He broke up with you and less than two months later he’s at your local bar showing off his rebound.”

Your face warms—you know how it looks from the outside. How it looks to your friends. It looks like James was being purposefully cruel. That he had dumped you, left you heartbroken and was now rubbing the fact he had moved on in your face. And sure, perhaps the last part of it was true and James had been the one to dump you but you weren’t heartbroken. In fact, you were relieved and James had been well within his rights to break up with you. But you couldn’t tell your friends that.

“I just—I’m not really bothered,” you say with a quick glance at Steve because you couldn’t help yourself and you found him already looking at you. “I mean—I’ve had time and I’m okay. Really, he can do what he wants.”

Both Eddie and Nancy look as though they wanted to argue. You couldn’t read Steve’s expression and Jonathan seemed deep in thought. Robin was the only one who was happy to take your word for it.

“So, back to shots—”

Despite James’ presence at the bar, you still had a good evening. A great evening in fact, even with the bar full of sports fans. You found yourself not thinking about James or the nameless woman he was with. You were too focused on your friends, on laughing with Robin about work and debating a newspaper article with Nancy and with Steve sat beside you—James was the very last thought on your mind. 

You had all decided to leave together, since the Colts winning the game had meant the bar was turning a little too rowdy for your liking and Steve had suggested heading back to your apartment for a few more drinks. 

You thought you were in the clear, had thought you had gotten away from an incredibly awkward situation. You headed for the exit to the bar, Robin’s arm thrown around your shoulders—

But the sound of your name pulls you harshly back into reality. 

You turn and see that you had just walked right past James and his friends and that nameless woman who, judging by the look on her face, seemed to clock who you were right away.

You feel a hand on your lower back and you know instantly it was Steve’s. Anchoring you. Making sure you were okay. Unknowingly making your stomach turn to goo, your insides dance.

“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, voice low as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let’s—”

“Oh, that’s (y/n)?” The nameless woman says loudly enough for you to hear. You stop, feeling a horrible sense of dread that makes bile rise to your mouth. You should continue walking, perhaps even run. Panic was beginning to rise gut to your chest, squeezing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. But before you could put one foot in front of the other, the nameless woman continued—“The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?”

It feels as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over your head. The embarrassment felt cold at first, then it began to burn. It burned so hot that you couldn’t really think straight. But you felt Steve’s hand pull away from your lower back. Your body seemed to shut down entirely as shame took over. Your eyes flicker down to the sticky floor of the bar as you think of something—anything—to say.

But nothing comes to mind.

And in your silence and the sheer panic in James’ expression before telling the woman to “stop talking”, everyone within ear shot seemed to understand that she knew something they didn’t.

And god, the silence from your friends—from Steve—is deafening. You couldn’t stand it. You couldn't stand to bear witness to the look on any of your friend’s faces. How—for once in his life—Eddie was silent. How Steve was looking at you—

You don’t look at Steve—or any of your friends for that matter—as you push past Robin. You could feel your hands shaking, your eyes burning as you willed yourself not to cry before you could escape. Your body felt hot with a dangerous concoction of shame and embarrassment. You barely even register anything around you as you head straight for the exit. You hear your name being called, hear James apologising profusely but you don’t stop. You didn’t even grab your jacket from Jonathan and the cold bites at your exposed skin as you walk down the street.

‘That’s (y/n)?’

‘The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?’

The words replay over and over again in your head like a song on repeat. How James had looked equally mortified as you. You suppose you couldn’t blame for telling someone—he was hurt and perhaps even embarrassed himself by the reason for your breakup, it wasn’t his fault for trusting the wrong person.

Tears of embarrassment and shame fell down your cheeks that you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away. Your heart hammered in your chest as you passed by groups of jeering and drunken Colts fans. You wondered what your friends thought of you, if they were laughing behind your back. You thought that maybe if you hadn’t panicked, that maybe if you had played it off as a joke, you wouldn’t be walking down the street in tears right now. 

But you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t play it off as a joke now, not when you had left and James’ apologises had followed you out the door.

You make it back to the apartment within three minutes. The obnoxious pink couch is taunting you—the memory of having sex with James on that couch while thinking about Steve, moaning out his name instead.

You retreated to your room, though you knew it would be the first place your friends would look for you. 

And sure enough, barely two minutes later—the door to the apartment opens and then slams shut.

And Steve calls your name.

You know instantly he was alone. There was just one set of footsteps heading to your bedroom door. 

And you wait.

He says your name again, right outside your door.

You want to crawl under the covers and hide, perhaps remain there for all entirety. Haunt the room maybe by refusing to leave. But the small sob you let out is enough to give you away.

Your bedroom door opens and you look up to see Steve standing in your doorway.

You felt as though you couldn't move, your body frozen in some sort of state of humiliation as you looked at Steve’s face.

“Is it true?” He asks and for the first time since you had known him, you’re unable to read his expression. You can’t tell if he’s mad, amused or confused. “Did you—did you really say my name when you and James were—” Steve cuts himself off, his face turning a little red.

You can’t look at him as you nod, tears were still falling down your face and you felt so humiliated that you were sure that would spontaneously combust from the shame.

Steve doesn’t say anything and it only makes you feel more upset. Because Steve was surely to hate you or be repulsed by you or—

“Why?” Steve asks and you make the mistake of looking at him, at his pretty face and the words slip from your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Because I was thinking about you so I could get off with him,” you admit.

Silence. Absolute deafening silence.

If you couldn’t read Steve’s expression before, you definitely couldn’t read it now and the panic you felt in your gut meant words were falling from your lips before you could even think.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, your voice shaky from tears as you sit up in your bed. “I know it was wrong and weird and I shouldn’t have done it but I—he never made me come, Steve. I mean—he did once but it was sort of a fluke and it never happened again—but I just—I always felt so awful after sex because James was good and kind and it still didn’t feel like enough—”

“—wait, he never made you come?” Steve asks, his expression still undecipherable.

You shake your head and sniffle. “No, not really. Not until I—”

You cut yourself off and look at him and you know you should stop talking but you can’t.

“—Not until I thought about you.”

“But I don’t—I mean—how did that work for you?”

“Because I—I heard you having sex with other women and you seemed like you could always make them come and it—”

“You listened to me having sex?” Steve asks you and the way he said it made you burn with shame.

You wanted to lie, wanted to tell him no, you hadn't but it was too late. And so, you simply nod.

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for a long, long moment before shaking his head. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, looking away from you and your heart sinks, you hastily try and wipe away the tears, makeup smearing across your cheek as you try (and fail) to compose yourself.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffle as you get to your feet, standing in front of Steve and hoping he saw how ashamed you felt. “I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have and it was a gross invasion of your privacy but—”

“—did you touch yourself?”

You blink. You weren’t quite sure you had heard him correctly but as you meet his gaze you realise that you hadn’t misheard him. You could see the slight flush in his cheeks.

Your breath hitches and you nod. “Yeah,” you tell him because there was no point in lying to Steve now. “I did.”

Steve looks at you for another long moment before looking away. His jaw is clenched, body tense and you notice how his hands twitch at his sides. You imagine he’s trying to stop himself from walking out the door.

“That—shit—(y/n), what am I supposed to say to that?”

“I don’t—”

“—what am I supposed to do with that information when I—when I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in.”

Everything stops. Or, it seems to. There’s the sound of sirens somewhere down the street, you hear your elderly neighbours yelling at each other but it felt for you as though the world had stopped spinning.

You try and process what Steve had just said but for the life of you, you can’t do it. Because there was no way—there was absolutely no way—that Steve, your friend, your roommate, had just admitted to being in love with you for the better part of two years.

“You—what?”

Steve laughs, exasperated as he looks at you and you can see it in his face, the desperation in his eyes, the longing.

“I said, I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in. It was since that—since you made me mac and cheese that night after I came back from my parents house. I never told you this but they actually threw out all the shit I had left there. My dad said some shitty things to me and I came back to the apartment and—you just took care of me in a way no one has before. I didn’t even have to ask, it's like you just knew. Like you got me when we hadn’t even known each other for that long.”

“Plus, the mac and cheese was fucking incredible,” Steve says with a soft smile and you can’t help but smile too, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

“It wasn’t my best,” you murmur back.

“It was perfect,” Steve tells you. “It was the first time I had ever felt a place was really home.”

Your expression softens, something inside of you wants to reach out and pull him in. 

“And then I found out you had a boyfriend and—well, that sucked. But I respected it because you seemed so happy and in love and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” Steve continues. “So, I went on dates. An embarrassing amount of dates. Trying to find someone who made me feel the way you did. Someone who saw me—the real me—and still liked me. Someone who got me. But no one gets me the way you do. No one. And I tried—believe me, I tried but fuck—I haven’t been able to shake it for over two years.”

“Then when you and James broke up I was relieved. I felt fucking awful about it but I was. I was so relieved. It’s why I stopped going out on dates, why I stopped sleeping with other women. It wasn’t some sympathetic act on celibacy or whatever you thought it was but because—because I figured I might—maybe I finally had a chance.”

“Steve—”

“—but I gotta be honest with you if it’s just—it’s just lust you’re feeling then I—I need you to know that I can’t. I can’t. I want to fuck you—god, (y/n) you have no idea how much I want to fuck you. You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

Something hot pools in your lower stomach and starts to burn. You become aware of the distance between you and you find yourself desperately wanting to close it.

“R—really?” You ask him, wanting to hear every dirty detail. You wanted him to tell you every explicit thought he had ever had about you. You wanted to hear exactly how he wanted to fuck you.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, taking a tentative step closer to you. “Really.”

His eyes flicker down—sweeping over your body and leaving you breathless without even touching you. He was holding back. You could see it in the way his fists were clenched at his sides, how he wets his lips as he looked at yours before looking away.

“But I’m in love with you and though I really fucking want to—I don’t want to fuck you if that’s all you want. I can’t do that with you.”

He was giving you an out, you knew it was the safe option. To pretend that your feelings were strictly platonic with an unhealthy amount of sexual tension. But as you looked at his face, you found yourself being unable to lie to him. 

“You know what I felt when James dumped me?” You say finally and Steve looks back at you, shaking his head. “Relieved. I was relieved. And I felt—I felt free, almost. Thinking about it now I think I fell out of love with him a long time ago but just couldn’t admit it to myself because so many people told me how lucky I was to be with a guy like him. That he was the kind of guy I should marry. And for a long time, I believed that. Even though deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. He loved me, he really did, I know that but he didn’t care about my pleasure. Not at all. I tried to tell him what I liked and it was just in one ear and out the other and little by little, I stopped loving him. And I feel awful about it because he’s nice and he just—”

“—if all you can say about him is ‘he’s nice’ then I don’t think you should feel bad,” Steve tells you gently, his hands finding yours and squeezing. “You weren’t meant to be. That’s okay. You’re not a horrible person.”

“You sure?” You ask Steve in a barely there whisper.

Steve smiles a little and nods gently. “You’re the best person I know. Of course, I’m sure.”

You bite back a smile as you tilt your head to look at him.

“I think I’m in love with you too Steve,” you admit, in a voice so quiet Steve has to lean in to be sure he heard you. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at you with a mix of disbelief, affection and an undeniable hunger in his eyes. 

And then—he smiles at you and it was like seeing sunshine on a rainy day. 

His hands leave yours and for a moment, you feel empty but then he gently cups your face between his large hands, so he could wipe away all the tears that had previously fallen. 

“So, we’re just a couple of horny freaks in love,” he murmurs and you let out a soft laugh, leaning into his touch as you feel his thumb gently swipe over your cheek.

“The horniest,” you say with a soft smile.

You were sure that there was more to say. There was so much more to talk about but right now? Talking was the last thing on your mind.

Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you look at Steve. He knows without words what you wanted. He could probably feel it in the air, smell the want on your skin.

“You sure?” Steve whispers, brown eyes flickering between yours

“Please just kiss me, Harrington,” you tell him breathlessly. 

Steve did not need to be told twice.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft. You felt Steve almost instantly melt into the kiss and you couldn’t help but do the same. His hands—those large hands that you had spent so long fantasising about—had found home on your waist while yours rested on his chest, fingers curling further into the fabric of his shirt.

His lips slid wetly against yours and you felt something hot rush through you and soon, what had begun as something innocent and soft turned into hot and heavy.

You felt one of his hands move to your jaw where he titled your head back and so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue gently coaxing your mouth open. You parted your lips eagerly and the wet heat of his tongue had you whimpering against him.

You feel Steve smile against your lips, probably feeling smug, before he pulls away enough to murmur, “You getting all worked up already, pretty girl?”

You almost wanted to slap that smug look from his face but the moment he calls you pretty girl, you falter.

“Shut up,” you tell him and the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth has you reeling.

“Gladly.”

And then he’s kissing you all over again. Your lips crash together with over a year of built-up tension finally giving over. Steve’s lips are warm and inviting, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that had you moaning into his mouth and had Steve tugging you closer until your body was flush against his. And fuck—he was already hard.

The kiss became almost frantic. Steve groans against your lips as his hands begin to roam your body. They return to your waist briefly before sliding down to your hips and squeezing.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Steve murmurs against your lips as he hands slide from your hips to your ass, which he shamelessly grabs with both his hands over your skirt. “So fucking gorgeous.”

You make a noise against his lips as his tongue sweeps back into your mouth. You can’t stop touching him, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him ever closer. It was the kind of kiss that went straight to your cunt—that left your pussy aching and your lips tingling.

You barely register Steve guiding you both backwards. All you know is you feel the backs of your knees hit your bed and you fall down willingly. Steve takes a moment to just look at you—to marvel at you, at the tops of your thighs that peaked out beneath your skirt, at your flushed face, at your lips that were wet and swollen from his kisses and Steve can’t resist.

He’s back on you and truthfully, you could have made out with him for hours. He was stupidly good at kissing. He knew how to apply the right kind of pressure, knew how to kiss you in a way that left you aching for more. Knew how to have you whimpering beneath him with just his lips. 

His shirt was the first item of clothing to come off and you were practically drooling at the smattering of dark hair that covered his chest.

“You think I need a wax?” He asks you with a wry smile.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You dare—”

Steve grins, leaning over you to silence you with a kiss. “I’m kidding, baby.”

He made quick work of your top next, one of his large hands cupping your breast over the cup and squeezing.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” you gasp out, back arching and practically pressing your breasts into his face. “Please.”

You try not to think about how quick he is at unclipping your bra. But honestly—you’re not thinking about much as his lips wrap around your nipple. The sound you let out is one you couldn’t control, it was loud and you were sure to get noise complaints. But as Steve began to suck the pebbled peak, tongue swirling, you found you didn’t really care about noise complaints. 

“Ah—fuck, Steve—”

Steve hums against your skin and the slight vibration has you writhing beneath him. 

“What is it, baby?” He asks you, pulling away from your skin before blowing cool air over your sensitive peak. “What do you want? Tell me?”

Your body felt as though it was on fire. No guy had ever asked what you wanted before and it must have shown on your face because Steve slowly moves back up your body so he could look down at you.

“Tell me,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your cheek. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You want the world? I’ll give it to you.”

You let out a breathless sort of laugh but it ceased the moment you felt his lips against your neck, tongue laving over the skin.

You were sure you were going to die. You had never—in all your life—been so turned on. Your body felt so hot that you were surprised that you hadn’t burst into flames. There was an ache between your legs that was so intense that even the slightest movement had you whimpering. 

“You—your mouth,” you manage to gasp. “I—I want your mouth, Steve.”

“My mouth,” Steve murmurs, smiling when you jolt as his hand grips your thigh in order to hike it over his hip. “My mouth—where, baby? Where do you want my mouth? Use your words.”

Your face burned and you wanted nothing more than for Steve to just read your mind. For him to get the hint as you tried to move your hips. But Steve wasn’t going to give in that easy, he wanted to hear exactly what you wanted.

“Be—between my legs,” you say breathlessly. “Please, Steve.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He began to kiss his way down your body, his tongue briefly teasing over the nipple that he had previously neglected and smiling when you whimpered.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmurs against the skin of your navel as his fingers tug at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips in a silent invitation and Steve’s quick to slip both your skirt and panties down your legs. 

The moment you were laid bare for him, Steve’s expression changes. There was still hunger of course but Steve? He was in complete and utter awe of your body.

“You’re fucking beautiful baby,” he tells you reverently, hands shaking slightly on your hips as though he didn’t quite know where to start. “Fucking perfect.”

He leans down, his lips on your inner thigh, causing you to moan out in anticipation. You were so wet—so fucking wet it was embarrasing—but Steve seemed to marvel in it. He breathed you in as his lips moved higher.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs as his eyes feast on your glistening folds.

You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to stop making you wait. But before the words could come out—Steve dove in.

The first swipe of his tongue against you has your fingers curling into your bedsheets beneath you and your back arching off the bed. You don’t bother holding back on your moan—you let it out and it was all the encouragement he needed.

And Steve? This man was made to eat pussy.

Steve was relentless. His tongue was hot, eager, swiping a broad stroke from your entrance right up to your swollen, needy clit. You cry out, unable to stop yourself. Your hands find his hair, already messy from your fingers and you grip the strands tightly as Steve’s tongue circles with your clit with delicate precision.

“You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling away from you for a few seconds. You make the mistake of looking down at him and seeing his chin glistening with your sweet juices. “My girl tastes so good.”

You barely have time to process him calling you my girl before you feel his fingers sliding between your folds.

“Oh—fuck!”

You cry out as two of his thick fingers dip inside of you as his mouth continues its gentle but tortuous assault on your clit. Your body felt on fire and you were so fucking wet you could hear the squelching of your slick, mixed with his spit as Steve began pumping his fingers in and out of you. You were so close already and the fact that Steve himself was starting to moan, grinding against your thigh so you could feel his thick and heavy cock through his jeans—well, you knew you weren’t going to last very long.

“Gonna come already, baby?” Steve asks you as he curls his fingers, tongue peeking out to play with your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you that had your back bowing off the bed. “C’mon, you’re doing so fucking good. Look at you. So fucking good f’me.”

Your moans were wanton, your neighbours would definitely complain. But that didn’t matter as Steve’s fingers moved in and out of your dripping pussy, as his mouth sucked at your sensitive bud. You wanted to hold out for a little longer, wanted to remain in your bed with Steve’s head between your legs for the rest of time but you made the mistake of looking down and seeing Steve looking at you—it was the thing that tipped you over the edge.

Your entire body shakes. Your orgasm hit you so hard that for a few moments, your vision whites out. Steve Harrington had sent you to another planet, perhaps another universe with his mouth and the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed was him. His hands gripping your thighs, wet lips lapping up every last drop of your sweet release.

He only pulls away when you tug at his hair. He looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet from your slick and you can’t help yourself. You were still trembling from your orgasm but you didn’t care. You tug him up roughly before kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it was the hottest fucking thing you had ever experienced.

“Take your fucking jeans off,” you breathlessly tell him.

Steve’s eyes widen a little at your tone but he doesn’t need telling twice.

He stands, eyes on you as unbuckles his belt. You sit up because fuck—you had thought about his cock a lot. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he tugged his jeans down his legs. The first sight of the bulge in his boxers had your eyes widening.

“Is that a weapon of mass destruction I see or are you happy to see me?” You ask, lips twitching into a teasing smile.

Steve looks a little bashful, eyes soft as he looks down at you. “A bit of both.”

You almost laugh—about to tease him further—but then Steve pulls his boxers down and every smart quip you had lined up vanishes.

“Holy—fucking hell, Harrington.”

“What?” Steve is trying his best to seem coy as his cock hangs heavy over his soft tummy. Your eyes are shamelessly taking in every inch—and god, was there a lot of inches—of his beautiful cock. Your lips part, mouth feeling awfully dry as you gaze at the sheer size of him, at the slight curve of it, at the tip that was flushed a needy pink, already dribbling precum.

“It’s just—you’re really big,” you tell him bluntly, unable to stop yourself from reaching out to wrap your hand around him.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses at the touch and you look up at him, seeing the way he was clenching his jaw. You decide to put him out of his misery.

You let go of his cock, taking his hand and pulling him back down onto the bed. Steve lets you pull him down willingly and your lips find each other in a kiss that was somehow sweet despite the situation.

“You know I’m ruined for anyone else, right?” Steve murmurs as you gently push him back onto your mattress.

“I figured,” you say as you straddle his lap. Your wet heat pressing right against his achingly hard cock. “But the feeling’s pretty mutual."

Steve wanted to say more, wanted to tell you everything that he had never told you. But there’d be time for that.

“You um—you wanna grab a—”

“No,” you shake your head as you reach down to wrap a hand around the base of his heavy cock to guide him to your entrance. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “Does that mean I can—”

You don’t let him finish the sentence, too busy sinking yourself down onto his cock to let him. The stretch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Nancy hadn’t been lying about worrying about being split in two because Steve’s cock was allconsuming. You felt your head fall back and eyes roll as you lowered yourself down onto him completely.

“Fuck—baby—shit—you’re fucking squeezing me like—fuuuuuck—”

The moment he bottomed out, his cock kissing your cervix, you let out a noise that was so obscene that Steve twitched inside of you.

“If you keep making noises like that—”

You shut him up with a kiss. It was messy and yet, it was everything.

You pulled away from him so you could start to move. You watch as Steve’s eyes drop down to where you were joined, to watch how his cock disappeared inside of you—seeing the way your pussy was stretched obscenely around him.

“Fuck—you’re so fucking perfect, y’know that, baby? Look at you. Made for me.”

You whimper because his words were having such an effect on you and you were trying to maintain some semblance of control. You lifted your hips up before slamming back down onto him in a rhythm that had the both of you moaning out. Steve’s hands move to grab your ass, helping to guide your movement as he thrusts upwards. The bed frame begins smacking against the wall but the both of you are too far gone to care.

You were riding Steve like it was the last time, not the first. Your hips rolling frantically, Steve meeting your movements with upwards thrusts that had your eyes rolling back. The sounds coming from you were obscene. Between your moans, Steve’s groans and the wet sounds that filled the room, you were sure to wake up to the whole apartment building complaining.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me,” Steve encourages, eyes on your breasts that were bouncing in his face. He was close, you knew it from the way he was starting to babble nonsense. How his moans had turned into whimpers when your fingers dug into his back. You slam yourself down harder onto his cock and there’s a slapping of skin as your ass hits his thighs. The slight curve of his cock meant he was hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. You held onto him as you chased your orgasm, wet sounds growing louder as high pitched moans left your lips that you couldn’t control. 

“Fuuuck! Steve—I’m going to—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, back arched and you fell forward, collapsing against his chest.

Steve came right after you. His hips stuttered once, twice and then he came with a noise that you never wanted to forget. You felt thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, flooding your pussy with his release.

You were both spent, sweaty and panting but Steve’s arms remained around you and you hoped he would never let go. He didn’t move and neither did you, his thick cock buried deep inside you, a mix of your releases dripping on your bedsheets. 

Steve is the first to pull away, just to look at you.

“What?” You ask him, breathless and still, wanting him several more times before you even consider going to bed.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, another to your nose, then a final one to your lips before he pulls away again. “Just—really glad to be your roommate.”

You snort with laughter and shove him playfully. He doesn’t budge. He just laughs along with you. “I think we’re way past roommates, Steve.”

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You whimper, you whine, you writhe.

It feels like a private moment he shouldn’t witness.

It’d be best to leave, ignoring your inner desires unfurling before his eyes in your unconscious state.

… Yet, he stays, freezing out of curiosity with a spark igniting within him.

You mumble his name, moan for more, mindlessly fall apart as you’re deep in slumber, shrouded in sin.

“Steve…” you whine, hips rolling up into the empty air; all the blankets have been kicked aside by now, baring your nearly nude figure to him. All that’s covering you is your underwear and his cardigan.

He should wake you up—

“It hurts…” your face twists in distress and need, one hand on your breast, the other snaking down between your thighs. “Need to feel you, please.”

Even in your sleep, the way you ask so desperately for his touch, voice sickeningly saccharine, it’s dizzying to Steve. It reminds him of the way you began to unravel after he fed off of you, right before you fainted.

God… the things he wanted to do to satisfy your own hunger before you fell unconscious… they were downright devious.

Unbeknownst to you, your legs spread, fingers clumsily diving under your waistband as a dark, wet spot spreads on the fabric. Steve’s ready to fall to his knees and worship your figure with his mouth— if only you were awake.

Your beautiful, fragile body, that he wants to protect, claim, and ruin all at once.

He’d have no problem waking you up in such a sinful way, but not before you’ve established your feelings and boundaries. Yet that doesn’t stop him from licking his lips, hand palming himself through his pants as he watches you struggle to satisfy your own needs.

… Would it be so wrong to talk you through it?

Yes, that’s fucked up, he thinks. What the hell’s wrong with you?

Slick sounds of your fingers failing to pleasure yourself echo throughout the room, while you moan his name again, body trembling against his sheets.

Steve caves and drops to his knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. His hand rests gently on your arm, the one toying with your chest lazily, hoping it’d bring you back into reality. Your skin is burning, just as it did when you lost yourself in the euphoric sensation as you offered your blood to him.

“Honey, I- I can help,” he’s almost embarrassed by the way his voice quivers, but your labored breaths and breathy whines shove the shame away. “Need you to wake up, though. Can you do that, angel? Wake up for me?”

You turn your head towards the sound of his voice, even more wound up. He’s turned on, sure, but the look of agony on your face as you can’t quite reach your sweet spot, hips canting up in search of a satisfying angle— leading you away from the ache is his main desire.

Steve caresses your cheek, melting at the way your distress lessens ever so slightly. He can’t leave you like this, it’s just too cruel.

“Poor thing, you’re all pent up, never got that release you deserved,” he coos, hand resting on your forehead— Christ,you’re burning up more and more as the seconds pass. “Come back to me, angel, let me take your pain away.”

The cool touch of his palm against your overheated skin calms you, directs you out of your dream-like state and towards his voice. That, combined with the ever-growing ache you can’t put to rest, is enough to flutter your eyes open.

You hum, puzzled as your vision slowly comes into focus. Eyes sweeping over your form, you realize the promiscuous position you’re in. You freeze in embarrassment when you glance over to the edge of the bed, where Steve is watching you with concern.

“O- oh—“ your hand slips out of your underwear, slick glistening on your fingers. You pant wildly, broken out into a sweat. Shame floods in full force now; you’re shocked you can even look him in the eye. “Steve? I- I’m sorry…”

He only shakes his head, gently grabbing the wrist of your soaked hand, pulling it closer to him. For a moment, he waits for your permission; even through a clouded mind, you’re able to understand what he’s silently asking for. So, you nod.

There’s something irresistibly arousing about the way Steve licks your fingers, fangs grazing your skin every so often. This has to be on purpose; he’s absolutely doing this with intention to rile you up, and it’s working.

A moan shudders out of you when he softly sucks on one finger, pupils blown wide with lust as the color of his irises turns pure, deep red.

“Fuck, you’re delicious.” Steve crawls up onto the bed, hovering over you. The way he stares at you makes you feel like prey, but it’s not frightening. Nothing about this scares you. He looks at you like he wants to claim you, not hurt you.

Nudging his nose against yours, your breath hitches, closing in as his breath ghosts along your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

You hesitate to answer, not because you don’t want this, you’re just in awe this is actually happening.

“I’m all yours, Steve.”

For a moment longer, Steve searches your eyes once more for a hint of doubt, locking his lips with yours after he finds nothing but a strong sense of craving.

The dream you were lost in was incredible, but this is perfect. Leisurely, his lips softly flow against your own, like time is of no concern— and really, right now, fuck time when too much has been wasted dancing around feelings.

You break out of the daze, eventually following his lead in wet, open-mouthed kisses, making a noise of contentment when his tongue teases along your bottom lip. He slots his thigh between your legs, adding pressure to your sensitive core. You jolt upward, gasping into the kiss as his fangs scrape your tongue. It stings, but it also soothes some of the fiery ache.

Tasting your blood, Steve groans roughly, lapping at your tongue with his. It’s strange, at first, when he begins sucking on your tongue, but it feels so fucking good. The bleeding subsides as he heals the scrapes with his kiss.

You push him back, only enough to look him in the eye. Barely catching your breath, you pant, “Can you— will you—“ your eyes scrunch shut, feeling foolish for asking, but your lust is stronger. “Need you…” you glide a finger along your neck, where puncture wounds would lay had he not healed them. “Here. Please?”

“Angel… you’ve barely recovered—“

“This won’t go away ‘til you do something about it, will it?” Your eyes shine with tears, ready to tumble into distress at a moment’s notice. Cautiously, yet truthfully, he shakes his head. “Hurts so bad.” When you flex your hips up against his, he stutters a breath out, eyes rolling back at the brief and faint friction.

“I know, but I can’t have you fainting again.”

“I need you more than anything right now,” you pathetically admit, fingers curling into his shirt with a tight grip. “… Would it hurt like last time?”

He hesitates to answer, searching your gaze for any sign of blood lust compromising your free will. There’s always been a certain longing within you he could pick up, and it’s still clear as day to see in your eyes. Now that longing has accelerated into something more intense, a fiery passion that only burns brighter the longer this is dragged out.

The brighter it burns, the hotter it gets, and all that’ll cool you down into a calm state is Steve’s touch.

“… Not if we keep going. It hurt last time because we stopped. That was my fault.”

“S’okay.” You gulp down a whimper, nodding frantically. “Don’t stop this time.”

Steve slips an arm around and under your waist, while his free hand moves to gently cradle the back of your head, pulling you into him.

“Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your neck, tongue flitting out to the sensitive curve of your neck, sloping closer down to your shoulder. You nod breathlessly, but that’s not enough. “No, angel. I need to hear you say it if you mean it.”

The gentle command earns another whimper from you. “I- I promise, Steve.”

“Promise what?” He sucks softly along your collarbone, retracing back to your neck, lulling you into a heady daze. His fangs graze your skin, and you gasp sharply. “Hm?”

“Promise that… that I…” How the hell does he expect you to focus on words right now? Reminding yourself it can’t continue without your consent, you manage through slurred speech, “I promise I’ll t- tell you to stop f’it’s t’much.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises, fangs scraping along the surface of your neck, on the edge of fully plunging in. “My smart, brave, beautiful girl.”

The praise would go to your head if he didn’t sink his fangs in immediately after. Your body seizes up, and he pulls back, just enough to speak softly. “Relax, angel. Relax for me… I’ve got you.”

Steve dives back into your neck, and just like the first time, the pain subsides into pleasure. Only this round, the intensity of the heat flowing through your veins never fades, just turns into an… enjoyable ache. The sounds of his lips suctioned onto you, siphoning your blood slowly, it only arouses you further.

When your clit throbs, it’s intense enough that Steve can feel it against his leg, still between your thighs. Satisfied with the way you’re unraveling underneath him, he hums, vibrations soothing any lingering ache from the wound.

His touch travels down to your chest, grazing over your bra, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You arch into his hand as it cups your breast, breaths transforming into whines as they slip from your lips.

Your fingers run through his hair, pausing mid-way in a tangled mess to tug. Mouth still on your neck, the noise he makes is muffled, but it’s still such a gorgeous, groaning sound.

The longer Steve feeds, the deeper you sink into that indulgent bliss you’ve been lucky enough to feel once before. He sucks softly, slowly, pain non-existent by now. There’s no chance to ask for more as desire takes control; he’s already one step ahead of you, reaching around your back to unhook your bra. It’s a bit awkward, still on you since his sweater is still slung over your arms, but there’s enough room to touch you the way he wants, the way he needs.

Ice cold fingers slide under the fabric, softly circling your sensitive nub. Between this and the way he’s feeding, you’re convinced you could finish from this alone. His other arm is still wound around your waist, holding you in place as you begin to squirm.

Pulling back, Steve laps at the mess of blood around the wound, careful not to lick directly over them and heal them too soon. “How are you feeling, angel?”

“S’good,” you reply, dazed. He kisses up to your jaw, nipping playfully at your skin while leaving behind kiss prints in blood. It’s short-lived as he returns back to the fresh wound, not wanting to pause like last time and send you plummeting into pain.

When he sinks his fangs back into your neck, you moan loudly, rolling your hips up into him. “Need you, need you, need you,” you chant with desperation, feeling his smirk burn into your skin.

Again, he eases off of you, just enough to speak. “Yeah? How much?”

You gasp as he grinds down into you, bulge giving just a preview of how big he must be.

“S- so much, Steve.”

“And just where do you need me?”

“In me, need y- you in me,” you babble while his hand runs down your body, fingers lingering above your waistband. “Please, please, please, I’m- I can’t—“

“Shh, patience, angel.” He slips his fingers under the elastic, inching closer to your core. “I plan on taking my time with you. Every inch of you is mine, right?”

“Yours,” you whimper, flexing your hips up only to be pinned down with his legs, straddled on either side of you now. “I’m yours, all yours.” Pleas and lust-drunk demands continue to tumble from your lips, “Touch me, fuck me, do something—”

While Steve suckles your neck, blood drips down his chin and onto you, but you don’t seem to mind. One finger easily slides down your slick folds, brushing against your clit, earning one of your precious, sinful sounds. He gives one last intense pull of blood before releasing your neck from his fangs. As he lovingly licks over your wounds, your moans grow louder.

“You’re— all of you’s’mine?” You slur out, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit with the finger still toying with you.

Steve chuckles against your neck, giving a few more flits of his tongue to close up the wound, sealing off the intense passion in your veins. There’s a new kind of pleasure burning within you, something so intense that you’ve never felt before. Something that makes you feel drunk off of lust and love.

Love? Oh, no. No, that can’t be right.

“I’m yours, angel,” he confirms, slipping his finger into you, groaning at your tight entrance. Leaning above you, droplets of your blood on his lips shimmer under the candlelight. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

God, he’s so gorgeous.

Panting, you sit up and take him by surprise as you kiss some of the blood away, licking it up onto your tongue. You kiss him, blood mingling with saliva as he’s left to whimper into your mouth. This is gross; you’d never do something like this, but with Steve, you can’t seem to control yourself.

All the while, he’s slowly pumping his finger in and out of you, curling it in search of your sweet spot.

Steve pulls back, breathless. “No one’s ever done that before.” He checks your face for signs of weakness, afraid you’ve fallen ill. “You’re feeling alright?”

“Mhm,” you continue to pant, “needed to taste it. Wish I could taste you.”

Christ, you’re gone, and Steve is a fucking sucker for how compliant you are. He’s never been one to take advantage of someone in this state, but he’ll give into any desire you have if it means giving you the release you crave.

You writhe, grinding down onto his finger, gasping as he adds another.

He watches you in awe, admires the glow of need on your skin, the sheen of sweat shimmering in the light, the smudges of blood on your lips— your blood. You throw your head back, shuddering out another sinful moan.

“So tight, angel… dunno if I’ll be able to fit—“

“Th- then make yourself fit,” you cut him off, collapsing back against the pillows while you clench around his fingers. “Oh, god, I’m close…”

Steve’s pace quickens, fingers gliding with your slick, pumping harder with each thrust. You don’t get a chance to cry out before you’re reaching your high, gushing all over his hand.

“That’s it, come for me,” he guides you through with praise. “So good for me.”

You sit up, grabbing his face to kiss him roughly as another wave crashes over you. Barely through your first climax, a second one drives you to reach for Steve, use him as an anchor to reality. Your body jolts as he kisses you back, savoring your sweet, muffled cries.

“We didn’t even get to the good part yet,” he teases.

“I… I didn’t know that… I’m…” You shudder a moan out watching Steve slip his fingers out of you, and between his lips. He groans again, eyes rolling back while he savors your essence. You, on the other hand, feel empty now that his hand pulled away.

“It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.” He curls around your side, leading you into his arms. Weariness settles into your being, floating down from the high so gracefully. The chill of his skin is welcoming to you this time, but you notice he’s not as cold. “Never came twice in a row like that before?”

“N- no,” you rasp against his shoulder, so content you don’t have to restrain yourself; the urges to stay close to him can finally be fulfilled without guilt. “S’that normal for the… all this?”

“It’s different for everyone,” he shrugs, kissing the top of your head. “One partner I had ages ago would have climaxes that’d last ten minutes, at least.”

You snap your head up to him. “They what?”

“Yeah… wasn’t very fun overall.”

There’s no focus on Steve’s words when it instead, latches onto the sight of your blood, still fresh on his lips.

He notices, “Angel… everything alright?”

The urge to clean his lips of your blood again returns, holding you hostage in a trance. It’s disgusting, you know it is, and if it were on anyone else’s lips, the thought to kiss it away would never cross your mind.

Lines aren’t blurred with Steve, rather tangled and crossed in knots impossible to loosen. Nothing about this— Steve, your relationship and devotion to one another, the spell of unbridled lust consuming you— is normal, or natural.

He opens his mouth, probably to ask again, but there’s no room for question when you crash your lips against his. The sigh he releases breathes energy back into you, giving you the push to take over. Pushing Steve onto his back, you roll on top of him, admiring the stunned expression he bears.

Passion burns scalding hot in your veins, begging your body for more. You're quick to finally ditch your bra and strip and his sweater off your form, allowing him to admire you on a level he could only dream of before this.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, gasping as you grip his wrists, pinning them above his head. Realistically, he has the strength to overpower you, it's practically child’s play to him, but he’s more than willing to let you play pretend.

It’s the switch in demeanor that matters most, and he’s instantly pliant underneath you, ready to be molded into whatever form of submission you desire. When you roll your hips, painfully slow, your core drags along his clothed bulge, soaking the fabric on contact.

“Not fair,” you huff, releasing his hands to toy with the buttons of his shirt. “Need this off.”

Steve rushes to undo the rest of the buttons, while you slip down his body to undo his pants. He’s eventually left in his underwear, allowing you to really drink in his figure.

Gorgeous.

“You’re so— wait…” whatever compliment you had falls away, distracted by the feel of his cool skin against your palms. You slide your hands up his stomach, onto his chest, noticing that chill fade away, little by little. “… Why aren’t you super cold?”

Blushing, Steve stammers, “Because I- you— it—“ your fingers drag through his chest hair, skin pebbling underneath from your feather-light touch. “Happens when I’m… when I…” his focus veers off, entranced with the view of you from above; the shape of you, the tiny smirk that holds a flicker of wickedness, something he only hoped to see the moment he sensed it was buried deep within you.

Leaning down, you settle yourself on top of him, grinding only once to rile him up.  Your voice gently coaxes him, “C’mon, sweetheart, you can tell me.”

Sweetheart.

Since when do you call anyone that?

The passion that’s running rampant within you can’t be quelled, not until you’re fully satisfied. It’s taken full control; not that this feeling isn’t yours, it’s just boldly coming to life in a way you least expected it. Steve knows this, yet can’t believe the reality before him isn’t his imagination conjuring up some sort of immersive wet dream.

Steve moans, voice shattering into desperation when one hand of yours slides between the two of you, palming him through the only barrier of fabric left. On contact, he bucks against your hand, whining while you trail kisses down his jaw and neck.

“It’s a—“ he gasps sharply when you stroke him lazily, giving a gentle, loving squeeze every so often. “Christ, I’m going to—“

You nip at his neck, nowhere near as intense as how he bites you, void of any threat, but it’s enough to hear and feel the throaty groan find its way to the surface.

Shivering when your lips latch down, sucking on a sensitive spot, he attempts to answer again, “It- it’s a vampire thing.”

Breaking the moment, you snort into his shoulder. “No shit, Steve.” Sitting up, you pull your hands back with you, grinning devilishly down at him. He pants, whines, running a hand through his hair with a pained expression.

“Fine, fine—“ Steve drags his hands over his face, covering the embarrassment building underneath. “Vampires can… run hot… when we’re, you know, aroused.”

Your smirk only grows, watching as his cheeks redden— there's something strange watching his pale skin gain some color before your eyes.

“So, you’re saying that being horny makes you literally hot.”

“The mouth on you sometimes…” he shakes his head, laughing as his hands fall away, fangs bared in all their glory.  Noticing how you fixate on his mouth, he gives a quick, puzzled laugh. “What?”

“I’m glad you don’t hide your smile around me anymore,” you answer honestly, relishing in the blush that lingers along his face. “It’s pretty.”

A laugh echoes out again, and it’s a little less graceful than those prior, but something about the imperfection, the way he squints and snorts a little, it’s endearing. It’s like he’s still human underneath the layers of complexities, lore, and changed body chemistry.

Playfully, he scoffs, “Pretty?”

You give an affirmative hum. “Everything about you is.”

Steve’s smile settles down, more into something of disbelief. “I truly don’t frighten you? I thought that was one of the reasons why you left to begin with.”

“God, no. I’m so sorry.” You kiss his lips, and it’s sweet, chaste. “Told you,” your hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying out as you gently push him back against the pillows. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, Steve.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“Love.”

It slips before you can catch it, keep the secret and take it to your grave, but it’s painfully easy to be honest around Steve. Naturally, the answer surfaced without struggle.

Ignoring the playful switch exchange, Steve sits up, holding you in his lap to keep steady. "What did you just say?"

Fear of rejection begins to sink into your bones, already rooted deep in your heart all your life, ready to bloom at your most exposed moments. Your heart pounds, wishing you could take it back.

All you can do is stutter, "I- I—" 

Steve rests his hand on your chest over your heart, eyes locking with yours. The panicked thumping etches worry lines into his porcelain smooth skin. "You weren't joking." 

You can only shake your head, choking back tears, afraid to speak and give your feelings away. Really, what could you say? 

Hey, sorry for that totally uncalled for confession, that was really dumb of me to say. We've only known each other a few months now, so I'm probably just talking out of my—

"Hey, breathe, breathe…" His soothing tone brings you back down to earth. Gingerly, he holds your face in both large hands, grounding you. There's still a contrast in temperature, though not as drastic, the chill is still welcomed against your overheated skin. "Angel, look at me, please."

You knew once you'd open your eyes, tears would slip out; shaking your head against his grip, your eyes stay scrunched shut.

"Love scares me too," he admits. "But falling for you has been easy."

Did I hear him correctly?

"Wh… what?" Though still guarded, cautious, you slowly open your eyes, adrenaline disintegrating in your veins. "You? Scared?"

There's nothing but adoration written all over Steve's face. For you.

"The night I told you the truth, you asked why I was scared." The pads of his thumbs sweep along your cheek bones, catching stray tears as they slip down your face.

His eyes are aren't the usual patchwork of greens and golden browns and coppery red, but they're not the shade of deep crimson they were earlier, either. The irises are dripping with a serene rust shade, with flecks of gold throughout.

Focus. Quit letting your mind wander. 

"You mean right before Eddie barged in?" 

Steve barks out a laugh, head lolling back while shaking against you. It curls your own smile to life. "Yes. He's good at that, you know. Bad timing, and whatnot."

You're paying attention, really, truly, you are… but you lean into the palm of his hand; something about his touch offers so much security and heart.

"I started to say I was afraid, because you're special to me, and I didn't want to fuck this all up," he admits, shoulders sagging. "Then I did, and—"

You clasp your hand over his mouth, shaking your head; it's so reminiscent of the night he opened up about his past, feeling like deja-vu.

"You did not. That was all me. Everything happened so fast that night, I freaked out. I- I kept thinking you'd be so disappointed if you really got to know me, beyond just being coworkers and friends."

"Disappointed?" Steve's perplexed. "By being yourself?"

Your gaze wanders away, having said too much, but Steve's hand slips under your chin, gently bringing you back to face him. 

"You could never disappoint me, certainly not by being true to yourself." 

A weight begs to lift from your chest, yet you grasp onto it for security's sake; can't get hurt if you don't let your guard down.

"Someone's thinking too loudly." The proclamation startles you out of the fog of self depreciation. 

"Hang on," you lean back, palms on his shoulders to extend the space between you, offering skepticism in your expression. "Can you read minds, too?"

"No, you're just incredibly easy to read," Steve chuckles, eyes crinkling closed with amusement. "Even if I were still human, it'd be easy to tell what's on your mind."

"Wh— I am not easy to read!"

"No?" His tone carries a taunting weight, moving your hands aside to bring you close again. "You mean to tell me you weren't just panicking about allowing your guard to fall?"

Playfully, you sneer, "Get out of my head. What the fuck?"

"Not until you let me quiet those thoughts first, angel." Steve kisses your cheek, trailing to your neck while his hands run up your thighs. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you to drag your clothed heat against his. "Would you still like to know what happened that night? When I fed off of you?"

A gasp cuts in front of your response, only managing to nod frantically. His tongue drags along your skin, teeth nipping at your ear as he chuckles gravelly, satiated with the way you squirm in his grip.

"Would you let me show you what would've happened if we kept going?" 

Arousal slicks between your legs, adding to the stickiness of friction between your bodies. One hand splays along your spine, sliding up to hold you close, your chest against his. The other finds its way to your chest, caressing the curve before kneading your breast tenderly. 

Each gasp, each tiny sound you make as you try holding back how easily you're falling apart from his touch alone, tug at the corners of his smirk as he works you like putty.

"Would that finally prove I'm truly falling for you?" Your eyes flutter open as you feel his whispers against your lips. "Would that be enough?"

"You—" he pinches and tweaks lazily at your nipple, throwing you off focus. "Y- you're already enough, Steve."

"Enough for you?"

"More than enough."

"Then let me take over for now, and you don't have to worry about a damn thing, angel."

It's something sinful, the way he caresses your form while guiding you to grind on him. Back and forth in a languid pace, stretching out tension until it's thin enough to finally snap.

You pick up the rhythm, hold it steady as he praises so sweetly in your ear, "That's it… just like that." He leans in to kiss you, eager to coax your lips open with a tease of his tongue, swallowing your whimpers. You lick a little too far, scraping the tip of your tongue on a fang; the gasp that spills out is immediately muffled, and the pain subsides in a second.

Steve pulls back, chuckling against your lips, "Careful, angel, don't want to get hurt."

"What if I want it to hurt?"

Goddammit. Can't keep my fucking mouth shut.

His breath hitches in a strangled gasp and halts your hips in his grasp, resting his forehead against yours as he regains composure.

"Not for our first time, alright?" He kisses your cheek delicately. "But I'll… I'll remember that for another time, hm?"

You wriggle your hips against his palms, whining until he grabs your face, fingers squishing into your cheeks. It's not hard, just firm enough to regain your attention.

"Okay, okay," you huff, growing needier by the second. "Not for our first time."

Steve leans down to your ear, assisting your hips to roll against his again, praising silkily, "That's my girl." His whispers tingle along the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. Kissing down your neck, he pauses at the spot you seem to favor for him to feed. He asks between kisses, "How do you feel right now?" 

Running a hand through his hair, you gently pull him off of you, earning a throaty groan. It was only to get him to pause, you swear.

Except that reaction caught you off guard. "Oh… you like that?" A smirk begins drawing up on your face, and he narrows his stare at you. 

"Angel, play nice."

The warning tempts you to do the opposite, coil tightening low in your tummy. You don't want to push it though, not in such a sacred first moment together.

Releasing his hair, you murmur, "Sorry."

Steve's over-affectionate with the gentle, chaste kisses, but with him, you don't mind. He adds to the countless, ever-growing number of kisses, lips lingering on your cheek.

"Nothing to be sor—" He leans back and pauses with a furrowed brow, searching your stare. "You apologize far too often."

"Bad habit, I guess," you mutter, shrugging. You can unpack that another time. Before he can get too sappy, you ask outright, "Are you gonna bite me again?"

Chuckling, Steve nudges his nose against yours, "Only if you're okay with that. Don't wanna push you too much in one night."

Surging forward with hunger, you lock your lips with his. There's no chance for it to become to heated when you break apart, murmuring against his lips, "I'll be good, I swear."

His head lolls back with a groan rumbling out, exhaling shakily, "Oh fuck." He didn't even ask. Steve didn't ask— but here you are, pliant and needy and willing; he'd be a fool to deny any of your desires right now.

Maybe underneath it all, Steve's really the submissive one, not you.

… He can worry about that later.

Sliding a hand down between your bodies, his fingers slip over the fabric of your panties, sliding them aside to tease your clit. You jolt and squirm, but Steve's hold on you is strong.

"If you need me to stop and can't say it," he kisses up your neck, fingers painting your slick up and down your core. "You'll tap me, anywhere, just once. I'll stop immediately."

"O- okay." Your hips buck against his touch, stilled just at the edge of your entrance. He kisses up to the spot that ruins you, the one you seem to— so far— like being fed from the most.

Fangs sinking into your soft skin, he plunges two fingers into you, earning a cry he'd never expect to hear from you. It's not pained, not in the physical sense, but you are aching for more.

As if getting blood sucked out of you while being finger fucked isn't enough.

"Steve, Jesus Christ…" Your whimper makes him hum smugly against your neck. He becomes wrapped up in your taste, fingers slowing to a pace much too tame for the passion you're lost in. 

Drawing back, he laps up the blood dripping from your neck. "So good, such a good girl," he praises in a silky, low tone. "Taste so sweet, too."

You begin fucking yourself against his fingers, desperate for him to reach that spot that causes you to see stars. Strength in his grasp digs into your hip, pressing hard enough, you're certain you'll feel it tomorrow.

"Don't ruin it for yourself, angel." He curls his fingers, toying with that spot each time he pumps into you. The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit while he sinks his fangs into your neck again. "You'll take what I give you. Understand?"

Panting, you still your hips, twitching as you struggle with self control. "Ye- yeah, mhm, I—" A lewd, raw moan cuts you off, one of your own. 

This is still too slow, far too slow; he knows what he's doing, fully aware of how dizzying and intoxicating it is offer your blood to a creature like himself.

After all, Steve was human once, too.

There's not much of his mortal life he's able to recall, or who exactly turned him under what circumstances, but giving yourself up to a being that could break you instantly is a thrill all in its own.

He kisses your wounds, tongue flitting out to soothe over the broken skin, healing them on the spot once more. When you whine, he assures you, "Shhh… I want to try something else. Do you trust me?"

There's no chance to answer before he swiftly withdraws his touch; the bliss begins to fade, leaving you in a fucked out, unfinished state.

"What… why'd you do that?" You pant as he lays back with a smirk. Locking eyes with you, he wraps his lips around the finger once inside you, sucking the slick right off. He groans, hips bucking up underneath you, clothed cock rubbing against your core. It breaks you, with some sort of desperate, needy noise tumbling from your lips.

Steve uses his free hand to beckon you closer, curling his index finger towards himself. The finger on the other hand slips out, reaching out for you.

You're still lost in an unsatisfied daze. "Huh?"

"Come closer," he orders so sweetly, there's no way you could say no— not like you even want to say no anyway.

You inch closer over his chest, legs straddling either side, but self doubt refuses to let yourself sit completely.

Steve shakes his head, licking his lips. "Closer."

The daze breaks, and it clicks. "You… oh. Are you… are you sure?"

"Wouldn't be asking if I was unsure," his hands find purchase on your hips again, tugging you closer to his face. 

Hesitant, you bite your lip, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and inching toward him.

Riding a partner's face wasn't necessarily new to you, it's just never been… enjoyable. Always an "in theory, not in practice" sort of act. Yet, with Steve, though nervous, your panties stick to your slick, sticky heat.

Straddling his face, he murmurs into your thigh before kissing it, "Good girl."

You grip onto the headboard of the bed, glancing down as you hold yourself up above his face, still worried to allow yourself onto him. He continues planting kisses up your thigh, fingers hooking underneath your waistband, snapping it with ease. The elastic breaks, and he tosses the fabric aside, leaving your core exposed. His breath fans out over your slit, dripping with arousal.

"Steve!" You gasp. "I liked that pair!"

"I'll buy you more," he rasps out, pressing a delicate kiss to your heat. "Promise." 

There's no time to retort when he hooks his arms around your legs, forcing you to sit against his smug expression. 

"Oh, fuck…" you pant out, forming into an incoherent whine as his tongue delves between your folds. Thighs clenching around his head, you gasp when he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

One hand presses flat against your back, holding you steady as the trembling already begins. The other kneads at the soft curve of your hip, guiding you to grind on his tongue. You find a leg-trembling pace, one that has his deep red eyes rolling back underneath you.

Steve skillfully laps and flits at your clit with an intensity you've never experienced before. Not even from your own vibrator. No, this has to be from his heightened… abilities. You're sure of it. No human has ever brought you this close to the edge this quickly.

Fingers carding through his hair, you give a healthy tug, causing him to grunt and accidentally scrape a fang along the outer edge of your folds. You yelp at the sting, melting instantly as his tongue rolls over the laceration, healing it within seconds.

"Sorry," he rasps out, pulling away while glancing up in daze. A blush creeps up his face, just on the little bit you can see, as he presses a kiss to your core, soft and gentle. You shiver, feeling your clit pulsate. "You okay?"

"Ye- yeah, m'okay," you rush out, head bobbling ardently. "Don't stop, don't—"

A long, torturous drag of his tongue up your slit steals your plea, replaced with a frantic chant of his name, thighs tensing up around his face.

The arm around your leg returns, finding your core to slide a finger in while laving at your clit. It throbs against his tongue, and he moans. Like, fully, deeply moans, vibrating against your sensitive nub.

Your head falls back with a cry of pleasure, rolling onto one shoulder. Something in the corner of your eye catches your attention; even through your stare weighed down by lust, it's still obvious how hard he is.

Steve's so turned on, he's fucking the thin, empty air surrounding him. In the midst of this sinful whirlwind, he must’ve pulled himself free from the last of his clothing, and… jesus fucking christ— You can't just leave him neglected like this.

Panting heavily, you lick your lips, attempting to twist just enough to the left, reaching behind you. His cock is stiff, leaking at the ruddy tip, swollen with need. Your fingers stretch out, just within reach of touching him, when he grabs your arm, pinning it behind your back. 

The noise of displeasure you make is overcast by a betraying moan; he continues lapping between your folds, grip strong on your restrained wrist.

You twist yourself to the right, attempting to stretch again with your free hand; Steve moves swiftly, leaving you empty as his other hand grabs and pins your right arm behind you. Some slick from your arousal brushes off his finger, spreading against your skin.

"Ugh—" You struggle against his hold, but he, effortlessly with strength as always, keeps a steady grip. "Why can't I touch you?"

Steve doesn't answer— not with words, at least. He spells it out with his tongue, coaxing you to the edge while flitting it against your clit, practically making out with your heat. The growl he emits vibrates into you, sending shivers up your spine and urging you to grind down to finish off strong.

Your back arches as your head falls back, chest heaving as something starts to crack within you, giving way to something sinfully delicious.

"F- fuck, Steve," you breathe, eyes rolling back. Frantically, your fingers search for his grip as he still restrains you. He hooks one of his digits within yours; a little sign of intimate connection that only strengthens the closer you gravitate to one another.

And, fuck, you're not sure if there's anything closer than this, but your body sure craves it.

Trembling, your hips jerk as you fully break, crying out while your walls constrict around nothing, aching to flutter around him. You soak his face with a weak sob, thighs clenching around his head, something he groans lowly about in satisfaction.

Steve doesn't relent, not until you're slumping forward, face inches from hitting the headboard. He releases your arms, moving in record time to plant his palms on your torso, pushing you upright.

If you weren't so winded and dazed from the post-orgasm bliss, you'd still blink and miss how exactly he catches you, cautious in guiding you off to the side while he leans over you, checking in.

"Felt s'good," you slur, hands weakly reaching out for him, trying to pull him closer. "Need you."

His lips curl upward while he cups your cheek, whispering, "I'm right here, angel."

You shake your head, pouting. "Need you in me." 

It's visible how restraining himself physically pains Steve, how difficult it is to respond with caution. "I… I think you need to rest."

When you shake your head, he laughs softly, palm uncharacteristically warm on your skin, his own desires keeping a flame lit within. It's starting to sting, flames licking up the walls of his heart, pumping his blood into temperatures he hasn't felt in…. in years.

The last time he felt this alive was when he was still human. 

That lively fire… it's because of you, and god, does he yearn to be even a sliver akin to something mundane again. This would be so much easier, for you both.

But as you stare up at him, silently begging to intertwine into one another, he knows now you've accepted him, down to even the darkest truths. You weren't running from him, you were running from yourself, from your own feelings, afraid to trust your heart with someone you admire despite such an unholy difference between your lives.

Steve wants nothing more than to say it, because that's what he feels most for you, encompassing every minuscule thought and feeling surrounding you, this relationship, everything so far this summer— he feels it, feels it run so deeply through his cold veins.

He hasn't felt sunshine on his skin in quite some time, the joy of that warmth burrowing past the surface into his bones, but your presence certainly comes close. Your smile, your little mundane quirks he's lost to transformation and time, the fragility your life carries— every inch of your human self he only wants to protect, adore, and worship.

Perhaps confirming those feelings aloud were too risky, plunging him into a vulnerability he's not quite ready to navigate yet.

That doesn't mean he can't spell it out through his actions. After all, falling for you truly has been easy to him. Terrifying, but effortless.

Climbing on top of you, Steve tenderly parts your thighs, smirking as you whimper. "Are you sure?"

Though spent, you eagerly nod, pushing your legs apart a little further. One hand toys with your breast lazily, the other trailing down to your core. Steve grabs each hand, pinning them down to the mattress beside your head. 

"I'll take good care of you," he leans close, whispers against your lips. "Promise."

Releasing your hands, he sits up, stroking himself with breathy groans as he greedily takes the sight of you in. He guides the tip against your clit, dragging it down to your entrance when you sit up suddenly. 

Palm flat on his chest, you rush out, "Wait!"

Concern weaves its way back onto Steve's expression again. "What? What happened? Are you—"

"Condoms are in my bag," you point to the far side of his room, where some of your belongings lay in a heap. 

He breaks into a grin, amusedly assuring, "We don't need—"

"Oh, yes, we do," you chuckle, though firm in your serious stance. You cross your arms, narrowing your stare at him. "I don't need to get pregnant and die having some kind of vampire-human hybrid baby."

Steve's lips press together, trying to restrain a taunting laugh. "You… you mean a dhampir?"

You snap your fingers and point at him, thrilled he filled in the blank for you. "Yeah! Yeah, that. No fucking thanks." Then you add sheepishly, "No offense."

"Angel, I wouldn't ever—" His demeanor begins to slip into something serious, but rebounds at the realization, "How do you know about dhampirs?"

Puffing your cheeks out, embarrassment creeps hotly under your skin as you exhale. "Uh… research? … Y'know, after you told me your secret… found out way more than I bargained for, that's for sure."

Expression falling flat, Steve reaches his arm out toward your bag, refusing to break eye contact as it flies swiftly into his hand. He grips it instantly, smirking again when your jaw drops.

"Are you serious?" He forfeits the bag. You rummage through it, finding the foil packet and chucking your bag back to the floor. "You can do cool shit like that, too?!"

Steve's trying, really, he's trying so hard to hold himself together, to not burst into lighthearted chuckles over your awestruck state. "That, and a bit more." He plucks the packet from your fingers, tearing it open with ease on one fang. Your eyes are wide with wonder, and the laughter tumbles out of him. "You are far too easy to impress."

Scoffing, you swipe the condom out of his grasp, rolling it over his length. A breathy whine falls away from his parted lips, earning your satisfied smirk. "Yeah, well…" leaning back, you cant your hips just right for easy access. Steve takes the hint, rutting his cock between your folds teasingly. "N- never had a vampire boyfriend before, so…"

The head of his cock is caught at your entrance while he pauses, breath hitching. "Boyfriend?"

You nod, "Mhm—" Steve begins to sink himself into you. Gasping, you take the stretch of every inch. "— oh, fuck."

He's got one hand sliding up your thigh, caressing on it's way to your hip. Your legs lift and bend a bit, allowing him in a little more. 

"You really want— ah!" He bottoms out in you, completely buried to the hilt. You cry out, grasping his forearms. Panting, he leans over you, hands planted on either side. "You'd really w- want that?" He sucks in a sharp breath, "Fuck, you're tight."

"More than anything." You shudder out a sigh, clenching around him while he patiently, yet painfully, waits for you to adjust. "Steve, move, please—"

"Doesn't hurt, does it?" He asks as you tense up. Cupping your face, he orders, "Angel, look at me."

Through bleary eyes, you do. "Ju- just s'full."

Steve kisses your neck with a breathy laugh. "I know, sweetheart. A lot to take, hm?" His kisses trail down to the swell of your breast, fangs grazing along your soft skin. "Want to taste you again… please?"

"Yeah, ye- yes," you sigh, one arm slinking around his back. Your free hand cards through his hair, softly pushing him closer by the back of his head. 

His thumb flicks lazily over your nipple, hand cupping your breast, massaging it softly. His lips wrap around the pebbled skin closest to him, giving soft, open-mouth kisses, teeth tickling your supple flesh.

Steve only sucks, tongue flicking at your nipple, waiting for your permission. All the while, he's dragging himself in and out of you, in no hurry to reach his peak. 

"Need you, Steve," you gasp, pushing his face into you again. A muffled groan rumbles against your chest. His fangs catch, slowly sinking into your breast. "A- ah… oh my god…"

Blood flowing freely, he feeds greedily, sucking down every drop. The arm on that same side winds around your hips, holding you steadily as you squirm. His other hand abandons your breast to care for your neglected clit, but the sensation remains; pinching, squeezing, flicking, caressing— it all continues as a ghost of his touch.

Vampires are full of surprises.

It doesn't take much, incredibly sensitive from multiple highs and his feeding, bringing you seconds away to a trembling crescendo. Clenching and fluttering around him, your legs tighten around his waist, tugging your bare selves flush against one another. 

"M'gonna… I'm— fuck!" You babble his name in a desperate plea for more. Of what, you're unsure, but you need more of him. You're infatuated, obsessed, and can't think straight.

"Right here, angel, m'right here," he mumbles against your breast, pace on your clit never letting up. He continues to feed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth when he affirms, "I've got you. Let go."

Let go, you do, but not without allowing your feral side to thrive.

Roughly, you grab Steve by his hair, dragging him off your skin to kiss him with reckless abandon. Moaning into him, you realize he still has a mouthful of your blood, and god, this shouldn't turn you on. At. All. But sharing what keeps you both alive is morbidly romantic, erotic for all the wrong reasons— and you love it.

Steve's tongue flicks against yours, massaging the metallic tang of your blood against your taste buds. You feel dizzy, you feel alert, you feel wild. The two of you are insane. Absolutely fucking insane.

Love makes you do crazy, stupid shit, but you didn't think it could turn into something like this.

Sucking softly on your tongue, Steve manages to feed off the remainder of blood. He breaks the kiss, murmuring huskily, "Don't swallow that. You'll get ill."

You laugh while flashing your dull, human teeth up at him with a red tint, matching the messy swipes and smearing of it across your lips. 

"S'my blood, I'll be fine." You know that's not how that works. He knows you know. You're not here to play it safe.

Unless, it revolves around getting pregnant by a vampire, in which case, yeah, you'll stay safe on that without complaint.

"Spit," you whimper, tongue lolling out beneath him. 

Steve should think twice, doesn't think at all, only listens. When the crimson tinged saliva hits your eager tongue, you release such a filthy, pornographic moan, it causes him to climax immediately.

He whimpers your name, strong arms winding around your frame to cradle you close. Your lips are back on his, moving with urgency to add to his peak of pleasure. Hips stuttering wildly, he pulsates and throbs inside you, wishing he could fill you to the brim, completely claim you, forever.

For now, it'll do. Something like forever is ultimately for you to decide, though, and he respects that. He's just grateful you have one another in the here and now.

Steve's strong embrace keeps you flush against him, even after he comes down from his high. The two of you are left panting, traces of blood on your faces. You shower one another in tender kisses and sweet whispers of praise, and eventually, his skin cools down while he softens inside you. 

Breathless, your head collapses back onto the down pillows, sinking slowly. Steve gives you a bit of breathing room, but certainly doesn't go far. He's propped up on his elbow, leaning over you with that fond, gentle smile you love so dearly. He caresses your face, lightly panting along with you.

"You woulda' done all of that because I gave you my blood?" There's curiosity that lies behind your teasing.

Steve's face falls, but not into anything dismal or of concern. No, this held something deeper, sincere. His hand stills, holding your face so gingerly, red eyes fading into something calmer, but refusing to leave your stare.

Your heart's ablaze with admiration. If only you knew months ago how this once unattainable, forbidden crush would blossom into such deep, delicate feelings for him.

And as if he hasn’t won your heart over already, he answers earnestly: "Angel, I would give you the whole world if you'd let me."

The first month together with Steve is nothing short of blissful— in a creepy, bizarre sort of way, of course. But it works. 

Finding someone who understands you on that level, who you work with so well— literally and romantically— it's what you've always desired in a partner. You were just never lucky enough to find someone willing to sink their teeth deeper than the surface of a relationship.

Most nights, you find yourself staying over after working so late. When there's downtime in between decedents, he's so persistent about helping you with your notes, reviewing with little corrections as he praises the growth you've shown in your hard work.

Never before have you had a partner that was so adamant about working hard toward your goals, while finding balance to put your needs first, too. Steve's not pushy, doesn't nag (though sometimes you tease him for how serious he gets), doting but never overbearing, and only wants the best for you in whatever your dreams are. 

Never before have you ever had a partner who was also undead, fangs and all, but you know what they say; there's a first time for everything.

Despite Steve being such a generous partner in nearly every aspect of your relationship, he's finally begun to let his guard down, allow you to care for him, too. 

From little things, like checking in when he's working long hours, if he needs to feed— be it from his usual supply or you. The latter is never the choice if he's still working; last thing he needs is distraction, and feeding from you simply shuts out the world around him. Then you're left a whining mess, drunk off his blood lust and your blood loss, and he's always got to do something about it— not like he's ever one to complain, of course.

Today felt never-ending, leaving behind exhaustion so heavy you were ready for bed the moment you and Steve called it a day. Too tired even for the sickeningly sweet and domesticated routine you've fallen into while staying the night; a cup of tea for you, a glass of blood for Steve, all cozy and cuddled up to one another while winding down the day together.

Steve knew you could stretch your energy thin, but he's never seen you so drained before.

Well, other than when he quite literally drained blood from you the very first time. You've grown accustomed enough to his feedings that you rarely pass out now.

You're about to flop down on his couch, too winded for another flight of ridiculously ornate Victorian-styled stairs, but his ever so speedy reflexes catch you in time. 

"Steeeeeve, why?" You groan dramatically, drawing a chuckle out of him. He's amused at first, about to pull you upright when he realizes just how tired you are.

"Sorry, angel. You need proper sleep in a proper bed." Slipping an arm under your legs, he sweeps you off your feet as he cradles your back, carrying you bridal style. He loves doing this a little too much, but you've stopped complaining. If he wants to use that vampire strength to carry you, he can have at it.

Arms hooking around his neck, you tuck your head in too. "M'sorry, just so sleepy."

"Shouldn't apologize for that when you normally have a hard time sleeping, hm?" He carries you up a few steps before you hiss, feeling a dull ache in your lower half. He pauses mid-step. "Are you alright?"

"I think it's just from being on my feet all day. M'fine, promise." You swallow down the ache, fatigue keeping you from caring much more.

He carries you into the bedroom, helps you get ready for bed alongside him, and you're out like a light the moment your head hits the plush, silky pillow.

Something rouses Steve from his slumber in the dead of night, internal alarm bells going off, driving him into panic.

A distinct, familiar scent hits him, hits him hard; he smells blood, and it's certainly not his.

The faintest whimper draws his attention to you, curled up in his king sized bed next to him. You're not sprawled out in the usual way, the one he finds endearingly human. Instead, you're tucked up into a fetal position, arms wound around your own belly, face contorted in misery.

Steve scans over your figure with concern, checks over your skin for any lacerations. His eyes flit up to your face- your poor, pained features- and there's no blood dripping from your nose. No crimson peeking out between your lips. He's almost relieved, but the sharp, metallic scent won't fade away.

It's one he normally welcomes, one he craves, but something's not right, and clearly you're in pain.

"Angel," he whispers, large hand cupping your face, cradling it softly and feeling how clammy you are.

It's reminiscent of the time he found you lost in pained pleasure, desperate for his touch, for relief. Except now, there seems to be no pleasure in sight, only suffering.

"C'mon, wake up for me," he softly demands, drawing back to flip a lamp on, sat atop a nightstand off his side of the bed. He rolls back to you, fingers combing through your hair, and you start to stir. "That's it, it's okay, I'm here."

You mumble something incoherent, brows tugging together the more you awaken. 

"What was that?" He leans closer, kissing your forehead. 

"Hurts," you whine, rolling yourself closer to him, clutching your torso tighter. 

"Can I look? Make sure everything's alright?" You nod curtly, arms reluctantly retreating away; he gently pulls your loose sleep shirt up to expose your tummy. 

There's no blood, so that's good. Kind of. Because the source isn't here, so where the hell are you bleeding from?

Steve pulls back the covers, glancing back at you while your eyes are scrunched shut. It takes a moment, blending in with the silky red sheets on his bed, but he notices a darker spot, just on the fabric underneath you. It leads up to your shorts that aren't normally red, and— Oh.

Oh. 

Periods. Right. That's a thing for humans, and that's why you're bleeding.

He feels like an idiot for even forgetting that was a thing, adding up all the symptoms you've experienced all day, and the pain now. 

To be fair, you weren't nearly spending as much time together until a month prior, so he's never seen you in this state— or you just hid it well.

… Sure explains his senses spiraling out of control once a month since you began working with him; he could never seethe blood, only trace the scent easily. Before you knew his truth, it was a challenge to hide his bloodlust from no immediate, visible source.

You lean up on your elbows, wincing as you glance down, bleary eyed. "Wha's'wrong?"

"Hang on," Steve slips out of bed, returning in record time with towels. 

That's when it catches up to you, embarrassment pricking tears in the corner of your eyes.

"Oh my god, fuck, Steve, m'so sorry, I- I- I didn't— fuck, what's today?" You're normally so good about tracking your cycles, how on earth did you let this slip up, and now of all fucking times?

He gently cleans the blood between your legs, ignoring the urge to lick your thighs clean. His lip twitches before he focuses again. "Hey, there's nothing to apologize for."

"Except ruining your fancy sheets— god, I am not sophisticated enough to be a vampire's girlfriend." You're not sure whether to nervously ramble, cry, allow the embarrassment to eat you alive, or all three. "You probably got these in like, fucking, I don't know, Romania, or some shit."

Steve can't catch the laugh that slips away in time. "Romania?"

"Yeah!" You glare at him incredulously, like he doesn't know his own lore. "Isn't that like, the vampire capital of the world?"

Now he can't stop laughing, shaking his head as he pauses to look up at you. "Where are you getting any of this nonsense?"

"I- I don't know, the movies?"

"You need to stop watching those vampire films," he teases, licking his lips as he notices just how soaked with blood your panties are. Again, he ignores his cravings. "Those just fill your head with nonsense. Got you believing I'm out here buying bedsheets halfway across the world."

"Well, I don't know shit, and these sheets are really nice! And I ruined them!"

"Blood is easy to remove from fabric, I'm kind of good at that by now." He smirks lazily, fangs peeking out, tempting you to beg for their sharp affection. "And I got these at the mall, not fucking… Romania, Jesus Christ."

"Oh," is all you respond with, tumbling into laughter at how fucking outlandish you must sound to him. Then the thought of Steve at the mall is suddenly hilarious to you, and your amusement only builds, a welcomed distraction from the pain. "What the fuck do you go to the mall for?"

"What the fuck do I—" he begins repeating you, scoffing. "I needed new shoes, too. Where the fuck do I get those? Italy?"

Barking out a laugh, you clap your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, apologizing from behind your palm. He only rolls his eyes, but the smirk never falters.

"I think you still have some other clothes here, should probably get you into something more comfortable, hm?" The two of you settle down, though he can't help but joke once more. "Unless you need me to fly to Europe for—"

You sit up, playfully shoving your palm against his mouth to shut him up. The sudden movement makes you wince, cramps spreading from your pelvis into the tops of your thighs.

Steve removes your hand as any humor is abandoned, leaning in to kiss you softly. It's quick. It's not meant to be suggestive, not meant to lead to anything beyond comfort and care, nor does it climb past that.

"You rest, angel, I'll take care of you." He leans you back carefully against the pillows again, sucking in a sharp breath when the scent of your blood rushes through him.

He hovers over your hips, and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, tugging down gingerly. It's not meant to be sexual. Really. Truly. It's not. Neither is the kiss innocently pressed against your hip, meant to be more soothing than anything. He kisses down to your thigh while pulling the ruined fabric away, only out of comforting you, he swears.

Yet traces of blood tinge his lips where they last lingered, and out of mindless habit, his tongue darts out to lick them clean.

What a mistake that is.

Steve tenses up, pupils blowing wide with instant bloodlust, bleeding into the depths of crimson in his irises. 

You gulp, "Steve?"

He kisses your thigh again, lips dragging against your skin with his tongue trailing, licking up the blood that had dried. It's soothing, it's weird. He knows this is weird, right?

"Steve…" Your warning tone wavers, swallowing down a sigh over how soothing his tongue feels against your skin.

At first, you're mesmerized by how whipped he's become over your scent, not even tasting from the source. He gets too close to your core, fangs grazing the top of your thigh, hands pushing your legs apart. You run a hand through his hair, giving a warning tug, yanking him back from your body.

A throaty groan rumbles out of him while the grip on your legs tightens. He's wrecked just from that preview alone, ripped out of the spell your blood has him under. He could usually be more dominant over you, but he'll always be submissive for the blood that runs through your veins.

Steve whimpers out, "Please?"

Denying him anything feels like a sin in itself, but this is a step too far.

"You do not want that kind of blood," you try reasoning, shaking your head. "It's not the same."

"S'all the same to me," he hopelessly slurs. "You could use the relief, too."

"Don't tell me you actually believe that shit," you roll your eyes. "Sex doesn't help with periods."

"Maybe you haven't had the right partner try yet." Steve's smug, but it's cute, never annoying or arrogant; usually— and you hate to admit it— he's right, and that smirk and quirked brow are justified. 

It feels like embers are smoldering under your skin, face running hot. "Well, you- you're just saying that to get your way."

He drops the smirk, crawling over you, careful not to let his body rest against yours; you're too sensitive for anything like that right now.

"As much as I'm craving this, your comfort comes first." While holding himself up with one arm, the other reaches for your face, softly curving to the shape of your cheek. You lean into the refreshing, cool touch, eyes fluttering shut with a sigh. "Thought I'd offer, but the last thing I want is for you to ever feel pressured into intimacy."

Even with the way your insides feel like they're twisting and tangling, your clit still throbs. The concept is so gross, but the more you think about him going down on you right now, the more you crave him.

Biting your lip, you try talking yourself out of it, but it only becomes more of a desire as you imagine it.

"If it hurts, we can stop, right?"

"Always. Always."

"Okay… alright, fine, but—!" You sit up a bit, wiping what little blood is left away from his lips. "Can I kiss you first?"

"What, you'd rather not kiss me after?" His teasing earns a glare from you. 

"Don't push it," you murmur, crashing your lips against his. You can still taste traces of a metallic tang, but you're instantly intoxicated by his slow, intentional kisses, swipes of his tongue caressing against your own. Your lips break away for a moment, whimpering into his mouth, "Oh, fuck."

"That's what I like to hear," he praises, trailing kisses down your neck and to your chest, hand gently pushing against your breastbone to lay back down. He caresses your breasts with a feather-light touch, cautious because they're so sore. "Gonna make you feel so good angel."

"Y'always do," you gasp while his lips close around your nipple, rolling the other softly between his fingers. No pinching, no biting, nothing like his usual teasing, just pure sweetness. 

He rolls his tongue over the sensitive peak, moaning while sucking at it, taking extra care not to scrape his fangs against it.

"Steve…"

"Shhh, I got you," he promises, switching his hand and mouth to opposite sides. You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he hums with satisfaction around the nub. It makes you squirm. He pulls off with a wet pop! "Poor thing, so sensitive and needy."

Each kiss he leaves behind doesn't just turn you on, it feels good— genuinely soothes any ache he lays his lips on, or laps his tongue along. And he takes his time kissing gently all over your torso; he always treats you like you're precious, because truly, to him, you are, but the particular care he takes with you now makes you emotional.

No one's ever been so soft with you before. No one's ever cared this much to try and ease the aches and pains and agony you feel month after month.

Of course, no former partner ever had weird vampire healing properties, but your point still stands, emotions still valid.

You're so lost in the dreamy haze he relaxes you into, he has to use your name to catch your attention.

Like being pulled out of a daydream, you're slow to respond. "… Hm?"

Steve's face is dangerously close to your core, eyes politely on you rather than the feast of blood between your thighs. "I asked if you're still comfortable with this. You doing alright?"

"Ye-yeah," you nod fervently. "Sorry, it feels really good. Kinda started forgetting about the pain."

"That's what we want, right?"

"Uh-huh," you breathe shakily. 

"You know what to do if it hurts?"

"Tell you to stop," you whisper, feeling shy while he's so close to something so personal, in a different light. 

"I should have the self control, but if you need to stop, and I don't obey, you can pull my hair again, as hard as you need to. Understand?"

The word obey rattles through your brain, completely devoid of anything else other than how hot it just sounded coming from him. 

He's gonna be the death of me. 

"Angel, need you to speak up."

"Uh-h- huh, I understand."

"Good girl," he leaves a kiss at the top of your mound, sending shivers up your spine. Arms sliding under your thighs, he brings you closer, glancing up one more time to check on you. You're tense, anticipating something to hurt. He coos, "Relax for me, angel."

You're about to, until you feel a chaste peck on your slit, instantly flooded with desire while a voice in the back of your head is shaming you for how wrong this is.

… Really, you could be doing worse things than allowing your vampire boyfriend to go down on you during your period.

Steve kisses again, slower this time, eyes flitting up to you, smirking against your skin when you let out a blissfully, airy sigh. He leans down with an open mouthed kiss, savoring your taste, pacing himself within each kiss that follows. 

He'd honestly devour you if it wouldn't hurt so much, so with all his strength, he keeps his patience and restrains himself, tentatively parting your folds with his tongue. 

Your flow is heavy and messy— it always is on the first day, and for once, it seems like a positive. Steve's tongue takes its time, lapping up the crimson surrounding your clit, groaning deeply while his eyes roll back, like the very first time he tasted your blood.

It's an odd balance to find between the filthy nature of it all, and holding some sort of composure that is sensitive to your needs, but somehow, he finds it.

He swirls his tongue around your clit, dragging it back down your folds to trace the tip along the edge of your entrance. Arms hooked all the way around your legs, he reaches around your thighs and down to spread your lips apart, allowing him to delve deeper.

When Steve's inside you, savoring every drop of blood he can lave, you gasp sharply, hips arching up while shoving your core against him. The sounds he makes are polite, at best, just sensual, nothing insane. Yet the longer he continues tasting you, the more primal he sounds.

No one has ever worshiped your body with their mouth the way Steve has, and it always sends your mind spiraling, heart racing, toes curling while your back arches in ecstasy. 

This time is different. It's raw, intensified, sparking a fuse deep down you didn't even realize was within you. You don't realize you're rolling your hips at first, gently, testing the waters as you're lost in bliss no god would ever forgive you for.

It's when Steve groans, tongue flat against your clit, fangs faintly teasing along your folds, that you look down, embarrassed you can't stop grinding against his face.

On the other hand, he's not upset. Not one bit.

"C'mon, angel," his voice rumbles against your skin, blood coating his lips. When he pulls back to spit onto your cunt, spreading you apart, it's clear his entire chin is covered in your blood. "Give it to me."

The sight shouldn't turn you on, his filthy praise shouldn't make you weak, and the feeling… well, it's just too damn good to be anything but sinful.

Fingers carding through his hair, you pull lightly, earning sinful noises out of Steve. Your hips roll forward, gaining a pace of desperation as you grind onto his face. He continues to hold his tongue broad and flat against your clit, groaning lowly. Partly, because he's enjoying this way too much, but you're so sensitive, he knows any delicious friction or vibration could set you off.

"Please, please, please—" You buck against Steve's mouth, fangs catching on your delicate skin, leaving nothing more than a scrape behind. Yet it's more fresh blood for Steve, and that pleasure intertwined with pain giving a similar head rush. You plead, "More— fuck, Steve…."

He delicately circles your entrance with his finger, cautious not to trigger more pain. You plead again, nodding for extra reassurance. When you brace yourself for an ache, any sort of discomfort, all you get is more pleasure, more relief, eyes rolling back when his finger slips inside of you.

The synchronization of his tongue, finger, and lips guide you closer to pure bliss. He's only able to pump his finger a few times before you succumb to pleasure. 

Your high crests and crashes while you sob through it, while Steve pins your hips down effortlessly with one hand, seeing you to the very end. You begin to relax, hands falling away from him as you come down; he slows with you, but doesn't let up completely.

Intoxicated off your taste, he's in no hurry to back off; the kisses he leaves on your core are sloppy, yet tender. Lips parted against yours, puffy and swollen from being loved so intensely, his tongue swipes up every last drop of red he can. He moans loudly, stifled with his face buried between your thighs.

"Steve," you pant, grabbing the sheets in fistfuls again. "I can't…"

At first you think he doesn't hear you, but the more your whimpers build into something certain, his ministrations grow more certain. Hips twitching as he pins them harder to the bed, you softly sob. It doesn't hurt, it feels good— too good, overwhelming in a way you can't handle, not right now.

"Wait, I- I—"

Tongue flicking against your clit lazily, you buck against his mouth and cry out. Your legs tremble and he growls into you, beginning to lose composure.

You have no choice but to act; both hands wind your fingers through his hair, tugging forcefully as another cry slips out.

Steve breaks from the trance your blood held him in, dazed at first. He snaps out of it completely when he notices how distressed you appear.

Crudely wiping blood off his face with his arm, he crawls over you, cradling your face gently. His cool touch soothes your sensitive, overheated skin.

"Are you alright?" He panics, eyes darting up and down your figure for signs of injury. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, angel, I'm so sorry."

You shake your head weakly with a faint smile forming. "Just too much, tha's'all," you slur as your own palm finds his jawline, shapes against it gently. "Felt s'good though."

"You sure you're alright?"

He watches you fight sleep, eyes fluttering shut while you nod weakly. "M'great," you mumble, tugging on his arm, hinting you want to cuddle. "Pain's mostly gone."

Steve sighs in relief that he not only helped with your pain, but didn't worsen it, either. Carefully, he peels your grip off of him. You pout, earning an airy chuckle, still catching his own breath.

"I just want to grab some things to clean up with, I'll be quick, I promise." He has to catch himself before kissing your forehead, a cute habit he's grown into every time he gets up before you do. "Should rinse my mouth too," he chuckles, cringing at himself.

Before he leaves, you catch a glimpse of him— and the dark spot on his sweatpants.

"Did you…"

When you trail off, his brow quirks. "Did I… what?" He follows your gaze curiously, down to his pants. You poorly stifle a giggle, and immediately he sighs. "In my defense—"

"Did you really come in your pants?" You tease, grin curling upward. Hand stretching out for his, you pull him closer back to the bed. Steve blushes. "All 'cause you—"

"Ate you out on your period, yeah, yes, don't make fun of me," he pouts, cock half-hard and twitching under the damp fabric. 

"M'not making fun of you!" Your giggles prove otherwise, but it's oddly endearing; how silly this situation is, how much you adore one another. "Just never thought I'd see the day I'd be the reason a vampire comes in his pants like a damn virgin."

His tone turns to one of light warning, "Angel—"

"Hey, it's cute how flustered you get, okay?" You sit up enough to kiss the spot teasingly, feel his bulge throb beyond the fabric barrier against your lips. The blush on his face spills down his neck and to his chest, blotchy and telling.

Steve gently pushes you back against the bed, "You shouldn't start anything you can't finish right now." When you open your mouth to protest, he grips your jaw in between his fingers. "Rest."

That's his favorite word for you at this point, and as always, reluctantly, you give in, pulling the covers over yourself.

"That's my girl," he praises with some sarcasm. His face softens, sincerely adding, "I mean it, get some sleep."

You'd protest, but you're too exhausted, passed out before he even returns.

In and out of sleep, you feel Steve care for you, cleaning with a warm cloth, helping your barely awake self change into fresh clothes, gulping down water he hands to you before collapsing back into the pillows.

You're completely knocked out when he changes the sheets, working around you like you're a damn, stubborn cat, refusing to leave the bed.

He wouldn't move you, anyway. Doesn't have the heart to disturb you after you've found enough peace to sleep.

That peace, unfortunately, is short lived.

Steve's awakened by your groans of pain, barely hidden, despite your efforts to stay silent.

Curled up tight in a ball, your back is to him as he loosely spooned you. Pillow pressed against your face, you attempt crying into it, hoping not to bother Steve, forgetting he's close enough to see and feel your shoulders shake with each sob.

"Sweetheart," he groggily murmurs, leaning over you with a hand resting on your hip. "What hurts?"

There's no use hiding it, he's already awake. You rasp out, "Everything." Turning onto your back, you grimace from the ache, gritting out, "Need you."

"I'm here, just tell me what you need."

"You."

"I heard you, but what exactly—" Steve sucks in a sharp gasp as you grab his bulge, hardening in his pants from the moment your hand is on him. You give a quick squeeze, and he groans. "Okay— okay, fuck. Jesus Christ."

Your free hand grabs at the back of his neck, reeling him in clumsily, smashing your lips against his. He grunts in surprise, yet his lips part the moment you swipe your tongue along them. 

The two of you are an absolute wreck, both separate and together. You're quick to undress one another, though Steve takes extra care in his movements, thoughtful with the discomfort you're in.

Foreplay is thrown out the window; earlier was enough, and the two of you are desperate. You both just want to soothe one another, and be soothed. 

It's when Steve is between your thighs, length in hand as he licks his lips, longingly gazing at your core, glistening in red, he finds the self control to pause.

"Angel…" He's having second thoughts, worried for your comfort. "I don't want to hurt you." Steve's cock lays heavy in his hand, tip resting on your clit, pressure generously torturing you. 

"Ju- just a little bit, then." You pout up at him, desperate for further relief from both your body at war with itself, and your relentless desire. "Please?"

His head lolls back with a throaty groan, tapping the ruddy head of his cock against your clit a few times. You jolt with a gasp, pleading under your breath pathetically.

"You'll tell me if it—"

"Yeah, yeah, if it hurts I'll say something, promise," you interrupt him, hips rolling toward him.

"Angel." He leans close to grab your face, allowing it to trail down to your neck, resting at the base. Just the sheer feeling of his hand there is enough to drive you wild. You restrain yourself, holding still. "What do I always have to remind you?"

You huff, but know better to respond. "I'll take what you give me."

Steve pushes the tip inside you, stretching you out just enough to feel something, but not completely filling you like you'd want. Your jaw drops as the stretch, like always, takes your breath away.

"And I always give you what you need, don't I?"

His thumb circles your clit, teasing by pushing an inch further into you, then pulling out. His thick tip nudges at your entrance again while he studies your expression, combing through the emotions he can always easily sense from you. You barely focus on your own pain as he slides in, a little deeper this time.

Shakily, you answer, "Uh-huh." Any hurt begins to ebb away, but your patience grows thin as Steve takes too much time and caution filling you up. Craving more relief and pleasure than he's already given, your legs hook around him, heels digging into his back to bring him closer.

Steve's hand plants flat on the bed next to you, holding himself up with ease, fighting your weak strength compared to the intensity of his. You whine, pouting.

"Patience, angel." He sinks into you at a pace so torturous, you're ready to cry. The stretch feels so good, but the way he drags this out brings your thoughts to a halt. It must be apparent on your face, because he chuckles. "Already cock-drunk?"

"Don't be mean— fuck!"

You gasp as he bottoms out, chest flush to your own. Every so often he picks up a filthy term you'd least expect out of his mouth, and it shocks you all the same, each time, every time.

Breathless from the stretch, you grab his face to kiss him with fervor. His hips drag away, sliding out of you, pumping back in when he swallows down your attempt of a whine.

Steve's careful not to push the pace, fucking deep into you while he takes his time, stays attentive to the noises you make. You're not making it easy, though, not with the way you slot your lips against his, or how your tongue glides against his, driven by neediness. When he breaks the kiss, you whimper so pathetically.

"Shh, shh, shh…"

He's lifting your legs, arms hooked underneath while staring down where your bodies meet and become one. The blood soaking his cock allows him to fall into a daze, an elevated tier of lust gripping his desire, driving what he craves.

"Oh…" A deep, throaty groan rumbles out of his chest, licking his lips while fixating on the crimson mess between yourselves. "You feel… divine."

Hips arching up to meet his thrusts, he picks up the pace, reveling in the little uh uh uh's you make.

There is no pain, your body no longer inflicting torment on itself from the inside out, only bliss. You've reached this height of pleasure before, but never in such a way where the euphoria is enough to soothe away the hurt.

Your warm, tight heat is already heaven to a creature of sin like Steve, but his climax rushes closer in reach each time he looks down between your figures. 

"I can't— I-" He pants, eyes twisting shut to hold out a little longer; if he looks at the blood one more damn time, he's going to finish way faster than he hopes. 

You flutter around him, grabbing one hand away from your leg, gasping, "S'okay, m'close too." 

Placing his pointer and middle fingers to your lips, you take them in, sucking softly while staring up at Steve with the dreamiest, far-away look, like you're in total heaven, practically lost in it.

Steve grunts, hips stuttering as he finds himself on the edge of release. You pluck his fingers from your lips, dragging his hand down to your neck, a trail of spit glistening in its wake. He takes the hint, resting his hand at the base of your throat again.

With a nod as silent approval, he tightens his grasp, just enough to feel the lightest amount of pressure on your blood flow, and it's game over for you.

Gasping, your eyes flutter shut while stars explode behind your lids. You twitch and jerk and shudder as you tighten around Steve, while that little, dizzying, gentle grip he holds on your neck does you in. He releases your other leg, thumb circling your clit to help you finish.

You cry out as he follows not too far behind, your name tumbling from his lips in praise of how good you feel, how good you are, shutting himself up by kissing you before he says far too much.

It's quiet when the two of you float back down to reality, panting as your hearts beat wildly in time with one another. The two of you are a sweaty, sticky mess, and the blood certainly does nothing to help that. His skin is hot to the touch— something you're still getting used to whenever he's aroused, but he'll be back to his unnatural body temperature soon enough.

You're breathless as Steve rolls off of you, body limp against the mattress like a rag doll. He's even a bit winded, and that's saying quite a bit for his inhuman stamina. Still, he smirks down at you, submerged in an exhausted afterglow.

"So… how'd that feel?" He asks, snuggling closer while he hooks you closer in his embrace. You stare wordlessly at the ceiling, and he frowns. "Angel?"

You rasp out, "… I'm throwing out every painkiller to my name. And my heating pad."

A loud, genuine laugh bursts out of Steve. One that shows his fangs, gleaming in the low light. The kind of laugh you adore dearly, because it displays the level of comfort he feels to be truly himself around you.

Then again, you're pretty confident he feels comfortable enough with you if he's willingly eating you out on your period.

"Thank you." Your voice cracks, worn down from your loud sounds. 

Steve's tempted to say it, the big thing you both once feared, maybe still do, but he replaces it with, "I care about you. So much."

It makes you smile anyway. "Care 'bout y'too," you mutter, ready to doze off.

He cuddles with you for a little while, hand cupping the side of your face as you relax against him. When your eyes flutter shut, he releases you before slipping out of bed. Circling to your side, he picks you up with ease, carrying you down the hall to the bathroom.

You're tempted to protest, but you don't get the chance to voice how the loss of his bed feels before he speaks. 

"We can rest after a bath, alright?"

"M'gonna fall asleep in the tub and drown," you snort as he sets you against the ornate sink counter. The marble is a welcomed chill to your hot skin, meeting your back and holding you upright.

"He turns on the faucet, allowing the tub to fill up. "I won't let you drown," Steve chuckles. Turning back to you, he gently nudges you against the sink, hand kneading at your hip softly. "Up."

When you whine at the thought of moving, he makes another noise of amusement, helping you sit on the counter's surface. You gasp as the chill penetrates your skin even further.

While soaking a fresh cloth in warm water, you groan, "Ugh, Steve, don't make me sit up here, I'm gonna bleed all over the damn place."

He only shrugs, with the tiniest smirk, before spreading your legs. Standing between them, he begins cleaning the blood with a feathered touch. You jolt from the contact, still sensitive.

"Do you think I care about that? After what we just did?"

Mumbling something incoherent, he chuckles while he finishes cleaning you off. Instantly, you relax against him, embrace hanging loosely around his waist.

You must fall asleep at some point, head resting on his chest, because he's picking you up again. He laughs softly and sets you into the water with caution. "You might sleep too well tonight. I'll have to check in to make sure you're still breathing every few hours."

"Just don't accidentally embalm me," you mumble, head lolling forward. Steve catches you, holding you upright while entering the bath behind you. "That'd kinda suck."

Easily amused by your tired nonsense, he brings you back to rest against his chest. "I… don't think that's how that works."

"Well, I dunno, you were alive when undertakers held mirrors under people's noses to check if they were really dead or not. Not me."

His head falls onto yours as his shoulders shake in a silent laugh. "You really love to remind me I'm ancient compared to you, hm?"

"Not ancient, but you're old, man." You snort, slumping against Steve. You pull at his arms, tightening them around you. "My favorite old guy."

"Mhm," he hums playfully, murmuring, "I'll let that slide, because I love you."

Your breath hitches. Neither of you had said it yet, but you've felt it, acknowledged you were falling, and Steve did, too. It's been an unspoken understanding, showing, rather than telling.

Until now.

He realizes the slip up, stiffening with apprehension. "I- I'm sorry, that wasn't— I should've waited—"

"Steve," you cautiously turn to him, legs settling on either side. Arms draping over his shoulders, you rest your forehead on his. "I love you."

Tension eases out of him, relaxing underneath you.

"You do?"

Resting your palm on his chest over his heart, you feel the rhythm of thumps, practically identical to a human heart. It beats rapidly, like the day you confessed how love scares you.

It never ceases to amaze you, the trade-offs and permanent fixtures of traits and quirks when a human becomes a vampire.

Love doesn't scare you anymore— not completely, at least. 

Despite falling for someone forbidden, who is meant to be dangerous, he's the farthest thing from that. 

Steve is gentle with a heart of gold; ironically, he's living proof that the undead aren't inherently evil. Underneath who he is now, he's still human at heart. He's still Steve.

Obviously, you didn't know him before he turned, long before you entered this world, but you're certain he was just as kindhearted and sweet as he is now. Even through whatever tragedies he's endured, losses that he could've allowed to turn him bitter, he's held onto the roots of what keeps his heart pumping.

Love doesn't have to be this terrible, nightmarish monster when you share it with Steve. With him, it's anything but.

"Yeah," your thumb sweeps along his skin, running over his chest hair, soft smile appearing as his heart beats faster under your hand. "I really do."

When Steve kisses you, his thoughts align with yours; love isn't anything to fear.

steve’s a good guy, and when you offered to help him relieve his stress even further by letting him use you however he wants, you really did mean it. the only stipulation he asked for was that it only happened if he was stoned, because that somehow made it less weird.

this time, steve’s had a bad week. which seems to be a little bit more like a bad month. keith has him working ridiculous hours, and robin keeps bailing on her shifts to hang out with vicky. his car battery won’t keep a charge despite it being changed three times, and he needs new tires.

and he’s lonely. very terribly lonely.

you hear it in his voice when he calls you a little bit past 8, beating around the bush for a minute before telling you that he’s planning on smoking and would you pretty please come over. and maybe wear something that provides easy access.

you wouldn’t dream of denying yourself — or him — of that.

and use you, he does. all of you.

kisses you until you’re gasping for air, biting at your lips and licking into your mouth like it’s made of candy.

grabs your hips and hauls you onto his lap, hardly getting you stretched open enough before bullying his way inside of you. he knows you love the burn, the way he keeps you steady and helps you take it. he fucks you on his cock like you’re a toy, something for him to play with. something truly his.

steve loves it when you ride him, though he’s typically the one making you bounce. his teeth latch onto his bottom lip while he moves you, up and down at a dizzying pace. when the taste of copper hits his tongue, he leans forward to suck and kiss your nipples. he’s prone to leaving a hickey or two or five on your breasts, just because he can. likes knowing you’re marked up by him and no one else.

and when your legs get too tired, he flips you onto your back, hooking your knees over his shoulders. he’s slow now, grinding in deep, holding your hands to his mattress while he coos down at you.

“you’re real good to me, yeah? lettin’ me use this pretty pussy?”

you leave with shaking legs after, your stomach in knots for the rest of the evening thinking about him and thinking about how he may like to use you again in the future. maybe you could cockwarm him — or perhaps a blowjob, guiding the tip past your gag reflex just to feel your throat tighten around him —

his next call comes not even twelve hours later, just as the sun is starting to rise.

“i’m sober. but i can’t stop thinking about you.”