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wroteclassicaly · 7 hours

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Pairings: Steve Harrington x Plus!Sized Female Reader

Word count: 1,676

Summary: You and Steve have some of your favorite kind of playtime. It’s pretty intense.

Warnings: Language, use of a blindfold, daddy!Steve, use of a sex toy & strap on/harness, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, slight male masturbation, anal sex, Steve gets pegged, but power bottoms from the top, and overall NSFW content!

A/N: It started out as a small thot in my brain in the early morning/late night hours. I called it the midnight unholys, haha. And it developed into… Well, this. I have another one in the works, but this one came first, and it’s also a plus sized reader, so I hope that’s okay?

This is untitled, because I couldn’t really think of one. Anyways… Hope y’all enjoy? ;) ❤️💖

Steve makes you lay completely naked with your legs spread open, watching him jerk himself off and finger his own ass. You’re not permitted to touch yourself, or you get blindfolded and tied up. Then when you don’t listen, when your fingers accidentally dip between your thighs, he’s moving over to where you are, securing a black fold around your head, its familiar silk tickling your ears with a light muffle.

“Tsk tsk, honey. I told you to listen to me.”

“But Stevie, I —“

He clamps a huge palm over your mouth, his salty skin on your parched lips. “You want me to gag you next, baby?”

Your thighs slap together, skin jiggling, and he snorts. “Yeah, I knew you’d probably like that. You’re extremely insatiable.”

He doesn’t let you know what’s going to happen next, simply warns you to not push it and to leave your hands above your head. “If a finger even twitches, then m’ gonna make sure you’re sorry when I’m through with you.”

You comply, much to his pleasure — a little to his chagrin, if he’s honest. But it makes things easier to set his plan in motion, moving away from you and smirking as you call for him from your spot on the living room couch.

“Steve? You’re not leaving me like this, tell me you’re—“

“You better NOT be moving, and that includes your mouth, little girl. So shut up and let daddy get what he needs to!”

The chains click against the thick leather, the other item heavy in his hand — something you both love to indulge in, more than you’d anticipated when you bought it. Originally, it was for you, modeled after Steve, but when the tequila became too strong and mouths became pliant — secret wants and wishes were spilled and agreed upon.

“Not fair I’m the only one who has to take a thick fucking cock, Stevie. Maybe I want to see how badly you struggle afterwards?”

“Mhm, you’re kinda right, honey.”

And that was the end of that. Introducing one of Steve’s favorite (and yours) playtime plays.

As you can’t see anything, nor move your hands — you’re relying on what you can smell, taste, and hear. So you nearly fall off the couch cushions when your boyfriend’s foot falls sound along the hardwood, approaching you. He coos at you, dropping some items on the coffee table beside you, his fingers tickle-tapping along your forearm and up into your palm, making you instinctively grasp him in a hold. You recoil and curse, whimpering. “Shit, m’ sorry. I didn’t mean to move, daddy.”

Steve’s entire jaw aches from the shit eating grin of your timid submission. He brushes his along your eyebrows, right above where the fabric rests. “It’s alright, for now. But I’m afraid that I still can’t let the earlier offense slide, honey.”

“Oh, fuck.” You’re nodding and resigning to your fate. “Whatever you have to do to teach me not to touch…”

His mouth is leaving feather light kisses to your jawline now, his apple and cedarwood body wash igniting your senses, your ability to taste his aftershave, practically on your tongue. He has to fight himself not to hold onto your hands, his automatic must have, especially during sex. Your bare body is laid out for him to do whatever he wants, your trust and soul entwined. He beams with a pride so genuine that it’s enough to help him slide away and tap your hips. “Lift up for me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate, Steve uses his strength to quickly maneuver your right leg into the harness, then the other. The moment that the material glides across your ankles and calves — you moan, immediately lifting your ass to help him slide the straps up until they’re in their place around the thick plush of your hips. So this is what he wants tonight? You should’ve known the second his fingers found that tight little rim below those full balls, how hard his cock was, the lube bottle open and beside his feet. This was what he had planned, despite your behavioral misstep in trying to touch yourself.

“How’s it feelin’, honey?” Ever-the-present boyfriend, he’s checking in with you first.

You shift a bit, the straps tightening across your thighs and beneath the pudge of your belly, sticking in the most delicious of ways. As Steve awaits your response, he can see your skin under pressure from the leather straps, but what’s mainly catching his attention? That small gap right below where the cock attaches, right where he can see your swollen pussy on display for him. You’re soaked, thighs shiny with it, drenching the harness, clit surrounded by a small bush of hair that’s coated in your cream. It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it (as if he would).

“Holy shit, your cunt is soaking wet, honey.” Your pupils are blown so wide that you look on the verge of leaving planet earth as you face him.

He reaches over to grip the thick shaft, breathing wet and shaky, and he’s quicker in attaching the heavy weight of the silicone, making you marvel once more. How does he manage carrying the real thing between his legs all the time? Your chest heaves sporadic beats, ones that slam against your ribcage, holding the bones hostage, nearly dusting them to ash. His voice is raspy when he speaks, tendrils of chestnut hair tickling your cheek as he leans down by your ear. “Be right back. Gonna get our lube. Daddy can’t take you without it.”

You’re grinning, knowing he is doing that Steve cheshire to match. It doesn’t take but mere seconds, the sound of the gel being squirted into his hand — loud and present. The couch dips with the weight of his knees, his body shuffling as he moves to straddle you, his heavy cock falling against your stomach, grazing the silicone. You're hit with a memory of jerking him and the toy off at once.

“Yeah, I’m remembering that too, babygirl. Your poor wrist needed iced up after that, remember?”

With how hard he’s breathing, you can imagine how dark his eyes are, how the hazel has been obliterated by a midnight sky, thick with desire. He shifts his hairy thighs on either side of your hips, heavy and light all at once. His tone of command leaves zero room to argue. He’s still in charge.

“Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, honey. I’m going to use your cock, ride you until I cum, and you’re not allowed to see me or touch me, because you didn’t listen.”

Protests and cries die on your lips, but he shushes you right away. He’s well aware that you can’t stand not touching him, especially when he’s riding your strap. Always needing to have your hands on the thick of his beautiful ass — smacking, encouraging it, scratching, pulling it apart. He gives you points when you don’t disagree further, your hands staying perfectly still, even as he makes a fast task of lubricating the faux dick and himself, tossing the bottle beside your leg. He finds your thick waistline, squeezes — and then, reaching with one hand, he tugs the tip of the toy towards his ass, gently easing it back and forth across his perineum.

“God, honey. Your strap is gonna make me feel so fucking good. Gonna soak your tits and your face in my cum.”

“Yes, please. Fucking use me, Steve!”

He grumbles about that being what he likes to hear, and then he’s settling his weight onto you, right into his loud whimpering cries, as he eases himself down the toy — each realistic ridge and thick inch making him feel for what you have to go through, but also making his brain short circuit, and your own, hearing how slick and wet he is, how his tight hole opens up for its thick girth. It hits against that special spot, and already, his toes are curling. You can’t see him, but you can feel the slippery perspiration of his skin, coarse leg hair, right to the happy trail that dips down his belly button and settles around the base of his own fat cock. He’s groaning, tongue tied and gone. Your fingers almost twitch.

“Good boy, Steve. You’re doing so good for me. Are you — you okay, baby?”

He drops a hand to your cheek and swipes his calloused thumbpad, nodding, even though you can’t see, beginning to thrust himself into the rhythmic pain. This won’t last long, he’s well aware. His pre-come squirts out in fresh waves, soaking your belly each time he works his hips. “It’s perfect. Fuck, baby.” He loses himself and lets his hand fall backwards, nudging your legs apart a little more, skimming that opening where your pussy meets the harness straps.

Your thighs begin to tremble and you mewl, quite pathetically. Steve is cursing. “Honey, that’s my good-fuckin’-girl! You’re sopping wet. And that’s all because daddy is riding you, huh?”

“You feel amazing, Stevie! How’s my strap? Nice and thick in your tight little hole, splitting you open just like you always do to me?”

You can’t form a coherent thought, both of you becoming lost in the power dynamic and babble. Steve is a writhing mess at your words, hand working overtime behind him.

He strokes and swipes as best as he can, taking what arousal he gathers from you, and uses it to circle around his rim — that’s stuffed full of your strap, and then he’s taking some more to slick his aching cock, peeling it off your stomach, letting it bob back and forth, slapping your skin in a sticky press. You’re planting your feet into the couch and helping get him deeper, his hands finding your breasts, pinching your pebbled nipples, holding on as he begins to bounce, even his teeth aching from the overwhelming urge to come, his breathing accelerating.

Yeah, this isn’t gonna last much longer…

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MAKE A WRITER’S WORLD GO AROUND - SO PLEASE DO NOT FORGET TO LEAVE SOME! Thanks! ;)

#thinking of this #self reblog #self reblog <3 <3

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wroteclassicaly · 7 hours

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Steve painting your toenails when you’re pregnant. You’ve never seen that man more focussed. Except that one time when he was putting your daughter’s crib together and went overboard, because he panicked it would somehow fall apart, and she’d get hurt.

“You think she’ll let me do this for her when she gets a little older?” He doesn’t look up, swiping the pastel blue across your pinky toe (the hardest one).

“She’s gotta get here first, baby.” You tease.

You pick up your cool drink, swiping a finger across the condensation, the drink he’d catered you with before getting out your nail polish caddy and supplies. Steve always makes sure to keep you pampered, knowing what you’re doing to grow his tiny human. It’s annoying sometimes, especially with your fluctuating hormones, but he takes it in stride. He’d read all the baby books before you, attended every check-up, made sure you favorite foods were available, prepared the nursery, helped you nest, even started picking up the task of assisting in shaving your legs. And when he couldn’t be there to satiate your food cravings, he always had someone on stand by who could pick it up for you.

As for the other things? You weren’t sure who was more sexually addicted to one another. Your hormones were going wild for Steve’s scent, those hands, those freckles, that mouth, his body, that thick fucking cock, his fucking hair — everything. It didn’t matter what he did, it could be something simple that would set you off. And his fascination with your newly round belly, the little kicks that appeared underneath his massive palm, how tender you seemed to be between your legs or your breasts.

Your tits… fuck. The way they’ve swollen with milk in preparing to feed your daughter, all the visuals that Steve has, the way he holds the heavy globes, caressing, indulging, fascinated in your body changing and giving you what you need for a new person to enter the world. You and Steve had made that decision immediately. To feed her from your breast, if you could, hoping she wouldn’t have trouble taking. The way his heart swelled thinking about you caring for something, someone, that you both made. Two people who were once strangers, at different ends of the social hierarchy spectrum.

All that you’ve been through, all that you’re going through, and all that you will go through in the years to come.

“I know it’s usually a mother daughter thing, but I don’t know —“

“Steve,” you say softly, hand laying over top his. His watch catches beneath the lamplight, his thumb-pad swiping to caress your knuckles. “It’s an activity she can do with both of us, if that’s what she wants to do. I know how involved you wanna be with her life, and it’s okay, baby. You will be, even if she decides she wants to play with makeup, you can be the test dummy. And if she wants to play hair salon, your hair —“

“Woah, woah,” Steve lifts the small polish lid, color almost dripping. You snort and shake your head. He begins to focus back on your toes. “We can bring Uncle Eddie over for that one.”

You’re just sipping on your soda, knowing that even his precious hair isn’t off limits in regards to his little girl. Already having him wrapped around her finger, he’s pretty much guaranteed to be the beauty shop test dummy. And he knows that as well, and he would not have it any other way.

#self reblog <3 <3 #self reblog

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wroteclassicaly · 7 hours

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A/N: We’re blaming Joe for always acting up, and Steve for whining that I cheated on him, so he sent me mega inspiration for this one ☺️😛

Warnings: Language, overall NSFW, sub!Steve to the extreme, spit play, rough sex, leaving marks, cowgirl goes riding position, possessiveness, friends with benefits, best-friend!Steve, mentions scars, consensual smacking (m receiving), finger sucking, e.t.c. This is just no plot with some trash and love poured in ;)

You love it.. Just like this. His baby blue curtains blowing, whipped around by evening’s up and coming Autumn breeze, hints of salty summer trickling through, remaining, a few apple and cedarwood candles mingling with your perfume, Steve’s cologne, and the heavy scent of sopping wet sex. You’ve got a low lamplight to guide your two person show, in your element, unafraid, owning it, protecting him, taking for you. Some song rolls on his record player, one you often prefer over the stereo when you get into these types of moods. His body is your map and you’re the Queen explorer, pleasuring yourself with each and every treasure that he has to offer.

The black gloss of a fresh manicure stares back up at you from where you’re clawing into his hairy chest, chestnut tufts matted down by perspiration and your drying salvia. Okay, so you’d gone a little crazy when you marked him, but it’s not your fault that the little gold chain he wears looks so good laying against his golden baked skin, begging for contrasting shades of magentas and navy blues. You’d done one of Steve’s favorite things, after all: healing his scars by using your mouth to carefully taste each one, every single time. He didn’t have much time to worry about them, because there you’d be, understanding, helping. He whines loudly, a sound that causes you to clench around him, making you struggle to retain your control.

Your bouncing on his thick cock ceases, that creamy squish causing a wet ring to circle his base and smear across his navel. Holy fuck, you’re really wet tonight…

And Steve, god love him. He can’t even look. Mossy eyes blown black, his eyes have rolled up and are caught between clenching shut and closing entirely. Your hand leaves his chest and cracks across his stubble littered jaw, nails pinching in to jerk his gaze towards you. He throbs, jumps inside your walls, that sucks him in deeper.

“Wake up, Harrington! Am I boring you?”

He shakes his head so fast that you bury a snort deep within, humming out instead. “You gonna talk to her again? Look at her again?”

The start of your possessive streak being upped tonight. In the downtown costume store, Bambi Anderson had found Steve with a fascination that gagged, modeling her cat costume and practically draping herself across his arm to ask what his plans were. And he’d crossed his arms beneath that black, vee neck long sleeve, chest hair and chain on display, dark jeans tight and leaving nothing to the imagination, secured by a black belt with a thick silver buckle. He’d worn new black boots, a differing choice for his growing style. A leather jacket was tossed lazily over his shoulder, pissing you off.

When you’d left the store, Steve had taken you back to his. And well, you’d taken him. On your knees against his front door to get him hard, quick enough to have your way with him. You didn’t want fingers or mouth, you needed to show him who belonged inside of.

“No, fuck no —“ Steve stops himself, choking on spit, inhaling and exhaling sharply. “Fuck, I don’t even remember what happened, honey.”

“Walking around teasing me like you do. Wearing tight jeans, smelling like a fucking male model ad, licking your mouth when you put tapes away. And that chain? I mean… showing it with your chest hair, Steve? Jesus Christ… You really do need to be watched at all times.”

He’s nodding, agreeing, that aching heat builds to a wet crescendo, threatening to drench you both.

You lean down a little closer, one hand wrapping around the tendons in his wrist, the other still keeping you balanced on his chest so you can keep moving your hips, dragging his fat cockhead against that spot inside that he’s called his for years. Your mouth is hot when you pant the words by his lips. “You deserve to be sat on. Just pull your pants and underwear down, have a seat on you all day. Cockwarm you so these bitches know where you belong, who you belong to.”

“Baby —“ You’re lifting his own wrist, cutting off his sentence, pulling apart three of his own fingers and pressing them into his lips. “Fucking suck! I’m talking now. I’ll let you know when you can answer me, slut!”

His hips arch off the bed, giving a piston into you, before remembering his place and suckling his fingers onto that hot tongue that’s had you seeing stars and planets. He doesn’t break eye contact, not even as you start to move, holding his wrist there with a squeeze, leaving nail marks, only to release and take it with you, a thick line of spit stringing from his fingertips to his swollen mouth. You swipe down and lick it off, pushing his arms up beside his hand and interlocking fingers. You shift and he pulls, every part of him tugging on your overworked cunt, sore and throbbing. He’s way more than a damned stretch.

“Where’s your fucking lube?” Your vocal language continues to fly free as you raise your hips a little and he struggles to tap beside him on the sheets, eyes glazed over and glossy. Fuck, is his lash line wet? Is he actually crying? His hair is a tousled and damp mess. He’s never been more beautiful, more sacred to you.

You crack open the bottle and let it drizzle onto the part of his cock that’s slid out of you, spreading it around on your own cunt and discarding. You sink back down with an overly squelching echo. “You and this fucking python, Steve. It’s the true monster of Hawkins, isn’t it? This fat cock, always splitting me wide open.”

He vibrates. You’ve never felt him pulse that hard in you, nearly triggering your orgasm. Shattering it apart, fragmenting. Your eyes widen. “If you fucking come, I’ll keep riding you until you’re screaming.”

You break that briefly, raising a brow to check in with him through this, soft and compliant to his needs, because you want nothing more than to fuck him stupid and care for him forever, despite your dizzying haze. He nods, in synch with you. Good to go.

You bend yourself down, hands sliding up and through his chest hair, tugging on his chain, nipples hardening as they brush over, pressing, the fat of your tits squishing when you’re right against him, held. You finger-tap your way up his biceps, fingers unfolding and nails scratching, leaving his upturned palms to cup the sides of his face, nosing him. “Mine.”

And that he is…

// Eat me paragraph //

#self reblog #self reblog <3 <3

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