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she-is-juniper · 2 years

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The Devil I Know — Austin Butler x Reader

Pairing: Austin Butler x f!Reader

Type: Oneshot (i could be swayed to write more for this AU though...)

Summary: Between the two of you, Austin has always been in control. But when he denies your pleasure for his own gratification after two weeks away, you decide to make matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 7K...a monstrosity...

Rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. Minors DNI or you will be blocked.

Warnings: there's a lot.... Oral sex (male- and female- receiving), biting, bondage, dominant/submissive relationship, degradation, spanking, deepthroating, edging, orgasm denial, "sir" kink, power play, consensual sexual manipulation, forced orgasm (all of this is consensual)

A/N: At long last, it is here ♡ This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Austin Butler or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape.

And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance!

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It all started when you and Austin Butler locked eyes from across the red carpet. And now you lived together in a beautiful house with a cute dog and a big backyard.

Ever since you’d started dating Austin Butler, your life had turned into a dream. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. He treated you so well, communicated with you, wasn’t shy to share his emotions. He celebrated with you, cried with you, enjoyed the little things in life with you. He whisked you away with him on travel, both for his job and for holiday: London, New York City, Bali, Rome. He kissed you in front of paparazzi without any inhibitions. He treated you as if you were a personal gift from God sent directly to him, and you loved it.

But sometimes, dating Austin was a nightmare. Speaking facetiously, of course. But you’d never before been treated the way Austin treats you in bed. You’d never met someone with an appetite quite like his, sexually speaking. You’d never been with anyone before who was so singlemindedly determined to inflict such deliriously agonizing pleasure upon you. Austin was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and you were at the focus.

Tonight, you and Austin were planning on going to a party hosted by one of the designers who worked with him on his latest project. The party was sure to be attended by all of the heavy-hitter celebrities in Austin’s circle. It was a themed party—The Devil I Know as the theme. According to one of your friends who’s planning on attending the party with her actor boyfriend, too, the name of the game for the party’s theme was red and black. You could just see it…a swath of partygoers clad in luxury leather and velvet, fur coats (faux, of course—this is Los Angeles, after all), fishnets, sleek tailored suits, chains, chokers. Think, Lucifer in luxury brands, your friend had elaborated.

And you had the perfect outfit. A tight-fitting number that looked more like glorified lingerie than a dress. It was the color of expensive Cabernet, with a V neckline accentuated with straps. The dress’s hemline was made of lush satin and delicate lace, under which you wore micro fishnet thigh highs and a garter belt. And of course, the outfit was elevated by decadent gold jewelry, your black Prada bag, and your trusty Louboutins. It was utterly indecent, even considering the party’s racy theme. You might as well have been wearing actual devil's horns as the cherry on top.

But you don’t intend to leave for the party at all tonight. In fact, you had other intentions entirely for this night. Plans involving making Austin pay for what he’d done to you last night.

This summer, Austin had been traveling much more than usual, doing interview after interview to promote his new movie. That’s not why you want to punish him. In fact, you didn’t mind that he’d been gone more often than not lately; you’d been keeping busy with a life of your own, too.

Last night, Austin flew back home after a two-week span away, mostly in New York. He’d wanted you to come with him on the trip, but you had work to do and had to decline. Austin was such a baby about that—he called you most every night, nearly begging you to catch the next flight to JFK and join him. You’d just laughed and told him you’d see him soon back in LA. Of course, he’d understood—but he made it clear to you every night (in the form of provocative texts and lewd photos) how badly he wanted you, needed you.

So when he finally returned home last night, he had two weeks worth of pent-up sexual energy. And he absolutely bombarded you…

“Please,” you’d begged him, your voice absolutely shot with agony. Your hands strained against the handcuffs on either end of the headboard he had locked you in.

Austin loomed over you like a stormcloud of dark desire. He had one of your legs pinned down with the weight of his own body, your other leg draped over his shoulder. And a vibrator, pulsing agonizingly slowly, pressed to your sex—enough to elicit a fine sheen of sweat on your forehead and a rivulet of moisture from your pussy, but not enough to actually get you off.

He smirked maniacally up at you. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You plead his name, trying to grind yourself against the vibrator. He brought his lips to your inner thigh and bit it gently with his perfect teeth while he turned up the setting, and you moaned in relief, finally able to lose yourself in the pleasure, which starts to grow and grow in rapid swells—

Until he shut the vibrator off entirely. You wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to seize the toy in your own hands, but you couldn’t. And he had the audacity to grin maniacally at you.

“Now you know how I’ve had to feel for the past two weeks without you,” he purred and did the whole thing all over again.

As you let last night’s memory flood your mind again, a furious warmth rushed to your core. He hadn’t let you get off that night, not once. He hadn’t given you a single thing you’d wanted. He hadn’t even given you himself—he’d made you watch while he got himself off to the idea of you being denied. And once he was done with you, you were far too exhausted physically and mentally to do anything about your neglected arousal.

He would pay. He may have been the one in control last night, but not tonight.

You smirked to yourself at the thought and let your hips sway to the sound of the music playing through your AirPods as you finished washing up the last of the dishes. You were already dressed and ready to go, heels and all. It was nearly 6 pm; Austin was due home at any moment from a meeting with his agent. The plan was to leave the house by 7, get to the party by 7:45. Your clandestine agenda was to make sure that you never even left the house.

You suddenly felt a warm body press against your back and a pair of greedy hands slide over your waist. Those hands slid up your body, up your neck, all the way to your AirPods, and gently pulled them out so you could hear his reproving voice.

“You can’t possibly mean to go out like this.”

“What?” you asked him, your red-lipped pout betrayed by the playful glint of your smokey eyes.

And your boyfriend’s eyes, filled with barely-restrained hunger, raked down your body. God, you loved when he looked at you like that. “You look… You look…”

“I look what?” you smirked. Austin seemed momentarily at a loss for words, and your smile only grew as you noticed the bobbing motion of his throat. You were well-aware of the sort of punishment from him this behavior would elicit. “This is the theme, isn’t it? The Devil I Know?”

He didn’t reply. You stepped back and placed your hands on your hips, taunting him. Challenging him. His eyes followed the movement.

“What happened to the dress your stylist picked out?” he asked. “The one you’d texted a picture of to me last week?”

Indeed you had a different outfit picked out last week, an elegant number by Armani, shipped straight from Italy. But you went this morning to shop for the alternative.

“This seemed more fun,” you said dismissively.

You had to admit, Austin looked pretty fucking debonair in his sleek suit, perfectly tailored and made of jet black satin. Your Armani dress was supposed to be his perfect match—black and black. But you hold firm, smoothing down the front of your new dress, which was just barely excusable for evening attire.

And which was apparently was driving Austin all types of mad.

Just as you’d planned.

“You look…dangerous,” Austin finally finished his thought. You turned away to pat your hands dry on the kitchen towel, but you couldn’t hide your grin.

“Dangerous? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you simpered with concerned eyes. You already knew the answer to that.

“I didn’t say that,” Austin muttered as a means of evading your question. But his eyes were quickly growing dark, like low-hanging clouds in the sky.

“I guess I’ll just have to go change, then,” you purred, slowly stepping around Austin toward the bedroom. He didn’t hesitate a second to grab you gently by the arm, pulling you back.

“Don’t change clothes,” Austin grumbled, and the rasp of his voice reeled you in like a fish on a line. You turned back to face him, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“So we’re going to the designers party after all, then?”

“I think we’re going to be a bit late.”

Whatever spell you’d cast on him was instantaneously broken. Austin pulled your hips toward him so your body was flush against his. You made a surprised sound, but your next breath was quickly stolen away by Austin’s fervent mouth against yours. His warm hand braced the back of your neck while the other snaked lower down your back, down toward the hem of your ridiculously short dress. A low growl vibrated across Austin’s chest as he touched the hidden garter belt. He gave your ass a squeeze, a motion that sent zings of warmth between your legs.

“Austin,” you gasped the moment he broke away. His pretty mouth was smeared with your lipstick. “I…”

But you couldn’t finish your thought. Austin’s fingers were inching down again, tracing a line across the bottom curve of your ass.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” he said. When you nodded, he chuckled lowly. “You devil. Such a naughty girl.”

“If I’m the devil, then I’m right on theme,” you smirked at him. You barely registered as he guided you across the kitchen.

“If you’re the devil, take me to hell with you.”

Your hip bumped against the side of the kitchen table. “You’d like it there,” you jested. “Nice place. Gets quite hot in the summertime, though.”

The jokes were over, though. In one swift motion, Austin spun your body around so you were facing away from him. The next thing you knew, he bent you over at the waist, and your chest was pressed against the dining room table, arms splayed out in front of you.

Oh.

“We really are gonna be late, aren’t we,” you giggled, tilting your head to the side to face him. Austin stepped back for a brief second, his breath catching in his throat. What a sight you must have been…your backside shining up at him over the edge of the table, your dress—already so damn short—riding up your hips, revealing the prize hidden beneath.

You arched your back, eager to show Austin all you had to offer—when Austin’s phone rang on the table.

“Fuck,” Austin grumbled, straightening up.

“Better get that,” you teased, letting your gaze fall conspicuously to the tent in his trousers.

Austin gave you a venomous glare as he answered his phone. It must be his agent again. He stalked into the kitchen, murmuring softly into the phone. He took a paper towel and wet it with water from the sink to wipe off the lipstick from his face, glancing back at you reproachfully a couple of times. You smiled to yourself, satisfied.

By the time the call was over, Austin stalked back into the dining room, you’d perched yourself on the table, your fishnetted legs crossed.

“We told Alexandra we’d be there at 7:45,” you reminded him, your voice sing-songy. “Reckon we should get going. Don’t you think?”

Austin didn’t answer your question. “I didn’t say you could get up,” he said.

“You didn’t say I had to stay there, either.” You met his angry scowl with a wicked smile. All your teasing was working. The storm brewing in Austin’s eyes was growing more and more turbulent.

“Y/N,” he warned. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, and you weren’t about to give it to him so easily.

“I can think of a dozen better positions, anyway,” you purred and beckoned for him to come close. He stayed back, but the second you uncrossed your legs and spread them wide, some of the steely resolve in his eyes seemed to dissolve. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and reached for his silk collar, already unbuttoned at the top two buttons. You pulled him to you, between your spread legs. He couldn’t resist.

“Let’s make this quick,” you continued, grasping his stubbled chin with your other hand. “We have a party to go to, after all.”

You brought his mouth to yours and kissed him, slowly and voluptuously, indulging yourself in the sweet taste of his lips. Your lips spoke one thing, but your intentions spoke another. If you played your cards just right, this ordeal wouldn’t be quick at all—it would be excruciatingly drawn out, which was precisely what you wanted. Reverse-psychology. It worked like a charm, every time.

Sure enough, just as Austin was beginning to lose himself in your kiss, he stiffened and pulled away. You barely had a chance to register what he was doing before he grabbed your hands, pulled you off the table, flipped you around, and bent you over once more.

“Oh,” you grunted as Austin pressed your cheek into the table, hard. The action was careful but rough, and you loved it.

“I’ll decide how I want to take you,” he snapped. The hand on your head moved to your hairline, smoothing it back and away from your face. His other hand pressed heavily into your upper back, keeping your torso firm into the table. You could feel his pelvis against your ass, and upon assessing how hard he was through his trousers again, you bit your lip in anticipation. This was Austin’s favorite position. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t yours, too. But you weren’t about to admit that.

Austin’s hands moved down the sides of your body. You felt him grind a little against your ass. You moved, too, appreciating the low “fuck” that came from his mouth as you arched your back toward him.

“Everyone’s going to ask where we are,” you said, still moving your hips.

“Don’t care.” Austin’s hands reached the hem of your skirt. “This is all you’re wearing underneath?” he asked as he pinched the thin straps of your garter belt. No underwear. You yelped as he let it snap back against your skin. Austin tsked. “Can scarcely believe you wanted to show up to a designer’s party like this.”

“I can wear what I want to wear, thank you very much,” you grumbled half-heartedly. Austin’s touch became feather-light as he traced a line down the backs of your thighs. You realized he was moving to kneel on the ground behind you.

God. You pressed your legs together, almost embarrassed by how wet you felt, how there was no underwear there to stop it from gliding down your inner thighs.

Austin saw you squeeze your legs together and gently guided them back apart. “That you can, love,” he murmured, his words deliberate, calculating. “You can wear whatever you’d like.”

“Then what—” You cut yourself off, swearing. Austin’s finger was circling a spot on your pussy, right at your entrance, where you knew the wetness has seeped. There was no hiding your arousal now, not with his face right there.

“Going out with you looking like this,” Austin continued, pressing his fingers against you more firmly now. “I wouldn’t be able to contain myself at that party. And you knew it.”

“You seem like you can hardly contain yourself now,” you mocked, a derisive edge to your tone. It seemed to fuel some furious energy within him. Austin growled again, pinching the insides of your thighs so hard you felt like your knees might buckle.

“You know I don’t like being provoked, darling,” he scolded you. His face was so close to your body now that you could feel his hot breath fanning out over your thighs. “Better curb that attitude of yours. Or else I’m going to have to fuck it out of you.”

Which was precisely what you desired. You wanted him, and you wanted it rough. But you played the game anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, finally showing your submissive side. The non-bratty, submissive side. But Austin pinched you again, and you couldn’t contain the breathy moan that spilled from your lips.

“What was that?” he chided.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s more like it.” He spanked you then, lightly, but the action was so unexpected that you yelped and arched your back. “Tell me, darling, who’s in charge here?”

You tried to answer, but with the way he was suddenly caressing your thighs so lightly was bringing goosebumps all over your skin, and you couldn’t find the words.

“Y/N,” Austin murmured. He smacked your ass again, harder this time. Your body flushed with heat and desire. “Answer me. Who’s in charge? You or me?”

“You, sir,” you gasped. “You’re in charge.”

And he was—at least outwardly. But he was a fool for not realizing quite the extent to which you had him wrapped around your little finger.

“Good girl.”

You played the game the way he wanted, and you arched your back, eager for your reward. And Austin, who started kissing his way up the insides of your legs, seemed just as eager to give it to you.

This was how it worked with Austin. You rile him up a bit, then you back down and submit just enough to give him what he wants, and then you rile him up again. Rinse and repeat. You wondered when, if ever, he’d catch onto the pattern.

But you’d worry about that later. Right now, Austin’s mouth was preoccupying your thoughts.

Gradually, he kissed his way up, up, up. When he finally reached his destination—the summit between your thighs—he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the place you were the most wet. You moaned at the onslaught of heat from his mouth. His stubble—he hadn’t shaved for a few days—scraped against the sensitive skin of your thighs and your ass. You couldn’t get enough. Nor could Austin, it seemed. He seemed impatient to taste you.

“So goddamn wet.”

He spanked you again, and you knew there was going to be an angry red spot on your ass for the next few hours. He flipped the hem of your dress up onto your back so it was out of the way and slapped his hand to your ass once more. You shifted, uncomfortably turned on, desperate to feel the heat of Austin’s mouth again.

“Remind me our safeword again,” Austin asked you.

You wanted to answer right away, but the tickle of a single finger circling right at your entrance replaced your words with a high-pitched moan.

"Y/N, safeword," he prompted again.

“‘Stop,’” you recited in a gasp.

As instructed, Austin withdrew his finger.

“No, don’t stop,” you corrected yourself. Austin chuckled. You and he decided right at the beginning of your relationship that the best safe word was the only one that truly only had one meaning: stop. God, you couldn’t imagine stopping now. The establishment of the safe word gave you both a sense of reassurance, however, that seemed only to perpetuate the passion between you two. But stopping was the last thing you wanted right now.

“Just checking to see if you remembered.”

Austin buried his face between your legs from behind.

A moan bubbled out from your throat, followed by another, and another. You felt your knees threaten to give out again, but Austin’s arms, wrapped securely around your thighs, steadied you.

He felt unreal. The sounds his mouth was making against your pussy were obscene as he lapped at you, a feeling of silky smoothness and warmth coupled perfectly with the roughness of his beard. The thought of him burying his whole face in your ass, his eyes closed in ecstasy, his dick jumping to life in his trousers… fuck, it was going to be the death of you.

And just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, a sensation like no other sent jolts of electric desire across your body—his tongue slipping inside you.

“Austin, fuck, I—fuck,” you panted. Your hands raked across the wooden table, desperate for some kind of purchase, for something to grab onto. They found nothing. You were slowly but surely beginning your spiral toward an orgasm, a realization that nearly alarmed you—he’d only just started with you.

And you knew he didn’t like it when you came too quickly.

Yet, he did not let up. He gently pulled your legs apart even further, and as his tongue slipped in and out of you, his deft fingers zeroed in on your clit.

“Don’t come until I say so,” Austin instructed.

Fuuuuuck.

He worked you into a gasping, moaning, dripping mess. You don’t know when his mouth had moved from your pussy, but you saw stars as you felt his tongue against your asshole—holy fucking shit, you could come just from the sensation. As minutes passed, you were gradually losing your grip on reality. Your climax was approaching sure and strong now. While your mind fought against it, knowing what would happen if you let go too soon, a veil of primal lust overshadowed every rational thought.

You had only one choice, and that was to sit here and take it and chase your high.

And Austin knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to you; he was setting you up for failure. He wanted you to come too early. He wanted to punish you.

“Baby, please, I—I can’t, I’m—Austin,” you cried in a dazed moan. His other hand had slipped inside your pussy while his mouth was preoccupied. This wasn’t fair. He really wasn’t letting up. He pulled his head away just enough to bite the skin of your upper thighs, gently, but enough that you could feel his teeth. His fingers moved faster and faster on your clit, giving you absolutely no way to come down. There was nothing to do to stop the approaching orgasm on the horizon.

“Hold off for me, baby,” he encouraged. “You can do it. Don’t give in, not yet.”

Edging. He wanted to edge you, again. But you wouldn’t have any control this time. And you didn’t want him to stop.

“Austin, I can’t,” you keened. Reaching around behind you, your hands finally found something to hold onto—Austin’s head, keeping him in place against your ass. You cried out and buried your fingers in his hair, pressed his face into you.

And that was it. You were past the point of no return.

Austin’s fingers slowed as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. You felt your desire swell over you like a tsunami, and your whole body convulsed in response. Your moans peaked in volume and pitch as you thrashed against his touch. It was so good, so fucking good, that you couldn’t think about what was happening, what you’d just done.

You fell limp against the kitchen table. It was over.

You lied there gasping for breath. Time had stopped and restarted itself. Droplets of moisture—a mixture of Austin’s saliva and your own pleasure—rolled down your thighs.

Austin stood up and said nothing, but your mind was still too hazy to turn and face him. You heard him make a small, exasperated sound. But he was silent.

You took a shaky breath. “That wasn’t…” You gulped, your throat dry. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Stand up,” Austin said bluntly. You took your time to heave yourself up from the table and turned to face him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He was a sight to behold…his hair mussed up, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening with your wetness. Despite his facade of disappointment, you could tell by the way his pupils were blown wide that he was absolutely ravenous about what just happened.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said in a quivering voice. As if to discount your words, an aftershock came across you, and you jolted and sighed. Austin watched the brief shudder run through your body. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You know the rule about coming,” he chastised.

“I—”

“Only good girls get to come,” he continued. You saw his hands, which rested on his hips, twitch toward the center of his hips. “And only when I say so. I didn’t say you could come yet, Y/N.”

Normally, you’d make some kind of bratty comment that you were well aware of his stupid rule, but the implication of his words made you shudder again.

“I didn’t mean to, baby,” you said quickly as you squeezed your thighs together. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t resist.”

“Couldn’t resist?” You didn’t miss the way Austin took a small step toward you. “Well. If you couldn’t resist coming, love, that was your decision. But you know the rule. You leave me no choice.”

“I know,” you said, hanging your head, although your body buzzed like a live wire. Austin lifted your chin to his with a single finger. His eyes were bright beneath his heavy lids.

“Such a filthy girl. My dirty little slut. Down on your knees,” he demanded. “Now.”

You resisted the urge to drop to your knees right away; instead, you took your time, playing the role of reluctance. Once you settled into a kneel, you blinked up at Austin with a doe-like gaze.

An angel wearing the devil’s clothes. At least, that’s what you were going for.

It worked. Austin’s face softened a bit, and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. That same thumb came to your mouth, dragging across your bottom lip. Your lipstick was probably everywhere, but that’s exactly how he liked it.

“I love you,” Austin mouthed. A check-in, you knew. The slightest of role-breaking. But it was enough. You just bit your lip and smiled coyly, whispering it back response.

And then his hands were fumbling with the belt on his pants. You waited patiently as he unbuttoned and unzipped, and as he guided his trousers off his hips, you helped. Austin’s briefs looked uncomfortably tight. With those, he let you take the reigns with pulling them off.

His throbbing erection emerged and sprung out, hard as a metal rod. God, after all this time, and you’ll still never get over his cock and the fact that it was yours. You squeezed your thighs at the familiar sight.

His phone rang—again. “Don’t answer it,” you told Austin.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Austin murmured as he pumped himself a bit. “You look too fuckin’ gorgeous down there.”

“You want me, baby?” you asked him.

“Always,” he answered. You licked your lips in anticipation. “C’mere.” He beckoned you, and you crawled closer to his legs, eyes glued on his manhood. Desperate to help him out, you brought your hands up to his, but he swatted them away. “Hands by your sides.”

You did as you were told.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “There’s my good girl.”

You smiled. It really was that easy.

Austin kept jerking himself gently off with one hand and brought his other to cares your cheek. You sat up straighter and parted your lips. “Open up wider, baby. Show me your tongue.” You did, and Austin cursed again. You inched your head closer to his cock, breathing through your mouth so he could feel how warm you were.

“Doing such a good job listening to me,” he said. “Almost makes me feel bad about having to punish you.”

“Please punish me, sir,” you pleaded. “I deserve it.”

“You want this dick, darling? You want me?” When you nodded, he said, “Need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

“Yes, please, I want you. So bad.”

“Good.” He started moving his hips toward you, and secured his hand to the back of your head. He tilted the tip of his cock toward your open mouth. “I’ll give it to you, baby.”

You kept your eyes locked on Austin’s as he slowly, slowly slid his member between your lips.

A guttural sound came from the back of his throat. As you took more and more of him, inch by inch, his eyelids fluttered and his throat bobbed.

“Shit,” he groaned. The hand around the back of your head stiffened into a fist around your hair. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m—fuck.”

You closed your eyes, tasting him. Salty, but clean. Undeniably Austin. You loved this. You loved getting punished. Maybe he’d catch on one day that this was why you acted out so often. It wasn’t much of a punishment when you loved it this much.

Austin was so deep now that he filled your whole mouth. You wrapped your lips around his shaft, and sucked, gently, just a little. But at the sight of your puckered red lips and hollowed cheeks, Austin let his head fall back with a loud moan.

The hand on your head guided you, but it wasn’t like you really needed it. You knew exactly what to do. You pulled away slowly, letting the bottom of the head drag along your tongue, and then pushed it right back into your mouth. Again, and again, and again. With each thrust, you let him hit the very edge of your throat, right at the soft palette. And it was driving Austin insane.

“Fuckin’ take it, baby,” he groaned. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. God, you feel so fucking good.”

He was likely too distracted now to notice if you move your hands. Grasping the base of his dick, you pumped him with your hand while your head moved. Austin’s hand fell from the back of your head, and by the dazed look on his face, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. Literally.

Just when you were getting into a groove, you pulled all the way off of him with an obscene sound, a string of saliva and precum stuck on your tongue. He was so swollen he was almost purple, and the lipstick marks all over his shaft was a delightful sight. You gave your mouth a rest and worked him with your hands, spreading the slickness all over his shaft before jerking him off. Responsive as always, Austin let a stream of groans and praises fall from his parted lips.

You wondered if he could tell how much you love this, this punishment. Your enthusiasm couldn’t be mistaken, surely. He looked like he needed some love elsewhere, so you dipped your head and kissed his balls. He yelped a little in surprise as you sucked them ever so gently, and then licked a long stripe up from the base of his shaft to the very tip of his head.

There, you tasted the fresh droplets of precum that had accumulated there from your ministrations. Austin breathed in a shaky gasp as you flicked your tongue along the most sensitive place on the underside of his head.

“Jesus Christ,” he swore.

His phone buzzed with a series of texts.

You gave him a wry look, wrapping your lips around just the tip, and to your surprise, he seemed not to have even noticed his phone. Which was good. There was no way you were stopping things now. You knew you were skilled at this, and you knew you were working him to his limit, which is why you didn’t have much time. Pretty soon, he’d be pushing you off of him to prevent himself from coming too soon, to buy himself enough time to fuck you properly.

What he didn’t know is that you wanted his cum in your mouth, all over your lips, dripping down your throat.

And you had the perfect trick up your sleeve to get what you wanted.

Sure enough, as soon as you started bobbing on his cock again, Austin squeezed your shoulder. “Slow down, darling,” he said, his jaw clenched.

Not a chance. You smirked around his cock and didn’t slow down one bit. He seemed to lose the words to ask you again to slow down. You moved with new vigor and brought your hand to the base of his shaft, moving it along with your mouth.

“Y/N,” Austin moaned—a panicked warning. His hand squeezed your shoulder again. You knew he knew the safe word. But he wasn’t using it.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked as you bobbed on him, just the way he liked it, just the way you knew would make him start falling apart. It was working. Austin’s back arched and his breaths grew shallow and strained. Between your lips, you could feel him swell.

“Y/N, please,” he gasped, and you raised an eyebrow at the pretty word from his lips. Please. His hand, squeezing your shoulder, pushed you away gently, but the movement was weak. Indecisive. He didn’t want to push you away.

It was time you pulled that perfect trick out from your sleeve. Relaxing your throat just the way you’d practiced, you brought your hands to Austin’s ass and pulled his hips toward you—all the way. His cock hit the soft, warm place at the back of your throat. You breathed in and out with steady, calm breaths through your nose.

“I…I can’t…Y/N, you—fuuuuuuck!”

You took all of him, every inch. His cock slid down the back of your throat.

Through your watery eyes, you looked up at Austin and saw the disoriented astonishment on his face. And oh, how you wished you could capture the disoriented astonishment on his face in your memory forever. He looked as if he’d never experienced anything like this, ever.

Nor had you. It was a novel feeling to take him so deeply like this. Your throat burned slightly as his girth stretched it out, but you’d been expecting it. You’d preparing for this. No amount of preparation could have done any justice to the primal emotions it unlocked to be pleasuring him so intimately. You liked the way it felt, Austin filling your throat like this, spit dribbling down your chin—not to mention his reaction.

Relaxing your throat as much as possible, your lips hit the base of Austin’s shaft, the tip of your nose poking his pelvis. Austin gasped out, a choked sound. His eyes darted about, but then you hummed against his cock, and any deliberation he’d had was gone. His hips jolted at the vibration from your throat, and you gagged a bit around him, but you didn’t care. You could handle it. A stream of curses came from his mouth as your throat vibrated while he was still deep inside you.

You swallowed around him, the muscles of your throat contracting. You knew he could feel everything.

“Y/N,” he nearly sobbed your name out. His voice was so weak, almost broken. You’d broken him. “I… Please don’t stop… I’m gonna…I’m…”

You didn’t stop.

Austin’s whole body went rigid and his hips stuttered. You held him steady as his cock pulsed, and with one loud moan, Austin couldn’t stop himself. He went over the edge. You pulled out a bit and braced yourself. His knees nearly giving out, Austin arched into you and released the tension in his body. You felt his whole cock surge and pulse as he came down your throat in thick, hot spurts.

You swallowed everything.

As you slowly slid yourself off his cock, gasping for breath, spit covering your mouth, Austin nearly lost his balance. He leaned against the edge of the table, still panting, still unable to say anything. You wiped your mouth in satisfaction.

Seconds passed. Neither of you said a word until you caught your breath and Austin caught his grip on reality. He met your eyes, absolutely bewildered.

“What?” you finally asked, and you couldn’t keep the smug undertone from your voice.

“I—” he stammered, but he couldn’t finish. He looked away. He was suddenly like a completely different person, embarrassed and shy and blushing and still completely stupefied. His cheeks were still flushed with desire. He hadn’t bothered to pull his trousers back up, and frankly, he was still rock hard.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed as you got to your feet. You made a show of pulling up your thong, smoothing down your skirt, fixing your jewelry.

“You… When did you learn to do that?” he whispered, dumbfounded, unable to meet your gaze again.

You smirked. “What do you mean?” you asked innocently.

“With… With your throat,” he clarified, almost angrily.

You tittered. “Oh, that? Just a little something I’ve been practicing.” You cocked your head devilishly. “Didn’t you like it, baby?”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t… I mean, I… I did, it’s—it’s just, I didn’t mean to… That wasn’t…”

“…Supposed to happen?” you completed his sentence, your voice taunting, jesting. The same words you’d told him when you’d come too early. “Aw, honey. It’s okay.”

Austin finally looked at you again. He was finally regaining his focus, and suddenly, a glimmer of frustrated realization shone in his eyes.

It was as if you could watch the exact moment he realized what had happened. He realized that you’d been planning it to go your way all along.

“Y/N,” he said, but whatever threat he’d tried to muster up in his voice was empty.

Before you could reply, your own phone buzzed on the kitchen island. You didn’t hesitate to retrieve it.

“Hello?” you answered, sauntering back over to Austin. “Oh, Alexandra! Hi!”

His eyes trailed on you as you talked on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry, we’re just running a bit behind. We haven’t left yet.”

You let your eyes fall to Austin’s lap. He blushed a deeper shade of red, realizing, and pulled up his boxer briefs and trousers.

“You think it’ll be okay if we show up late?...Oh, great. That’s wonderful. See you soon. Okay, bye.”

You hung up. Austin said nothing.

“Alright, then,” you said cheerily. “Alexandra says almost everyone is showing up late, so as long as we’re there by 9, we’re golden.” Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure how the night would pan out. Your original plan was to make Austin stay so late with you that the party wouldn’t even be an option. But if you could still show up fashionably late, so be it.

Austin stared. You patted his thigh endearingly, almost demeaningly. “Let’s get to it. We’re already late.”

You turned to stroll away toward the bedroom, but Austin grabbed your arm. He glowered at you but didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to let me go anytime soon?” you said lightly after a long moment. “I need to go clean up, unless you want me showing up looking like I just deepthroated your cock.”

He jolted in surprise at your words. A few seconds later, he let you go. “You’re going to pay for this later,” he said, but it was more of a stammer than a warning.

You smiled through your eyelashes, rubbing at your bottom lip absentmindedly. And then you turned away from Austin, letting your hips sway as you ambled in the direction of the bedroom. Little did he know that “paying for it later” was part of your plan all along, too.

————————————————

Author’s Note: ...So are y'all sweating as much as I am, or...?

Thank you so much for reading! This is probably the filthiest thing I've ever written, and I'm not sorry about it.

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about Elvis, Austin Butler, or Stranger Things, please let me know via my ask box!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #elvis 2022 #elvis #elvis movie #elvis presley #fanfiction #works by juniper

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she-is-juniper · 2 years

Text

Put It Into Practice — Steve Harrington x Reader (chapter two)

Pairing: Scoops Ahoy era Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Rating (by chapter): Explicit (***18+ only. Minors DNI or you will be blocked.)

Summary: “King Steve” Harrington had been the subject of swooning for every girl in their right mind back in high school. But when his sexual dexterity comes into question the summer after graduation, Steve is not about to let his reputation become marred quite so easily. Luckily, Steve is offered the help of his new friend—to give him advice, a few pointers, and maybe a bit of healthy practice…

Word Count (by chapter): 7k

Content: making out, oral sex (female receiving), some fluff, angst, cursing

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Stranger Things or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized.

A/N: Maybe this will help you all to forget about vol 2 traumas omg please enjoy and PLEASE comment if you enjoyed this for the love of god—thank u in advcance ♥ love, Juni

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“I’m down,” Steve says, eyes scouring over your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

Your chest inflates with an audible inhale. You can’t believe your own ears. Is Steve Harrington really agreeing to your proposition? “You mean it?”

Steve just nods and meets your eyes. “Can I come in again?”

You pull the door open wider and shut it behind him. And then he’s just standing there kind of awkwardly, looking around at the decor of your parents’ foyer. Fuck, you hadn’t really thought this far ahead. What are you supposed to do now?

“Do you wanna go downstairs again?” you ask him.

“Lead the way.”

“Steve. Are you sure you wanna do this?” You want to give him as many outs as possible, just in case he changes his mind. “I don’t want you to feel, like, obligated or anything.”

“Obligated?” He chuckles a bit. “No. I was worried you were the one feeling obligated.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to do it,” you respond. At those words, Steve’s breath seems to catch.

“You’re sure?” he asks. He’s standing so close to you all of the sudden, almost leaning imperceptibly toward your body.

“I’m sure,” you say.

By the look in his eyes, the way his lips are parted, the way he’s tucking his head, you wonder if he’s thinking about kissing you. Just Friends don’t kiss, though.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he does reach for your hand—not to hold it, just to brush his fingers against yours with a feather-light touch. Sparks explode from your hands, igniting a fire low in your stomach. “Okay, good,” he says in a low rasp.

The reality of the situation dawns on you. Emboldens you. You smirk up at Steve and grasp his hand tightly, leading him down the stairs to your parents’ basement.

“Rule number one,” you say, reveling at the feel of his rough hand clasped in your own. “Anytime either one of us feels even the least bit uncomfortable, we speak up. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Rule number two: we stay friends, no matter what.” You look up at him with sincerity. “I don’t want to lose our friendship over this.”

You mean it, but Rule Number Two would also deflect any suspicions Steve might have that you like him as anything more than a friend. You knew going into this—while this was in the Hypothetical Notion phase—that it was stupid as hell to enter an agreement like this when you had such a big, fat crush on him. But you also know yourself, you know what you can handle and what you can’t.

No feelings, just sex. You could handle that.

What you wouldn’t be able to handle, however, is losing Steve as a friend forever.

“Got it,” Steve intones. “Rule one, tell each other if we’re uncomfortable, rule two, stay friends. What’s rule three?”

You grin, your heart swelling. He’s so goddamn eager. “This isn’t a one-way-street, my guy. You can make up your own rules if you want.”

“Oh, okay.” He bites his forefinger in thought. “I got one. You can’t make fun of me, okay?”

“I’m sure the rule isn’t that stupid.”

“No, that is the rule. Don’t make fun of me.”

You reel. “Why would I make fun of you?”

“I told you, Y/N,”—he drops his voice—“I’m bad at this.”

“I have a feeling you’re not that bad. Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve just let Lisa R. get to your head.” You guide Steve over to the couch and gesture for him to sit on it. “You want a drink?”

“Nah.” Then he freezes and corrects himself, “Actually, yeah, thanks.”

“Rum and Coke?”

“Yes, please. Hold the Coke.”

You cross over to the minifridge to prepare his drink. “Okay, so rule number three. No making fun of Steve.” His poor little heart probably couldn’t handle any more of it.

“Thank you,” he says, in response to both your officiation of a third rule and to the drink you hand over to him. After you push in the same VHS you’d been watching before and sit down next to him, Steve downs his rum-and-Coke-hold-the-Coke drink in one go. He grimaces.

Jeez.

“Okay, we’re good now,” Steve says. You wonder if you should feel insulted that he seems to need alcohol as a prerequisite for hooking up with you. But as you watch his hands, the way he wrings them against each other, you realize he’s just nervous. He glances up at you naively. “I’m ready.”

You don’t know why, but you burst into giggles.

“What??” he asks, perturbed.

“You’re all business, aren’t you!” you exclaim.

“Well, yeah,” he says decisively. “I’m ready to go.”

Your giggles turn into full-on laughter. You weren’t expecting him to be so damn pragmatic. It was endearing. Steve still seems so confused, so you settle down and regard him seriously. “I know you’re probably ready to go,” you say quietly. “But I’m gonna need a little more time to, y’know, ease into things. Women are a bit different from men in that regard.”

“What do you mean?”

Your pinky finger slides closer to Steve’s hand, brushing against it the slightest bit. Despite that you’d just held his hand coming down the stairs, the action seemed risqué. You wonder to yourself, How are we going to get from touching pinkies to giving head in one night? “Men, in my experience, can get themselves ready to go in a few minutes or seconds. Women, on the other hand, usually need longer, sometimes a lot longer, with a lot more buildup, in order to feel in the mood.”

“In the mood?” he echoes, utterly transfixed by your words and the touch of your pinky.

You nod solemnly. “And it’s only when we’re feeling in the mood that the magic can happen.”

“The magic…?”

You chuckle and smile cheekily at him. “An orgasm, Steve. The female orgasm? I’m sure you’re familiar?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and the butterflies in your stomach sink lower and lower at the sight of it. “What? Of course I am,” he says a little too defensively. You make a little sound of incredulity, and he recoils. “Come on. Of course I know how to make a girl come, Y/N.”

“Lots of girls fake it,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Well, why would they want to fake it?” he marvels.

“Oh, Christ, we could really get into that another time. Not tonight. Point is, a lot of girls do. Probably some of yours, at some point.”

He looks offended. “Um, I think I’d know if the girls I’ve been with were faking it.”

Oh, boy. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Hmm, I’d wager against that. Besides,” —you give him a level look— “we’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Steve clearly wants to argue about it, but he suddenly looks unsure. “Okay, new rule, number four. No faking it.”

It was a reasonable rule, but it makes you apprehensive. “Sure. But Steve…women are fickle. Our bodies can be fickle. Sometimes, it just isn’t going to happen…no matter how good of a job you’re doing.”

“I don’t care,” he insists. “I want it to be real. So none of that ’faking it‘ crap, alright?”

“Alright, alright,” you agree. “I’m just saying, don’t get your hopes up.”

His eyes darken. “Is that a challenge?”

Ah, Steve, always so competitive. You’ve seen the way he makes everything a challenge, from the basketball court to trying to out-diss Robin at work. But, you suppose, if it’ll give him the external motivation he needs… “Yeah, it’s a challenge. Impress me, Steve Harrington.”

His mouth twists into a smile. “Challenge accepted.” He’s gazing at you, but he makes no move toward you. You wait.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“I know we’re promising to stay just friends. But for the sake of my body and getting it where it needs to be in order for this to happen, you’re going to need to kiss me.”

There’s a long pause, and Steve’s eyes darken even more before he says, “Now that I’m good at,” with the cockiest smile you’ve seen from him all night.

And then, as if he’d been anticipating it all along, he brings his hand up to your face, his palm cupping your jaw. And he kisses you for the first time.

And he is good at it. Really, really fucking good at it.

Steve’s lips are the perfect combination of soft and rough. The feeling of them against your own ignites a fire in your tummy and makes you feel somehow both out of breath and yet so completely at ease. He’s clearly well-practiced at this; you’ve never kissed someone so sure of themself in their actions. Nevertheless, he’s kissing you incredibly gently, allowing you to soak up every movement of his lips.

He breaks away for a brief moment. “Is this okay?”

You pull him in again by the collar of his tee shirt in lieu of a response.

Steve's lips fit beautifully around yours, and the scent of his breath is driving you mad. His other arm wraps around you, snaking up your back and pulling you toward him until he’s suddenly holding you against his chest. The way he holds you makes you feel all at once like you’re the only girl in the world. You find yourself feeling into it embarrassingly fast, but you hold back, not wanting to scare him off—not wanting him to realize just how badly you’ve been wanting this, wanting him.

He pulls his lips away again, replacing them with a thumb, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “Jesus, Y/N,” he breathes out. The way he says it makes you wonder how long he’d been wanting you, too.

You blink up at him through your eyelashes. “What’ll you do now, Steve?” you ask.

He hesitates, thinking, before leaning into you again. But not to kiss you, just to feel your lips against his, to feel your shared breaths, hot and shaky. His hand moves incredibly slowly from your jaw to the back of your neck, and then meanders down to your collarbones, his thumb wrapping gently around the base of your throat. Every shared point of contact between you and Steve almost burns with heat, and wetness begins to pool between your legs.

Just when you think you can’t handle the anticipation any longer, Steve meets your mouth with his own again, this time with a brand new intensity. He expertly pries your lips open with his. You feel the tip of his tongue against your lip, enticing you, and soon enough you’re meeting his tongue with yours.

The hand around your throat tightens ever so slightly before it moves to the back of your head again, holding your face securely in place while he kisses you. Steve’s confidence is palpable, and you can tell he’s done this dozens of times with dozens of girls. Somehow, it doesn’t bother you. He knows precisely what to do to make you melt against him like chocolate in the palm of his hand. You want to sing with delight, giddy at the feeling, as if you’re being kissed for the first time. And the sexual energy between the two of you is building so organically that you think in awe that this is exactly why kissing was invented.

Your senses are in overdrive with the feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin. You mentally try to pull yourself together, remind yourself why you’re here. It’s far too easy to lose yourself in Steve’s kiss. You pull back, breathing hard. “You clearly don’t need any practice with that.”

Steve grins. His fingers curl absentmindedly in the hair at the base of your neck. “Is it working?” he murmurs.

You don’t want to admit how well it’s working; you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “It’s a good start.”

“I’ll keep going, then,” he says simply, and you’re not about to stop him.

He kisses you again, harder now. The intensity of the situation builds when he abandons your lips to trace his mouth along the line of your jaw until it reaches below the lobe of your ear. You’ve felt in control of yourself up until now, when you felt his hot tongue press against that sweet spot. Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the sensation. You have to hold back a moan. He’s too damn good at this, you think. And you realize all of the sudden that despite your proposition to teach him how to go down on a girl, you are very clearly not the expert among the two of you.

His unruly brown hair falls in your face as he kisses your neck. Your hands, which you’d been holding shyly in your lap, now roam up the lean muscles of Steve’s arms. They land at their destination: his hair. As many times as he’s had the privilege of running his own hand through these locks, you finally get the pleasure of doing it yourself now. It’s so soft and smells delicious, woodsy, clean. Steve leans into your touch as your fingers caress his scalp.

His own hands roam your body, but unlike the gentle way he’s kissing your throat, his hands soak up the curves of your body with a roguish fervor. They run across your torso, grasping at your sides, your waist, until they reach the hem of your pajama shirt. You feel his low hum rumble against your neck when he reaches the bare skin of your stomach, your hips, traveling under the band of your underwear—

You grab his wrists. “Slow down, cowboy,” you murmur. “This ain’t a race.” You don’t want him to slow down, nor do you need him to. But you want to teach him to take his time.

“Oh, right,” he says. He pulls away to look you in the eyes. “Will you…”

“Hmm?”

“Will you tell me what you want, right now?” He smiles shyly.

God, your heart could burst. What didn’t you want right now? “I like what you were doing with your mouth,” you admit. Steve grins earnestly and resumes his ministrations against your neck.

A million thoughts race through your head. Things you want to say so badly but know you can’t, or shouldn’t. Mostly along the lines of things of You’re so fucking amazing and I’m so glad you’re here and I’ve wanted you for so long and please just get in my pants already. But you bite your tongue—literally bite it, in an attempt not to let a moan escape your lips as you feel Steve’s teeth brush against your skin.

“You smell so good,” he says.

“So do you,” you reciprocate.

His hands caress your shoulders as he continues kissing your neck. You’d rather he put them somewhere else. So you place your hands atop his and move them down with yours, guiding them where you want them to go.

Down your neck, across your collarbones. Resting atop the swell of your breasts.

You remove your hands from his now, letting him take the reigns. Steve hesitates ever so slightly, just enough for you to arch into his touch as an expression of permission. He squeezes your breasts gently, and then not so gently. Which you absolutely love. You let him know by arching your back into his touch. His thumbs find the hard outline of your nipples through your shirt, rubbing in sensual circles, before he pinches them—again, not so gently.

At that, you can’t possibly help the choked sound that escapes your throat.

“Do you like that?”

You nod in lieu of a response, and you feel Steve’s resulting smile against your neck. He’s making you feel really fucking needy now. Maybe he can tell, because he starts tugging up at the bottom of your shirt. You bring your arms up and let him pull it completely off.

Shirtless, your chest exposed before him, you watch as Steve’s pupils become blown out. He’s drinking in the sight of you like it’s something holy to behold. “Holy shit,” he breathes. And you could say the same toward him—his eyes so wide, his lips swollen, his hair wild. He looks irresistible.

“What, Steve?” you say a bit tauntingly. “It’s not like you’ve never seen boobs before.”

“Yeah, but not—” he clears his throat “—not like yours… You’re so…” He combs his fingers through his hair again. “Fuck, Y/N.”

You’re starting to feel self-conscious at the way he’s regarding your bare chest with such fascinated reverence. Warmth rushes to your face and you and cross your arms in front of you. Steve looks at you like you’re crazy, uncrosses them, and immediately wraps his arms around your back to draw you in closer to him. He brings his lips to yours again.

“You’re so…” he tries again and fails to come up with the words. He trails kisses down your throat until he’s pressing his lips against your sternum between your breasts.

“Spit it out, Steve.”

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N,” he whispers. “So fucking gorgeous.”

You feel even warmer with embarrassment. You could get with that sentiment.

Steve, once again, knows exactly what to do. He kisses his way to your nipple and wraps his lips around it. You don’t know why, but you weren’t really expecting him to treat your breasts with so much love and attention. Not that you were complaining. He sucks gently, his tongue moving in small circles around the bud. You tilt your head back and swallow hard. So he can use his tongue like that, and he expects me to believe he’s bad at eating pussy?

You shift yourself so you’re lying flat on your back on the couch. Steve wastes no time crawling in between your legs, positioning himself on his elbows over your face. He peers down at you and smiles.

“Is it working now?” he asks again cheekily.

God yes. “You could say that.” Steve raises an eyebrow until you admit, “Okay, it’s working, yeah. I’m definitely getting there.”

There meaning, ready to let Steve get the practice he came here for.

He chuckles in satisfaction and leans down to kiss you again. “And how will I know when you’re…ready?”

I already am. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, dumbass,” you laugh.

Things start moving faster now. Steve’s hands are everywhere, tracing paths all along your body, his lips not far behind. It feels like he’s absolutely worshiping your body. And god, is he eager. There’s zeal and fervor in every motion. He’s kissing your stomach when his hands find your thighs, caressing the skin as if you’re the finest silk.

“Your skin is so soft,” he compliments you. You feel stupidly flustered.

“You have a way with words,” you note. “That’s good. Girls love that.”

“Does that mean you love it, too?” he asks.

You nod, sheepish again. God, you feel so lucky to be here with Steve Fucking Harrington right now. So far, there hasn’t been a single thing he hasn’t done aptly. Again, how bad could he possibly be at the rest?

Steve’s hand comes around your hips to your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. You buck your hips up into him, and he groans a little.

“Steve,” you gasp.

He gives you a cheeky smile.

“Take off my shorts,” you instruct.

His smile vanishes.

“I, uh—okay,” he stammers. He’s hesitant as ever as he slides your pajama shorts down your legs. “Shorts are off.” He swallows hard and frowns at the sight of you in just your underwear. Not quite the reaction most girls want when a guy sees them nearly naked.

You frown back, perturbed by his sudden change of mood. “Hey, we don’t have to do this,” you remind him. “Rule number one, remember?”

“No, that’s not it. I want to. I really want to—for you,” he adds, his eyes indecipherable. “I’m just…I don’t know where to start.”

You smooth his hair back from his face. “I’ll guide you.”

Truth be told, you aren’t even positive yourself about how you’d guide Steve through this, seeing as you’ve never successfully came from a guy’s mouth before. But you really don’t want Steve to know that.

“I just want it to be good for you,” he adds.

“There’s no pressure,” you reassure him. “Look…” You reach for his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze before guiding them to your inner thighs. You show him how he can brush against your skin with a feather-light touch, and he replicates the action, tracing soft lines. “You can kiss me, there, too,” you murmur.

He obeys, leaning down and kissing his way up your thighs until his lips reach the inseam of your underwear. The sensation—and the anticipation—sends a miserably warm feeling across your groin. You fall back onto your elbows, humiliated at the thought that he’d be able to see the wet spot on your underwear.

“Now what?” Steve breathes out, and you feel his hot breath spilling across your pelvis. It completely scatters your thoughts.

“I…your hand.”

“What?”

“Touch me, Steve. Through my panties.”

Whoops. You’ve forgotten he hates that word. “Don’t say that,” he groans.

“Grow up,” you say. And then you gasp and jolt, as he’s decided to go right for your clit with his thumb. “Whoa.”

“‘Whoa’ is good,” Steve grins, pressing into your clit again. Your legs twitch. You bat his hand away.

“‘Whoa’ is surprised,” you correct. “You didn’t give me any warning.”

“You told me to touch you!”

“There’s a whole lot more surface area you could have started with,” you chuckle. You grab his hand again and lead it lower, to your labia. “It feels good if you touch me here, too.”

And it certainly does feel good. Steve touches you teasingly gently at first, and then he slowly starts to add pressure. His fingers stroke you down and up, teasing your entrance. You hum contentedly.

“You’re so warm,” he says.

“If you want,” you breathe, “you can kiss there, too.”

Steve, eager as ever, presses his lips to you through your underwear, right where you know a pool of wetness has seeped through. You sigh and lay back to enjoy yourself. While his lips are busy, he runs his hands up and down your thighs. He squeezes your inner thigh, and now you let yourself moan.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Steve whispers. “You look so good.”

You realize he’s looking up at you through his lashes as he kisses you. It feels incredibly personal. Why, oh why does he have to be doing that?

And why can’t I look away?

“Can I take these off?”

You nod—finally—but Steve doesn’t move.

“Y/N? Can you say it aloud for me?”

“Yes,” you say. “That’s good that you ask. You should always ask.”

Steve slips off your underwear without another moment’s hesitation. He gapes at you, fully unclothed.

“Don’t stare at me like that,” you giggle. “You’re making me feel so self-conscious.”

You try to close your legs, but Steve promptly pries your knees apart again. He’s practically salivating. He looks up at you with hungry eyes before he bends down and engulfs your pussy with his mouth.

Oh fuck. You gasp and arch into him. Holy fuck.

His tongue laps at you, right at your entrance. He makes a groaning sound and closes his eyes. “You taste so fucking good.”

“I thought you didn’t know what to do.”

“I know what I want to do,” he asserts. “I want to taste you.”

He does it again, dragging his tongue through you over and over like it’s his dying wish. It feels too fucking good, mostly because it’s Steve Harrington doing it. To deflect, you scramble to think of something to say.

“You’re doing good,” you say, your voice taught. “You’re doing so good, Steve.”

Your words encourage him, and he flattens his tongue as he licks his way up to your clit. It sends hot chills across your whole body. You tilt your head back and moan softly. He continues with that motion for awhile, licking upwards each time.

It feels good having his tongue on your clit, but the motion isn’t really doing it for you.

“Ok, hold on,” you rasp and brush your hands through his hair. He pulls away and looks up at you naively. “I know you work at Scoops Ahoy for a living, but you can do more than just lick it like an ice cream cone. No offense.”

“Ah, pussy-flavored ice cream,” he jokes.

“Gross.”

“Not yours.” As if to prove his point, he laps his tongue through you again. You bite your lip, and he laughs. “Besides, that was all just for me, mostly. I love how you taste, Y/N,” he says, his voice sincere, filled with lust.

You want to explode. Is it just you, or is it getting steamy in this basement?

“I’m glad you think so.”

He kisses both of your thighs. “Tell me what you want now, baby.”

Baby? Did he mean to say that? You struggle to think of how to describe it to him. “I want your mouth on my clit,” you say softly.

Steve’s intense eyes don’t leave yours as he dips down to press his lips oh so gently to your clit. “Right here?” he murmurs against it.

You nod, absolutely transfixed at the sight. “More,” you demand. He parts his lips, taking you into his mouth. Your breathe shakily, your toes curling. Your racing thoughts from before have come to a halt, and all you can think about is this very moment.

“So sensitive,” he notices.

You can’t reply even if you wanted to. Steve treats you so gently with his mouth. Sweat starts to bead on your forehead. You can’t believe he’s still looking up at you so adoringly with those big brown eyes.

“Wrap your arms around me,” you instruct.

He does as he’s told. Holy god, this is the vision you’d been dreaming of for the past twenty four hours. Exactly the same vision.

Steve perched in between your legs. His arms wrapped around your thighs. His mouth wrapped around your clit.

It’s almost too much. You collapse backward and moan his name, loudly. He likes that, because he makes a little chuckle sound and holds you even more tightly against him. You’re so goddamn aroused at this point you want to cry. It was almost perfect, except you find yourself wanting more than what Steve is currently doing with his tongue.

“Hold on,” you pant. “Steve.”

He breaks away from you. “Am I doing good?” he asks genuinely.

He’s like a golden retriever. You smile breathlessly and touch his cheek. “So far so good. But I need you to use your tongue more.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “First you’re telling me it’s too much tongue and you’re not ice cream, and now it’s not enough. Women really are fickle.”

You giggle. “No, no…” You think back to his mouth on your breasts and the way his tongue was driving you crazy then. “Do you remember what you were doing to my nipples before? Do it like that.”

The spark of a challenge glints in his eyes. “Coming right up.”

Like you’d just ordered ice cream. What a dumbass. You’re about to laugh and make another jest, but—

Fuck, he’s doing it. Holy. Fuck.

Your mouth falls open and you let out a long moan. Steve sucks at your clit, his tongue moving in circles now—slow at first, and then faster.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you encourage him, your voice raw. “That’s it, Steve, baby. Just like that. Oh my god. Fuck.”

His fingertips dig into the skin of your hips, your waist. You start to see stars. Fuck. Your insecurities are long gone now; you feel your orgasm beginning to creep up on you. But you need more.

“I need your fingers, baby,” you whine.

He pulls away. “What?”

Aggrieved that he stopped, you tangle your hands in his hair. “I’m telling you to finger me.”

Steve smiles like a schoolgirl. He readjusts one of his arms so his hand is free and the other is still wrapped around your hips. He pops one of his fingers into his mouth. You’re pleased to know he at least knows to do that, for lubrication.

But he’s going much too slow for your liking now. He traces along your entrance with his finger, gazing down at it like a rare artifact. And he’s not even using his mouth anymore. You grunt in frustration.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Finger me. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pushes his middle finger into you. You flutter your eyes shut and groan.

“So fucking wet,” he marvels. “And tight. Fuck, you’re perfect, Y/N.”

“Less talking.” You tighten your grip on his hair. “More eating me out.”

Steve gives you a cocky grin. “So that means you’re liking it, then? I’m doing good?”

Come on! “Not if you keep talking!”

He laughs. His finger curls up inside of you and you jolt as if you’d been electrocuted. You feel the effects of it ripple through your body like wildfire. Finally, he bends down to suck on your clit again. His mouth feels so warm and wet, pressed so hard against you his nose brushes against your mons pubis. With his tongue resuming its circular pattern, his finger curling over and over inside you, his eyes still locked on yours…

The white-hot tinge of need in your core grows and grows.

“Don’t stop, Steve,” you whine desperately and buck your hips against him. He speeds up. “No, no, don’t speed up. Keep doing exactly what you were doing.” The steady pace resumes. “Yeah, that’s good, that’s so fucking good, baby.”

Each lap of his tongue, each curl of his finger, feels as if he’s stripping away every layer of your poise and dignity, until you’re nothing but an incoherent, desperate, moaning mess for him. The fire in your core burns hotter and hotter, and you’re struck with the notion that no man has ever made you feel this good, ever.

“Steve, I’m gonna—oh, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you realize. He hums encouragingly against you, and it’s enough to push you over the edge. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe he’s truly done it, and there’s no going back now.

You come completely undone, the tendrils of fire overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and cry out a broken sob of pure pleasure. You convulse, clenching around his finger, grinding against his face, without a shred of dignity left in you. Your thighs squeeze together against your will. Reality becomes a hazy, agonizing dream.

Steve’s name leaves your lips like a prayer. And as the waves of pleasure continue to ripple through you, Steve doesn’t let up. You thrash away from him, but he’s keeping you pinned down against the couch with his arm. It takes pushing his forehead forcefully away and telling him, “Stop, stop, stop,” for him to finally stop.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You don’t really know how long. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing, Steve kissing your legs, and the television blaring Fast Times.

“Holy fuck,” you finally say once you recover the ability to speak. It’s all you can say. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Steve laughs. “I should be asking you that.”

“Did I squeeze you too tightly? With my thighs?”

He kisses your thighs then. “I fucking loved it.”

“Good. I hope I didn’t suffocate you.”

"I wish you would have. Holy fuck, Y/N."

You focus on your breathing. “Oh my god.”

“So I’m guessing that means I did a good job?” Steve grins up at you and wipes off his chin. He looks so proud of himself. Frankly, you’re proud of yourself for being able to make this happen for him.

A part of you feels humiliated about the mess you’ve inevitably made on his face and hands. The rest of you is too blessed out to care.

“Yeah, Steve,” you smile back at him. “You did a good job.”

He pumps his fist and whispers, “Yes!”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot who just made you come.” Steve can’t stop kissing and caressing your legs and stomach. “That was…that was fucking amazing, Y/N. That was hands down the hottest thing I think I’ve ever witnessed.”

It’s perfect timing for an aftershock to rack your body. You inhale and squeeze your legs shut. Steve watches you, dumbstruck.

“What was that?” he gapes, rubbing at your legs.

You start to giggle. “That happens sometimes.”

“God. Jesus. That’s what it’s like for you?” Steve lets out an appreciative exhale. “You women have it so good. Gotta say, I’m a bit envious. It’s like that for all women?”

“It’s different for all women,” you comment, your heart still racing. You reach for your underwear on the ground and slip them on; it’s more comfortable for you like that.

“Is it like that for you every time?” he asks. “With all the shaking, and the quivering, and the…?” He gestures broadly to your body.”

“Only the really good orgasms are like that,” you grin. “It’s never happened before you, with another man.”

Steve freezes and gapes at you. Whoops. You hadn’t meant to let that one slide.

“What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.” When you shake your head, he says, “No one’s ever made you come before?”

“Nope. Well, now, one person has.”

He looks fascinated. “And you wanted to let me be the first?”

Well, duh. “I figured I could still be a good teacher to you.” You waggle your eyebrows. “Was I?”

“Holy fuck, were you,” he says. “Should call you ‘Professor Y/N.’”

“You were a very apt pupil,” you compliment jokingly.

You realize then, as your connection with reality starts to return, that Steve’s voice is more strained than you’d ever heard it. Almost as strained as the hard outline you can clearly see bulging uncomfortably from his pants. His eyes have a feral energy to them as he looks into your eyes and continues to trace lines on your body with his hands. He was clearly turned on, excruciatingly so.

I could return the favor, you think to yourself. The idea of doing that has you practically salivating. But the question wasn’t would you do it (of course you would) but rather should you do it. That wasn’t part of your agreement. And at what point would you and Steve be past the point of no return as friends?

But he has to be so needy right now. Plus, screw the agreement. Who said you had to play by those unspoken rules?

You decide to test the waters a bit, leaning into Steve. He leans into you, too, almost imperceptibly, so you close the distance between your lips. He tastes of you and it’s such a sexy thought that you make a mental note to savor it for the rest of your life. You start to kiss him more heavily, but you can tell he’s holding back, hesitating.

“Hey,” you murmur.

“Hey,” he echoes you.

“Thank you. For the orgasm.” He huffs a little laugh. “I mean it. It was really amazing. Fantastic. Life altering. All of the good things.”

“It was for me, too,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t say anything more. Is he feeling shy? You’ll have to go for a less subtle approach.

“And intense,” you say as your hands caress. “You must be feeling a lot right now.”

“I’m okay,” Steve says. Your hands go to his chest, slowly tracing down to his stomach, and lower. “Y/N, what…?”

You kiss him again, sensually and with as much intent in your actions as possible. Your hands drop lower, searching for his belt buckle.

Steve seizes your wrists.

“Whoa, whoa,” he frowns. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I’d like to return the favor.” Badly. Please let me.

But Steve shakes his head fervently. “That’s, uh—that’s okay, Y/N, I—um, I don’t think we should—” he stammers. “You—you don’t have to do that.”

“Don't have to? I want to,” you say simply. Steve’s eyes seem panicked.

“You do?” he asks, shocked. You smile roguishly and bite your bottom lip. His skin reddens a shade darker.

“Really, I’m fine,” he insists. “I don’t need you to, uh… We shouldn’t do that.”

What? “Why not? You did it for me.”

“Yes, and it was amazing, but Y/N, I really d—I can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” you say. “What’s wrong?” Does he have an STD?

“Nothing’s wrong,” he replies too quickly. “I promise.”

You feel frustrated, worried, that he won’t tell you. "That's okay," you say. And then it got awkward when he didn't say anything back. Your heart rate skyrocketed. “I'm just curious why not?”

“I just—I don’t want that, Y/N. With you.”

Well, ouch. His words sink in, and you feel flustered again, but for a very different reason.

There’s another long pause, long enough for you to come to your senses. You grab your pajama shirt from the floor and pull it back on, avoiding his gaze. "That's okay," you say again. But it did not feel okay.

“Well It’s not like I don’t want to, I do,” Steve explains. “I really—god. I really do want to."

“You’re contradicting yourself,” you mutter. "It's okay that you don't want to do that, but don't lie to me about it." You don’t know why, but you feel humiliated, suddenly overhwlemed about everything that just happened, everythig that steve just did to you, and everything he just said. Why do I feel humiliated? I wanted this. He wanted this.

“I'm not lying! I—listen,” Steve says, grabbing your upper arms. He doesn’t speak again until you’ve met his eyes. “We’re friends, Y/N. Really good friends. That was rule number two, right?”

You nod and try not to think of how much you very much did not want to be just friends with Steve a few minutes ago.

“Right,” he continues. “And what you’re saying you want to do, with me—to me—it’s…” He sighs. “I don’t think I could go back to being friends with you after that, Y/N.”

Unexpected anger flashes in your chest. “Oh, but you can go back to being friends after you’ve tasted my pussy, though?” You spit the words out more harshly than you should have. “That doesn’t even make any sense, Steve.”

He flinches. “You’re upset.” He sighs again, does that stupid hand-through-the-hair thing for the millionth time today. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m sorry.”

You bite your cheek and work to calm yourself down. You always go so wacky after having an orgasm, and frankly, you still feel out of sorts from it. This was stupid. You shouldn't get mad at him for telling you he doesn't want you to give him head. If he's not comfortable, he's not comfortable. But why is he saying he does want you to?

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to do that, Steve,” you say. “I’ll respect that if you’re not comfortable with it, of course. But I just don't understand what you're saying. Why should it be so different for you than it was for me?”

He stares at you hard. He opens his mouth, then closes it. His honey eyes seem like he’s looking at you through a thousand-foot wall that’s guarding his emotions; you can’t decipher them at all.

“Why should it be different?” you repeat.

“It just is, Y/N, for me,” he says with finality.

You don’t have a response for him. You're humiliated. Humiliated for asking to give him head. Humiliated that he rejected you. Humiliated that he did it for you.

He stares at you until he can’t anymore, looking toward the basement steps.

“I should go,” he says.

“Okay,” you reply.

That’s it, I guess, you think. Pussy-eating lesson over. Seriously, what are you supposed to say now? Let’s pretend like that never happened and go back to being friends. See you tomorrow at the mall. I hope you can put your newfound skills to the test soon.

Another thought in your head says, What exactly were you expecting to happen after this, Y/N?

You pull on your night shorts and follow Steve up the stairs and to your front door. He looks down at you, looks back and forth between your eyes, looks down at your lips.

“Rule number two,” he says softly, but it’s almost like a question, like he wants to make sure you’re on the same page.

So you force a small smile, hoping to God it’s convincing. "Stay friends, no matter what,” you recite.

Steve nods and smiles back; you’ve convinced him well. “You’re one of my closest friends, Y/N. One of my best friends.” He says it like he's willing for it to still be true. He seems like he wants to say something more, but he breathes deeply instead. “See you tomorrow?” he asks.

You nod and open the door for him to let him out. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight.”

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

Author’s Note: Ahhh I'm so sorry to taint this smutty chapter with such profound angst! Anyone have any theories about why Steve rejected Reader in the end???

Thank you so much for reading! There will definitely be at least one more chapter of Put It Into Practice, so keep your eyes peeled for it!

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about this work! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about Elvis, Austin Butler, or Stranger Things, please let me know via my ask box! I can't promise I'll get to all of them, but I'll do my absolute best ◡̈

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

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