Kinktober 2024

【 𝑇𝑤𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 】

〖 𝑇𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒 〗: 𝑅𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠

〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: The walls of your apartment are thin, and Steve lets his imagination run wild

〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, mutual masturbation, slight dirty talk, eavesdropping

✧✧✧

Steve never planned to have the life that he did. He never planned on surviving Vecna, he never planned on going to college, and he certainly didn't plan on liking you as much as he did.

Moving in with you was the logical choice, of course. You got along well enough and shared the same horrifying memories that kept you up in the middle of the night. It wasn't like Steve had a thing for you or anything. It was simply convenient. That's all.

The first few weeks of living together were rough. His college plan included bringing home a new girl every weekend, and your college plan included not hearing that.

In truth, he couldn't bear spending the night alone. All he could do was think. Often, he'd think of everything that had happened and everything that could've happened. It often led him down an unsettling road that he wasn't keen on revisiting.

Sometimes his mind would wander to you. He'd wonder if you were up, and his ears would strain to hear any sign that he wasn't alone in the early morning hours. Unsurprisingly, the walls of his apartment were thin, and it didn't take him long to hear the telltale sign of your mattress springs squeaking as you shifted in your sleep.

If he got lucky, he could hear you attempt to stifle your sighs as you touched yourself in the late hours of the night. He had blushed and tried to ignore the growing tightness of his pants the first time it happened. Over time, he'd begin to relish those quiet, lonely nights when he'd picture you splayed out on your twin-sized mattress as your fingers dipped between your legs.

He'd mirror your movements and his hand slipped under the waistband of his briefs and freed his cock from its confines. He'd pump his hand once and then twice. You liked to go slow.

He pictured you dipping a finger down to your entrance, teasing yourself, before circling back to rub your clit. A small gasp filtered through your shared bedroom wall, and he liked to think he was right.

He slid his thumb over the head of his cock, collecting his precum and using it to lubricate his languid strokes. He wondered if you'd fuck yourself on your fingers tonight. He could fill you up so much better. He clung to the thought as his strokes increased in time and your sighs became more frequent.

He wondered what you looked like as you came. Would your face scrunch up or would your eyes roll in the back of your head? He wondered if anyone ever made you feel as good as he could.

The few times you'd taken your revenge and brought home a guy of your own, he'd try to memorize the noises you made. Eventually, he listened so often that he could tell when you were faking it, which was often with the chumps you brought home.

You'd look so pretty taking his cock, tits bouncing with every thrust. You'd be so good for him, he could feel it. He'd be gentle. He'd take care of you. He wondered how your skin would feel under his fingertips. He wondered how you'd taste against his tongue— sweet and entirely you.

You let out a particularly desperate whimper, and he felt the familiar coil tightening in his belly. A strangled sigh left him as he increased his pace, twisting his wrist with every pass over his cock.

"C'mon, baby," he panted. "Please, honey. Cum for me, please, please–"

You let out a high-pitched whine as your release crashed over you. Spurts of cum covered his wrist as he bucked against his fist, riding out his high. Each stroke of his hand was punctuated with a shuddering groan and his heart pounded in his chest.

After a few moments, he finally settled back against his mattress and attempted to catch his breath. His eyes fluttered shut, and he hoped to finally drift off into a peaceful sleep.

A gentle knock at his door sounded, and his eyes shot open.

Shit...