valerie

see ya later, live and be well ! i salute the time we had but love can’t break the spell xo

[cantbreakthespell]

♯ ⋮ ⋆˚࿔ bello it’s val || @oohgeminii = writing acc n main blog 💋 ||

this is gonna be a mix of fic recs n maybe even spoilers😁 of upcoming fics im posting bc i can’t keep my fat mouth shut

the valerie reccomends this a lot tag is where you’ll see my recs !! + the shutupvalerie tag is me either responding to asks or j talking yep

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ there’s a crux to everything .ᐟ

[harringtonsugar]

Your Side Of The Bed

summary: your breakup with steve has been rough, and it only gets worse at night without him next to you.

warnings: angst, mentions of arguing, nightmares, steve and reader are both avoidants, cursing,

word count: 5.5k

In a reality where you fought inter-dimensional monsters and befriended a young girl with telekinesis, you would think there’s nothing worse than dealing with that.

But it’s pretty easy to say going through a breakup with Steve Harrington is infinitely worse.

You’re standing behind the counter of Family Video, eyes fixated on a small piece of fuzz swirling around the air. You’re trying really hard to ignore the customer flirting with your ex boyfriend ten feet away from you.

You’re grateful he doesn’t seem to be reciprocating her advances, but its probably because you’re nearby. Steve really grew out of being an asshole and flirting with her in front of you would put him right back at the top of the official asshole list.

It’s been a month since your breakup and just know whenever someone says it gets easier with time, they’re lying. The first week was spent on Nancy’s couch, surrounded by tissues and a family sized tub of ice cream. You called in sick from work the whole week and cried enough tears to fill an entire ocean.

The second week, she forced you to socialize more. She was considerate enough to start small – an invitation to have breakfast with her and Jonathan. The opportunity to take Mike and El to the new skating rink. Max spent some time with you too but she didn’t push you to talk about it, she just sat with you through four different movies. All horror, there was absolutely no room for romance or comedy.

By the third week, you really had to pull it together. There was no word from Steve and it was probably better that way. Eddie, Mike and Lucas did all the work to get your things from Steve’s house and pack it up to bring to Nancy’s. You really didn’t want to move into her apartment but it was a stepping stone after leaving Steve’s.

Looking back on it now, the breakup was .. well, it was stupid. It was a cumulation of arguing and stress and lack of space all in one. Petty arguments over chores and snide remarks about each others habits. It was something that should’ve been solved with one conversation but you were both equally stubborn and when you angrily shouted maybe you needed space, he didn’t argue.

Still, you missed him. You really fucking missed him.

And the worst part is he seemed to be doing perfectly fine.

Dustin swore he wasn’t taking sides but you haven’t seen much of him these past couple weeks. Whenever the kids hung around you, he and Robin were both missing and Mike let it slip they were at Steve’s. It’s not like you blamed them, you were all friends but Steve was their best friend.

Now, it’s day 34 without him and you’re wishing the ground will swallow you whole and save you from hearing this girl drape herself all over him.

“It’s just so good to see you, Steve,” She says. She wears a wide smile on her face, one palm resting on his bicep. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he just fiddles with the tape in his hand and smiles back.

“Yeah, you too, Stacey,” He responds.

Stacey.

He never mentioned a Stacey when you two were together and now suddenly they’re a pair of good friends who wish they kept up with each other over the years.

You try not to stare but then she grabs his forearm and snags the pen he had clipped to his vest. Your stomach twists when she begins to write on the skin of his arm. Steve watches her, his brows pulled together and when she finishes, she raises his arm to her mouth – she presses her red lipstick covered lips against his skin, flicking her eyes back up to his and leaves a kiss mark.

You physically feel sick.

She removes her mouth, a quiet pop sound fills the store. You can see now she’s written her phone number on him, the kiss mark a cute little signature. Her thumb brushes over the lipstick stain and smiles up at him again.

“Call me tonight,” Her voice is low and sultry. Steve glances at you and when he sees you already looking, he swallows hard.

You can feel your eyes prick with tears and tear your gaze away from him. Your throat feels tight, you clench your jaw to keep yourself from crying.

Thankfully, a different customer approaches the counter with their own tapes to check out. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, then plaster on the best customer service smile you can muster.

“Find everything okay, Mrs. Langston?” You ask, typing in her information as you complete her sale. The older woman is easy to talk to and maybe for a few seconds, you’re able to forget all about Steve and Stacey.

You’re unsure how the conversation ends but when you hand the receipt to her, Stacey’s gone and Steve is carefully approaching the counter opposite of you.

You bid your goodbyes to Mrs. Langston and busy yourself with cleaning up the papers near the register. There’s nobody left in the store except you and him. Tension fills the air quickly and you can feel him looking at you.

You hope he doesn’t try to make conversation about Stacey. Aside from things related to work, you haven’t spoken since the night you broke up. If he tries now, you’re almost certain you’d burst into tears.

If he’s moving on – even though it’s only been 34 days – you won’t stop him, and you definitely won’t beg him not to.

“Hey, uh listen,” Steve’s voice breaks the awkward silence. “About Stacey, I just want you to know -,”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” You cut him off quickly. Your back is still turned to him and you’ve re-piled  the same stack of papers four times now to look busy.

“I know, but I want to.”

You freeze then. Steve notices and you hear the sound of his footsteps coming closer. He approaches you carefully, like he knows you’re seconds away from running away, and stops a few steps behind you. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth from his body.

He says your name softly but you still don’t turn. “I’m sorry you saw that,”

Sorry you saw that.

He’s apologizing it for happening in front of you, not that it happened in the first place. Because he’s not sorry. Clearly, the breakup and space has been good for him and while you’ve been a walking zombie, he’s been moving on.

You swallow hard and bite your lip. “It’s fine, Steve.”

He moves again. This time to stand beside you and his head bends to try and catch your eyes. You keep your eyes trained on the stack of papers and pray he’ll drop it.

Before he has a chance to say anything, the bell at the top of the door sings and the door swings up. You’re more than thankful for the distraction and you look up to greet the customer but you’re met with Eddie, Max and El.

Max and El are talking amongst themselves but Eddie’s eyes are stuck on you. You don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks between you and Steve.

“Look at my two favorite Family Video employees,” He sings and approaches the counter. Max and El follow.

“Hey guys,” Steve greets them, but you can feel his eyes still on you. Eddie clearly notices as well and smirks at you.

“We’re here to pick up the tapes Robin put on hold yesterday. Y’know, movie night and all,”

“Right, I’ll go get those,” You say quickly, taking any opportunity to get as far away from Steve as possible. You miss the way his eyes sadden but he doesn’t stop you.

As you scurry to the break room, Max and El trail behind you.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Max asks suspiciously. You send her a sideways glance as you fish around the room for where Robin hid the tapes.

You already know your answer – no, you will not be going because movie night is always held at Steve’s house and you can’t bear the thought of being there again so soon. But you haven’t told anybody you weren’t going. Honestly, you planned to just skip out on the whole thing without a word. Clearly, Max knows you well enough to know that’s exactly what you intended.

“I don’t think so, Max. I’m not feeling great today,”

She sees right through you. “Bullshit.”

You scowl at her. “Language, Mayfield.”

“You feel fine, you just don’t want to be around Steve,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You wave her off, and kneel to the ground in front of a crate of old tapes.

“Why don’t you two get back together?” El asks. You look up from where you’re shuffling through tapes. “Max and Lucas break up and get back together all the time. Even me and Mike have done it before. He still likes you,”

Her oblivious nature is cute and you can feel yourself soften. “Steve and I are a little different from you guys, El. And I don’t think he wants to get back together.”

“That’s bullshit again!” Max exclaims.

“Max!” You groan and finally find the tapes Robin hid. Rising to your feet, you head back up to the front. “It’s just movie night, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

You push through the beaded curtain, the girls following suit and nobody misses Max’s sour face.

“It is a big deal! Eddie, will you tell her it’s a big deal?”

Eddie pulls himself away from the conversation with Steve and looks at you three. “What’s a big deal?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“She doesn’t wanna come tonight,” Max says at the same time.

Eddie makes a face. “Why not? It’s the third time you’ve bailed on movie night.”

Max gasps, realization dawning on her. “It is the third time!” 

You glare at him. Damn him for keeping count.

“Can you two relax? I just feel sick today,” You grumble, punching in Robin’s phone number into the computer.

“Bull.Shit.”

“Maxine Mayfield, I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap!” You threaten, a finger pointed in her direction. She rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Steve speaks up.

“What’s wrong? Is it your head?” He asks. You look up at him and immediately regret it. He’s looking down at you with those chocolate brown eyes and they’re swirling with concern. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

You still for a moment because no, you haven’t been sleeping okay. Actually, you haven’t been sleeping at all.

“I’m fine,” You say quickly. “Can all of you relax? It’s just movie night,”

Steve ignores you. “But you said you were sick. What’s bothering you?”

“See?” El speaks up. “I told you he still liked -,”

“Okay, I’ll go!” You cut her off. She was one word away from completely embarrassing you. “Can everybody lay off now?”

Max and El look pleased enough, Eddie as well but Steve’s look of concern doesn’t disappear. Still, he doesn’t press you on it and you’re grateful.

The rest of your shift is spent carefully avoiding Steve and taking every opportunity to help a customer or stock shelves. You’re painfully aware of how he keeps an eye on you the whole time but he seems to respect your wishes to not talk.

By the time 8PM rolls around, the store is cleaned and ready to be locked up. Steve waits behind you as you lock the door before you both make your way through the parking lot. Three steps into the same direction, you realize he parked right next to you.

Thick tension surrounds you, and you’re silently wishing the birds chirping will be loud enough to make him not talk.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Steve’s voice is low and hesitant. Your heart pinches at that soft tone he carries – it’s something you got so used to but have been deprived of for the last month.

You nod without looking up at him, and pull the strap of your bag closer to your chest. “Everything’s fine,”

He looks torn between asking again or being quiet completely, and he chooses to be quiet.

This is the most you’ve spoken to him since the breakup and it’s even harder than you thought it would be. It’s taking every ounce of self control not to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to hold you. To come back to you and make everything better.

Your ego wins the battle. He didn’t fight for you to stay and hasn’t fought to bring you back either. If anything, he’s proving he prefers being apart from you.

You’ll get there, with time. Hopefully.

You make it to your car and surprising to you, Steve jogs ahead of you to open your car door. You finally look up at him and see him already looking down at you – he has one hand clutched around the handle and the other resting atop the door.

It’s hard looking at him, especially doing something to gentle like opening your door for no reason. Based on the look in his eyes, you’re sure he can see the pain in your eyes.

“Thanks.” You mumble softly and slide into the seat. He doesn’t shut it right away, so you glance up at him.

He takes a deep breath and moves to stand between the car and the open door. Carefully, he bends down to kneel so he’s eye level with you.

Gently, he says your name. “I don’t want you to miss out on things because of me,” He says and your heart sinks.

“I’m not,” You say instinctively. It was a lie and he sees right through you.

“If you’re uncomfortable being around me, I’ll skip out on tonight,”

You sit up, ready to argue that it’s his house and they’re his friends – he shouldn’t have to worry about your feelings. It’s not his responsibility anymore.

But he continues before you have a chance.

“I can find something else to do, it’s really not a problem.”

You frown at his words and your mind immediately goes back to Stacey.

He didn’t say he’d try to be around you, or that he won’t let it get weird – he was offering to leave completely. Maybe this was his way of finding an excuse to go out with her.

Your eyes flick to his arm and you see the faint trace of her phone number still on his skin. He follows your gaze and drops his arm from where it rests on your door.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says quickly, almost defensively.

Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did.

Truthfully, there was no way for you to know. And it wasn’t like you had the right to know either. He wasn’t yours anymore.

When you look back up at him, your face is blank, eyes void.

“You can do whatever you’d like, I won’t make it awkward.” You say simply and Steve’s eyes sadden.

He can tell exactly what you’re doing – steeling yourself off from him and he hates it.

Before he gets the chance, you turn away from him. After sliding the key into the ignition, your hands curl around the steering wheel and you look straight ahead. “I already promised Max and El. I don’t want to let them down,”

He looks at you while you avoid looking at him again. From beside you, you see him nod before standing upright and shutting your door softly.

You don’t waste a second before you’re peeling out of the lot and making your way home, all without even glancing at him again.

Whatever he chooses to do will be on him and has nothing to do with you.

You want to cry – you can feel it about to happen – but you’re so tired of it. Crying and wallowing hasn’t helped you these past few weeks and it’s not about to start now.

Even then, you’re debating just breaking your promise to the girls and staying home. At least then you wouldn’t know if Steve decides to stay home or go do whatever he has planned with whoever.

But you miss your friends, and you’re tired of sitting on Nancy’s couch alone all night and tormenting yourself with your own thoughts.

When you make it home – Nancy’s home – you drag yourself into her apartment and avoid all her questions about how your day was, how it was seeing Steve, if you’re okay.

You give short and simple answers, making sure to skip over the Stacey incident, and tell her you’re going to shower before you leave. She’s happy you’re at least going tonight.

By the time you finish, you showered and changed into more comfortable clothes. You managed to talk yourself off the metaphorical cliff – you’ll stay for one movie and drive separately so you can make an early escape.

You haven’t figured out a way to feel normal once you step back inside his house and when you park on the curb, that feeling of dread consumes you.

You turn the car off but stay sitting for a few seconds as you stare at the house. A month ago, it was your house – your home. Now you’re knocking for someone to let you in. It’s a saddening difference and it just makes you regret coming even more.

You’re five seconds from starting the car and leaving before Nancy knocks on your window, Jonathan next to her. She urges you to get out and you can see the look on her face – the one that’s reading into your every move and it’s obvious she’s worried.

So you gather your things and pull yourself together.

Robin is the one to let you guys in and you glance behind you to see if Steve’s car was in the driveway.

Relief sits heavy in your chest when you see the maroon car.

You follow behind Nancy wordlessly but when you see El peak her head around the corner, Mike lingering next to her, it’s hard to fight your smile – because you really did miss them.

She rushes to you, practically dragging you further into the house and to where she claimed her spot on the floor.

Max and Lucas have their own setup next to El and Mike’s and they’re completely engrossed in their own conversation. Dustin has taken over the recliner on the other side of the room, and Eddie takes the end of the couch closest to him.

Nancy and Jonathan settle into the longer couch, and Robin sits on the obnoxiously big beanbag chair she begged Steve to buy her for Christmas last year.

You still haven’t seen Steve, and you wonder if he did choose to skip out and hide in his room.

You take the chance to look further around the living room. It almost looks like nothing has changed. The furniture is still set up the same way, the color palette is still warm and full.

The posed family pictures he once had with his parents are still replaced with pictures of the group across the room. But when you continue looking around, your heart sinks.

Because all the pictures he had of just you and him are still there.

A picture of you and him at the beach sits on the coffee table. One of you two hugging at graduation hangs on the wall beside the TV. Another one of just you, smiling up at the camera at your birthday two years ago is sitting front and center on the fireplace.

Your throat burns and you feel it begin to tighten. You never really let yourself think of the possibility that he hasn’t moved on either. Leaving of group photos was one thing, but the ones of you both? The one of only you?

It’s all too much and it’s slowly breaking your resolve. It’s only proving the fact that the breakup was all for nothing and if you weren’t so damn prideful, you could’ve fixed it.

Suddenly, Steve emerges from the kitchen with his hands full. He’s holding three different bowls of popcorn and bags of chips and candy tucked into his arms.

Your eyes meet and for just a second, he halts. He looks surprised you actually showed and you don’t blame him. Still, he gives you a half smile and you try your best to mirror it.

Dustin jumps from his spot on the seat and makes grabby hands at the snacks Steve holds. Eddie leans up and helps pass them out and you watch Steve swat Dustin’s hands away as he tries to steal everything.

Beside you, El talks your ear off and you’re eager to welcome the distraction. Otherwise, you would’ve spent the whole night staring at Steve.

Before long, Robin starts the movie and Mike begins to argue with Dustin about being quiet. There’s bickering, and laughing, and food being thrown but it feels nice. Happy even.

Steve ends up settling almost directly behind you on the couch. His elbow sits on the arm rest to his left and your back is directly against the foot of the couch. His legs are almost touching your shoulder. Neither of you say anything.

But even though you’re having a good time and aren’t completely regretting coming, you’re painfully aware of how close Steve is. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the smell of his cologne is almost all you can focus on. Your hand twitches in your lap – begging you to hold onto his ankle and lean your head onto his thigh.

And as you watch the movie, your eyes keep finding the picture of you two at graduation. Steve has you pulled back into his chest, his arms iron clad around you. He’s resting his chin on your shoulder and you’re holding both your diplomas up at the camera. Your shared smiles gleam back at you and it’s enough to make you smile in real time.

It’s also enough to make you sad all over again.

Because it’s not your reality anymore, and you’re not sure it ever will be.

Somehow you end up staying through three movies. By the time credits roll on the last one, everyone is asleep. Mike’s leaning against the wall, his neck bent in a way that’ll leave him with a cramp in the morning, and El’s head resting in his lap.

Max and Lucas are sprawled along the floor across from them, one of his arms tucked under her head. Dustin has his face smushed into a pillow, one arm and one leg hanging off the side of the chair. Eddie is slumped beside him, drool pooling at his mouth.

Robin is curled into a ball on her beanbag chair, quietly snoring. Nancy and Jonathan are curled into each other on their side of the couch. You’re too scared to turn and look at Steve, but he hasn’t moved a muscle in an hour so you’re sure he’s asleep too.

It’s the perfect time to slip out undetected.

Carefully, you push yourself off the floor. It’s a mess around the room and even in a rush, you feel bad just leaving things the way they are. So you grab the bowls and snacks from the coffee table and move towards the kitchen.

“Let me help,”

Steve’s voice startles you so much that you drop the bags of candy to the floor, your palm covering your mouth to minimize the scream ready to slip out.

His eyes widen and he smiles. “Sorry, sorry,”

You exhale and it’s hard not to smile back.

He doesn’t look like he’d been asleep at all, which means he probably just sat there thinking the same thing you were. His hair is a little messy, a few pieces covering his forehead and you’re itching to fix it.

He leans down to pick up the bags and you go back to picking up the cups and bowls. You’re both careful not to wake anyone else as you carry everything to the kitchen.

It’s domestic – the way you fall back into rhythm of cleaning. Steve takes care of the dirty dishes and you begin putting the snacks back into the pantry.

When everything is cleaned, you’re unsure what to do next. At first, you figured you’d clean and leave without having to talk to anyone but now, you’re left alone with only him and he’s looking at you like that again and it’s hard to think properly.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, facing each other. He has one hand resting on the counter, tapping his finger on the granite. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth.

“I, uh, I should go,” You finally say.

“You don’t have to,” He replies easily. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be driving right now,”

You glance at the clock on the stove and it reads back 2:19AM.

He was sweet for offering but it wasn’t far and the last thing you wanted was to prolong the inevitable awkwardness that would come in the morning.

Steve notices your apprehension easily. “You can take the guest room and leave first thing in the morning,”

Your head is screaming at you to say no thank you. To bid him a farewell and get home as quickly as possible. Your heart, however, is begging you to accept and take the chance to be close to him – even just for one night.

And you’re sick of sleeping on Nancy’s couch.

“Okay,” You nod.

His face lights up, a smile covering his mouth. “Okay.” He repeats.

Quietly, he shuts off the lights and TV before setting off upstairs. You follow behind him and when you make it down the hall, you both stop in front of his bedroom door. He turns around to face you.

“Uh, guest rooms right there,” He points at the door across the hall. “Bathroom is just down the hall. Second door on the -,”

“I know,” You cut him off and he nods quickly.

“Right, yeah. Of course,”

It’s awkward to say the least, but it’s not unkind. It’s nice to hear him talk again, even if it’s just telling you where things were.

You stare at each other for a moment. The clock in the hall ticks loudly and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

You break first. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

You enter the room and seconds later, hear his bedroom door click shut.

The guest bedroom is dull. There’s no pictures along the wall, only a painting of a red Cadillac from the 70s. There’s beige curtains covering the window and a matching beige bedspread on the mattress. There’s a small lamp on the bedside table and a desk on the opposite wall.

It’s a drastic contrast from Steve’s bedroom – especially after you helped get rid of his matching striped curtains and wallpaper.

It feels cold and lonely.

But you climb into bed anyway and do your best to stop thinking about how much better you’d sleep with him next to you.

On the other side of the wall, Steve lays on his own bed and feels the same way. His room hasn’t felt like his room since the day you left and now that he knows you’re so close, he’s using all his strength not to climb into bed with you.

He’s spent the last month trying to convince himself if he let you have some space, things would get better and you’d come back to him. To him, it was never a breakup – just a stupid stepping stone in your relationship.

But as the days passed, you pulled further away from him, and next thing he knew, the boys were coming over and packing up your things. He wanted to fight them on it, actually he tried – but then Mike said it was your idea and suddenly everything felt too real.

Maybe he fucked up so bad you were fed up. He thought about showing up to Nancy’s, thought about begging you to come home, but he didn’t want you to feel cornered. So he backed off.

But then he saw the way you reacted when you saw him with Stacey.

It’s not like it meant anything – it took her writing her number on him to realize she was flirting with him, all because he couldn’t stop staring at you. After he tried to talk to you about it, he spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying to scrub it off his skin. And you saw the remnants stained onto his arm later that night.

He didn’t want you to feel jealous or upset over it, he didn’t plan on ever calling her, but a small part inside of him felt relieved you did feel like that. At least you still felt something for him.

And he knew what you were thinking all night as he watched your eyes filter back to the pictures of you two. He didn’t leave them up to prove something, he just couldn’t stand the thought of taking them down. You would always be his, no matter what.

Still, the argument escalated so quickly because of him and he had to make sure if – when – you came back to him, it was on your terms. He wouldn’t rush you.

So he offered the guest room and hoped that would be the first step into forgiveness.

It’s maybe an hour after he’s climbed into bed when he hears the faint sound of .. crying?  

His ears perk up and he leans up on his elbows, turning his head towards the door. He listens for a moment but all he hears is the ticking of the clock.

He thinks he must have imagined it until he hears it again.

It’s still quiet, and easy to miss if he wasn’t already awake, but he can hear it – and it’s familiar.

It’s you.

It’s a cry he’s heard a hundred times over the years. It’s soft, and not the same one that comes from you during a sad movie - it’s fear.

He knows what’s causing it – your nightmares used to be overwhelming but ever since you moved in with him two years ago, they’ve become less frequent. Having him next to you was enough to tether you to reality and comfort you.

But now he hasn’t been there. Have you been dealing with them ever since you left? All the while he’s been making you feel like you should be gone.

His feet are moving before he even has a chance to think – like his body was made with a built in magnetic connected to you. He pulls his door open and pads directly across the hall to your door.

He presses his ear to the door and can hear your crying more clearly. They’re still quiet but they sound more intense now. His hand curls around the handle but then he hesitates.

Should he be the one to comfort you? Should he get Nancy to instead? Would you want him?

When he hears you cry out again, this time louder, he pushes the door open. The light from the hall shines through the doorway and he finds her curled in on yourself, sheets skewed across the bed. He can see you shivering, your brows pulled tight, creasing the beautiful skin of your forehead. He sees your skin is flushed red and your cheeks are stained with tears.

Guilt sits in his chest and without thinking, he’s climbing into bed with you. The mattress dips below his weight and he slides one arm under your head and pulls you from your fetal position so you’re facing him instead. He pulls you into his chest, an arm curled around your shoulders and the other cupping your cheek.

His warmth transfers to you, and as if you were searching for him the entire time, your body instantly relaxes in his hold. Your shaking stops, a soft sigh escapes past your lips, and your hand raises to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt.

You watches the way you bury your face into his chest, the crease between your brows disappears, and he hears the soft melody of your voice.

“Steve..” You don’t say his name as a question – he’s pretty sure you’re still not even awake. It’s relief. Even unconscious, you were given comfort again and you knew with absolute certainty, that comfort was him.

He feels his heart contract in his chest and he tightens his hold on you. “It’s me, baby,” He says softly, lips touching your hairline. “You’re safe, I got you.”

As he holds you in his arms, he knows without an ounce of doubt, he’s never letting go again. Nothing is completely fixed and won’t be overnight but when morning comes, he’s going to tell you exactly this.

He won’t ever let you forget how much he loves you.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re practically shackled to the bed by Steve’s arms. They’re wrapped tightly around your waist and his cheek is resting against the top of your head.

Confusion takes hold of you immediately, but you don’t pull away from his hold. If anything, you burrow yourself deeper into his head but it’s enough to make him stir and groan quietly.

Internally, you’re cursing at yourself for moving even an inch but then his hold tightens around you – if that was even possible. You can feel his head lift from where it rested atop of yours and you hold your breath.

“Hey, you awake?” His morning voice is gruff and it makes your stomach swirl. You hesitate for a second before giving him a timid nod.

“Mhm..”

He pulls his arms apart but only enough to spread his palms over your arms, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your skin.

Silence settles over the room, only the sound of your  breathing and the sound of his heart beating in your ear. It feels normal again.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says suddenly and your stomach drops. “Last night. That’s why I came in,”

You sigh softly, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment.

“I’m-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “No, don’t apologize. Seriously.” His tone leaves no room for arguing.

You’re both blanketed in silence again but for the first time in weeks, it’s not uncomfortable. The feeling of his arms around you again, your body tucked perfectly against his – it feels warm and safe and grounding.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, fingers tracing shapes over his shirt covered chest.

“You don’t need to thank me either, baby,”

The pet name slips out so casually and your heart splits in two, but you grip his shirt even tighter. Steve picks up on your reaction and gently cups your face, encouraging you to look up at him.

You’re more than sure you look disgusting – bags under your eyes, and they’re probably puffy from crying in your sleep, cheeks flushed pink, hair a tousled mess – but he doesn’t look at you like you do, even for a second.

Steve looks down at you like you hung the fucking moon and stars. It’s intense enough to have you nearly shying away but he holds you firmly in place.

“I’m sorry about everything,” He says and you blink up at him. “This past month without you has been fucking hell. And seeing you last night, I don’t ever want you to deal with that alone.”

Tears well in your eyes almost immediately and when one slips down your cheek, he swipes it away gently.

“I love you so much and I don’t want to spend even another  second without –.” Steve makes a surprise sound when you cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

He recovers quickly, arms pulling you tighter into his chest and kissing you back just as hard. Every ounce of emotion you’ve kept bottled up are poured into this kiss and as he keeps kissing you, he’s gently wiping away the tears falling from your eyes.

When you finally pull away for air, you don’t go far – you rest your forehead against his and smile.

“I don’t want to be without you either.” You whisper softly.

Steve’s smile is bright and he quickly tosses you onto your back before he hovers over you, sweetly attacking your face with more kisses.

You’re giggling against him as his lips extend down to your neck and there’s not a doubt in your mind that you’ve ever been happier and as long as he’s right next to you, you always will be.

[velvetciders]

i’ll be here

𖦹 gator was turning into everything his father told him not to be. soft. but he couldn’t help it when thunderstorms rolled in and you were afraid.

warnings: mention of physical abuse (not from gator). established relationship

wc: 2.7k

۶ৎ wanted to write this cus i miss gator ugh THANK YOU SO MUCH for 500 followers! love you guys <3 reqs open!

you think rainy days in stark county were your favorite. it was always cold, comforting, and it steered your mind off from work when you cozy in your own shared area- smiling at the thought of staying home with gator when it got cloudy.

it was the quiet that made your heart settle. at home with him, it was always there but not, regardless if it rained. he loved you so hardly that even quietness reminded you of how much you meant to him.

soft kisses when you passed him in the house. arms wrapped around you for even a second. your eyes meeting his across the room. his light kiss to your forehead when you stir awake.

it was all there and it quickly reminded you that life was something to look forward too. your life was rocky, and so was his. but it all came together into this one beautiful piece and resulted in the two of you. together. there.

to be fair, gator couldn’t get enough of you. you were a woman that loved him for him, no bullshit, no strings. you knew he liked being chosen, and that’s what your heart knew it wanted. he always wanted you there, to hear your voice that broke his walls down and allowed him to not look around for danger.

nights like these only made him love you closer.

heavy raindrops pattered against the window of your home. the home you worked with gator to earn, a safe space just for you two and no one else- it always smelled like a mix of his wood cologne and your vanilla candles.

it was his and yours. thats what it would always be.

your back was firmly pressed against his chest, the two of you laying on the couch with the tv quietly on, your mind relaxed. his fingertips were just under the waistband of your shorts, his warmth tingling your skin.

it was a lazy afternoon. you made dinner, his favorite, and the two of you went to cuddle on the couch right after. with kisses in between, always, because gator thought that it was priority.

you could feel his breath softly against the side of your face when you settled closer. your legs were tangled with his and in this moment, it felt like something meant to be.

like every moment in your life earned up to this.

with your so very devoted boyfriend who held you tighter everytime you readjusted. and he touched you like you were a ghost, like you could vanish any second- because he wouldn’t know how to navigate through life without you.

his eyes trained to the tv.

“this show is stupid.” he mumbles with his eyes squinting at the love show.

“it’s romantic.” you giggle.

“eh.” he says. “people watch this crap?”

his thumb started to trail just above your underwear. he always did that, like habit, to prove himself you were there. it never meant anything further than that- just to stabilize him and ground his heart.

“you can’t be saying that when you take pictures of us kissing.” you say. “that’s like what their doing.”

he huffs but you could hear his smile, “that’s just for us though. gotta capture my sweet girl.”

you smile and look back at the screen.

“it’s nice to see strangers fall in love.”

“you watch the weirdest shit, i swear baby. why see all that when you got this right here?” he gently squeezes your cheek.

you curl yourself more inward into him, a pink hue seeping onto your cheeks, eyes gleaming. he saw your ears turn pink and he chuckled, placing a soft kiss to them.

“…i love you so much.” he whispers against your ear, sweet and honest, “drives me damn crazy.”

you turned slightly and gazed at him.

“i love you too gate.”

he smiled at that. it affected him the same way, no matter how many times you said it, because it was proof to him that you were honest.

your fingers lightly trail over his arms, over the very moles that you woke up to seeing every morning. the ones that made your heart flip.

gator was affectionate openly. he liked that the town, the officers, saw how serious he was about his girl. it was almost in a possessive way- with his hands tight around you and his eyes sharp, but you never pretended that you didn’t enjoy it.

you were gators. and life was working out.

but open moments like this, the vulnerable and quiet ones, was when he truly showed himself. he didn’t put on a show for anyone and his guard wasn’t up all the time. his shoulders stopped tensing. he was the one with tired eyes and soft words, his hands clingy onto you because touch just wasn’t something he was used to. he made you feel loved. and you did the same.

he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head before slowly getting up.

“ice cream.” he hums before padding to the kitchen, revealing his toned back and his boxers.

you watch him for a moment, his side profile portrayed with content, before looking back at the screen.

it was calm for a moment, the sound of the tv making your eyelids feel heavy and your body sink into the spot where gator was. suddenly a light white flash struck throughout the whole house from the windows and it made your heart jump.

“oh shit!” you hear gator chuckle from the kitchen but it didn’t compute to you.

because immediately after, a loud boom and rumble blasted from outside. it was striking and it happened so quick. the way it sounded, like a snap, so unexpected and helpless- it made you jump on instinct.

before you could take a deep breath, another one struck. and then another, like a wave that wouldn’t let you go.

you pulled the blanket over your lap and curled into a ball- fingers and head starting to shake everytime it turned loud.

your eyes were on the ground and in between your legs, trying to muffle the noise- when you heard gators quick footsteps over to you.

“bunny.” he says quietly and sits next to you. he didn’t even have the ice cream and that’s when you knew he realized what truly happened.

“hey, cmon. lemme see your face.” he says in such a soothing whisper that it deepened the tears swelling in your eyes. “it’s okay, just me.”

you turn your head, cheek smushed to your knee, eyes meeting his.

his shoulders immediately dropped in sadness, a frown lingering on his face when he saw your red eyes.

“oh bun.” he sighs, pushes your hair away and tugs you into his arms.

“your okay, it’s okay.” he whispers. “cmere.”

and with the soft kiss to your forehead, you broke down. his lips stayed there, continued light pecks, as your body shook into his. tears stained into his skin and he didn’t bother. he never did.

his hand splayed right under your shirt, above your breast, and gently squeezed. “baby, breathe.. you can do it. your heart is goin’ too fast.”

he was so very patient. it almost made you guilty.

because as much as he experienced similar abuse from a father, he was tough and was in the process of looking past it. it was still hard for you, and it took you a while to open up to him and feel vulnerable. staying strong for him was always hard.

“g-gator.” your voice cracks.

“i know. nothin’s gonna happen to you, promise.”

moments like these, when the memories flooded back, is when you truly saw the side of gator that belonged only in the house. he truly was a man without any judgement, especially for you, and you knew it. you could break down, be yourself, act stupid- and he’d still look up at you like you were life’s purpose. it only made you cry even more.

because his gentle touch, his soft words, was so unlikely in your life. it was always loud, hard physical contact, hands hidden behind your back but shaking.

now that you’ve been with gator for almost a year, he knew how to act in these moments.

he learned what comforted you, what made you feel a little lighter, and what not to do if you were close to snapping. he never ever considered it a chore, or a burden, but you apologized everytime.

“i’m.. god. i-im sorry.” you hiccup, head slowly leaning back to nudge your nose to his chin.

he shakes his head.

“don’t do that.” he whispers. “no sorry’s, okay? i’ve told you this before, nothin’ to be sorry bout.”

he consoled but it was never laced with frustration. conveniently, the thunder stopped and he looked around the house, his grip never faltering.

“see? it’s gone, baby. just the rain- you like the rain.”

you could tell he was trying to encourage you and it shattered your heart.

he leans down and kisses the bridge of your nose. but your frown was still there, tears still trailing down. his eyebrows furrowed in sadness once again, and it was almost like he knew what you were thinking.

“please don’t be sorry, bunny. it’s totally okay for ya to react like that. hell, that happens to me too.” he says.

“over stupid thunder?” you sniff.

he shakes his head.

“it’s not stupid.. it’s loud, and scary, and totally surprising.” his fingers trail in your hair, “it’s so unfair you get reminded of that.”

“i’m so tired of thinking about it.” you whisper. “about him.”

“i know baby.” his hand trails over your arm, tugging you closer. “but you’re not alone, kay? you’re not.”

“and it doesn’t define you, not one bit. ya got so much ahead of you, bunny, and i wanna be there every second. m’ so proud of you- my strong girl.”

he whispers that in between soft kisses to your ear and you felt a lump in your throat. he seemed to take away the clouded thoughts in your mind so quickly, and you were fathomed by how quick he did it.

your finger brushed over his knuckles and he let you, kissing the side of your head that went back to bury itself in between your knees again.

“hey.” he whispers. “i wanna see you.”

it was patient but you knew he wasn’t gonna let down, your stomach feeling empty with guilt. you look at him again. and you saw the frown that was still there. so you curled yourself into his body again, nestling closer until his back rested against the couch and held you as you curled into a ball on his lap.

“you’re the strongest girl i know.” he starts to whisper, “every day i wake up and i can’t even wrap my head ‘round how i gotcha. and m’ so fuckin lucky for you, bunny.”

you blink and you didn’t even know what to say, even if he’s said things like this in the past. your forehead brushes his chin and you decide to stay there. safe and guarded in his arms.

“gator?”

“hm?”

“thank you.” you say so quietly it almost got stuck in your throat. you felt like crying all over again.

his cheeks lightened and he titled his head down to meet yours, meeting his lips to yours in response. it was slow, and his lips felt so cushioned against you, so stable that it seemed impossible to move away.

the way he was with you would send the town straight into their graves. the gator who’s heart was cold ever since he was a child, the boy who you “watched out for”, was now kissing you deeper into the couch with a feather light touch on your cheek, smiling so softly against you.

and you loved every second of if.

because in the end, gator loved being needed. he loved seeing you melt into his arms every day after work, mumbling how much you missed him. that feeling settled and stayed deep in his heart, and it portrayed in moments like these.

you slowly pull away with your nose nudged to his.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you.” you whisper with a small frown, “you’ve helped me so much, gator. through everything.”

“…m’ just there for you.”

“it’s more than that.”

he takes a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“it’s easy cus i love ya.” he hums, “you know m’ not normal for this.”

“well, you’re doing perfect.”

you smile and so does he.

he smiled because he knew this is what he was meant for his whole life, and it’s been hidden away. loving someone and being loved, being his true self around you. you could just see it in the way he looked at you. you leaned down and kissed him, he kissed you, and it repeated all over again.

like routine, like home.

the noise of rain eventually settled quietly on the window and so did the lingering tears on your cheeks.

you curled back into his arms, your hands sliding up his warm chest- fingers grazing the hair splayed onto it. you smiled and stared, leaning to kiss his collarbone. his arm scooped you higher up from your butt and you straddled him, forehead pressed to his.

“how ya feeling?” he whispers, fluttering his eyelashes up at you.

“better.” you hum, hugging around his neck, the tv still faintly playing.

he slowly pulled his head back and rests it against the couch, getting a full view of you on his lap. it always had your cheeks pink when you saw his pupils dialated, and his lips slightly parted with a small smile forming.

“i know i’ve said it but i can’t believe your mine.” he says.

your stomach flutters.

“…course i’d be yours.” you respond, “you know me better than anyone.”

he nods and his fingers lightly trace over your thighs and under your shorts, getting his hand firm and warm on your skin.

“i just.. i really love you, bun.” he says quieter this time, scared. “don’t wanna lose ya.”

you frown and lean closer to him, connecting your lips to his in a silent promise. he immediately melted and you could feel his body untense, his creased eyebrows now resting with peacefulness.

“you’re never losing me.” you whisper, “what you did just a few minutes ago? i could’ve never done that on my own, cus i’m still scared. and i know i wanna stay. with you, in our home.”

he blinks at that and nods, his lips a fine line as he processes that this was so very real. that he had a women right in his lap whose heart was so big for him, who needed his love after everyone else didn’t want it.

he cups the back of your head and brings you to his lips.

“my sweet girl.” he whispers against you, his tone laced with admiration for who you were today, even after everything.

the tv continued to play episode after episode, but you two didn’t bother giving it any attention. his back layed on the couch and you were sprawled above him, his hands gently resting under your shorts and over your butt.

the rain picked back up again like it always did, and it immediately made your eyes feel heavy. you felt his rough fingers trail on your scalp, gently scratching it and tracing it. the gesture put you to sleep, your lips parting over his chest and his pressing to your forehead.

because no matter what happened in his life, it would always lead back to this.

he wasted so much of his life denying that love was something rare, and it only came out for the good people. he felt nothing like good.

but he realized that all this waiting and ignoring resulted in where he was right now, in his own home with his own girl- fufilling the promises of the world that he never thought would come.

he watched you for a few moments as you fell asleep, touching the cold goosebumps that trailed along your back, seeing the way your cheeks still stayed pink.

gator quickly drifted off right after you, his arms tight around your body and his guard completely down, like how it was supposed to be.

this was your life now. and it was his. with constant support and a type of softness that felt special between you two. right in this moment of the comfort of your own house, falling asleep to the sound of rain and the tv.

this is where he wanted to stay.

[tinfoileddd]

closet encounters

mean!steve harrington x fem!reader (18+; MDNI; 2.3k words)

Your asshole coworker is in a bad mood. Maybe you can help.

cw: mean!steve, reader being mean back, blowjobs, face fucking, dacryphilia, maybe degradation if you squint, cumming in mouth, making out -> big big thank you to jess and kelsey for offering suggestions/proofreading, to blaize for the advice, maddie for offering to proofread before we got sidetracked, and everyone else who was supportive as i kept yelling "what the fuck do i know about writing mean steve" <3 art is a collaborative process and this work has truly been a collaborative piece masterlist || divider by @/saradika-graphics || ao3 link

By the time you stumble your way through the doors of the station — twenty minutes late, scarf tangled around your neck and coat slipping from your shoulders — you think that the worst part of your day is over. Even if your car stalled out several times on the drive to work, even if you somehow hit every red light in Hawkins, even if the military randomly closed a road that forced you to detour, you managed to make it to the Squawk in one piece.

And then you see Robin in the booth, cringing as Steve inaudibly rants about something, and you freeze. You know that look, and when she meets your eye through the glass and slowly shakes her head, your stomach drops completely.

Bad day, she mouths.

Which, honestly, could mean a myriad of things when it comes to Steve Harrington.

The humidity was too high? He was annoyed. The Colts didn’t win a game? He was sulking. The universe didn’t align to his every whim and need? He was pissed and he was going to make it everyone else’s problem.

And tonight, this was your issue, because you were scheduled to work the closing shift with Steve.

Great.

Robin says something to him that you don’t hear before slipping out of the booth, scurrying over to where you’re hanging your belongings up on the coatrack and hurriedly whispers, “He was up all night trying to find Dustin again, got no sleep. Rare form today.”

“I don’t understand how you’re friends with him,” you whisper back, letting your purse fall to the ground. “He’s an asshole, Rob.”

She makes a face, tilting her hand back and forth in the air as if to say, well…

“Steve’s a good guy when you get to know him,” she settles on saying. “Anyway, I have to run or I’ll miss my date. Have fun, be nice, and don’t kill each other, alright?”

“No promises,” you mutter, and Robin laughs as she skips out the door.

Steve is, if possible, even more irate when you slip into the booth, avoiding eye contact and gunning for the chair, hoping to keep conversation to the minimum for the next six hours.

He, on the other hand, has no such desire.

“Do you not know how to show up to work on time?” he huffs out. “Seriously, a couple of minutes is one thing, but half an hour—”

“And spend more time with your sparkling personality than I have to?” you snap without looking at him. “I think not. Besides, it’s not as though I suddenly have control over what the hell the military is doing.”

“It’s called planning,” he snarks.

You breathe in, once, sharply, and bite your tongue.

But Steve isn’t content to simply drop it, the way he’s never been content to drop it. And honestly, you don’t pretend to understand the intricacies of his life; You understand that he looks out for a bunch of kids, that one of them is in a coma, that another one is going off the deep end and taking all of his grief out on Steve. And at one point in time, that would’ve been more than enough for you to give him your deepest sympathies, to extend a level of grace only given to the most extreme of cases.

Except—

Then you’d met Steve, and he’d taken one look at you, wrinkled his nose, and asked Robin, “Did we really need to hire someone else?”

Your relationship hadn’t been anything better than adversarial ever since.

“—could take your job a little more seriously,” he continues to rant. “It’s not exactly like we’re flush with cash around here, and it’s not like there’s a shortage of people looking for jobs—”

The chair you’re sitting in scrapes against the floor as you stand abruptly, whirling around to find Steve standing entirely too close.

You see red, demanding, “God, what will it take for you to just shut up?”

Steve grins. “You could suck my dick.”

There’s a moment where the two of you are left standing there, chest to chest, nose to nose, and you can see the dare in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. The fact that he doesn’t actually mean it, but he wants to push your buttons, to get you to react more than you ever have before.

He doesn’t have any intentions on you calling his bluff, and you’re determined to not lose this game.

“Fine,” you say sweetly. You move past him, snagging his wrist as you do. “But not in here. I don’t think Robin would be too happy if she found out.”

For the first time tonight, Steve doesn’t have a response. He doesn’t even fight you as you drag him along to a nearby closet, yanking the door open, shoving him in, and slamming it shut behind you. The room is plunged into darkness and you feel your way over to him, your fingers grazing the soft material of his sweatshirt. 

His hands find your waist, skimming up your sides until his palms are pressed into your cheeks, his breath hot on your lips, but before he can get any bright ideas, you say, “I said I’d suck your dick, not make out with you.”

You can practically feel his frown as he shifts his hands back, tangling them with your hair. 

“Fine,” he says shortly. “Then do it.”

That’s all the warning you get before you’re pushed to your knees.

You don’t waste any time reaching for his belt, undoing it with shaky hands as he continues to run his fingers through your hair, tugging at the roots the smallest amount when you pull his jeans and boxers down just enough to take him in hand.

A gasp gets caught in your throat when, even half hard, your thumb and pointer finger barely meet.

He lets out a throaty laugh. “Find something you like?”

“Fuck you.”

His fingers tighten in your hair. “Do you ever shut up? God.”

And as his thumb traces a path down your jaw, stopping just as it reaches your lips, you spit out, “Make me.”

His grip on your chin tightens as his thumb dips between your teeth, pressing down on your tongue and drawing your mouth open. Spit pools as you give him a few rough pumps, the tip of his cock jutting against your chin. He drops his other hand, then, placing it over yours as he taps the tip against your lips.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he says, pulling his thumb back and guiding himself in.

The heady taste of precome spreads across your tastebuds as he sinks into your mouth, his cock sliding over your tongue as you take him deeper. He lets out a low grunt, and for a moment, you wish that you’d had the foresight to turn the light on so you could see the face he’s making as he hits the back of your throat.

You gag and he lets out a quiet whimper as you pull back, instinctively looking up and wishing that he could see you as well. But even just hearing the sounds he’s making — you can imagine the wrecked look on his face, the flush spreading across his cheeks, and it’s enough to have arousal coursing through your own body.

(Because even though he acts like he has the power in this situation, you both know well enough that you’re the one wielding the proverbial blade.)

He guides you back down, muttering a curse when you take him just a little bit deeper, swallowing down your gag reflex as your hand twists around the base of his cock. 

And for all of the hell you gave him over everything, you find that you don’t quite mind letting him set the pace. There’s something intoxicating about the precome spilling onto your tongue as you hollow your cheeks, smiling when he moans, and all at once, he grips you by the roots of your hair and thrusts in.

“You can take it,” he grunts. “Fucking know you can. Always mouthing off, always getting in my business — well you’re all quiet now, yeah?”

Despite yourself, you nod, your hands sliding down to hold his thighs as he fucks your face, tears welling int he corners of your eyes. It should be humiliating to let yourself be used like this, to let your asshole coworker treat your body like an object for his own pleasure, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when all of this is turning you on as well.

One tear slips down your cheek, and then two, and in a move that’ll no doubt have you reeling for weeks, his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb gently wiping away the wetness gathered there, even as he continues to use your mouth for his own pleasure.

“Just like that,” he says, voice dropping. “You like this, don’t you?”

You hum around his cock, wrapping your arm around his leg to pull him in even closer, to take him even deeper. He swears loudly when the tip of your nose brushes against his bush, and you only manage to hold him there for a few seconds before you’re forced to release, dizzy as you gasp for air.

You sit there, panting, and before Steve can even move, you pull him back closer, desperate to take him even deeper — to take him all the way — to have the exhilarating feeling of choking on his cock pull you further into the depravity you’ve found yourself in. He makes a noise of surprise when you repeat the motion, your nose pressing into his pelvis as he mutters fuck fuck fuck, and you whine when he pulls you off.

“You wanna choke on it that bad, huh?” he asks, condescending and sweet at the same time. “Wanna cry some more for me?”

“Fuck you,” you say, already reaching for his cock again.

But he doesn’t let you.

One hand grips your hair even tighter as he tilts your head back while the other slaps the tip of his cock against your lips, saying, “Open up for me. Gonna see what that bratty mouth of yours can do, yeah? Gonna make me feel good?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, though, before he bullies his way in, setting a brutal pace as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. More tears spill down your cheeks at the pressure, but there’s no part of you that can deny how good it feels either. To be used without care, to have someone’s aggression taken out on you. Your clit throbs at the thought of doing something more, of seeing what else he can do when he’s as pent up as he has been for months.

He laughs when you gag. “Who knew that all I had to do to get you to be a little nicer to me was use your mouth?”

You pinch his thigh in retaliation — you’ve been perfectly nice, thank you very much — and in response, he presses even further down your throat.

“Gonna let me come in your mouth?” His voice comes out a little more ragged, a little more choppy as his hips stutter.

You nod (as much as you can, anyway, with his thick length prying your jaw apart) and he makes a contented sound, smoothing your hair away from your face in a way that’s entirely at odds with how roughly he’s using your mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Thought so.”

His hand curls into your hair as he presses his front against your face, your nose grinding into it. You squeeze your eyes closed as the head of his cock nears the back of your throat, and then you feel it — the way he fills your mouth and throat, his come flooding it as he finishes deep within you. He pulls back and the last few spurts land on your tongue, mix with the rest already dripping down your throat, and your tongue presses against the underside of his length as you swallow.

You sit there for a moment, the only sound being made is that of your panting, before he pulls you up suddenly, fingers digging into your forearms, his lips crashing into yours. A startled noise escapes you as he presses you back into the wall, hands scrabbling for stability, and in the next moment, he finds the pull chain and the small closet is finally filled with light as he pulls back, his eyes dancing across your face.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, as though he has a reason to be out of breath. “Fuck.”

You open your mouth to retort, to say something, but he only pulls you back in for another kiss, his nose crushing painfully into your cheek and his tongue swiping against your bottom lip.

You let him in.

Steve, it seems, has no issue in tasting his own come in your mouth, eager and willing to explore every corner as you sink further into his hold, your own arms coming around to wrap around his neck. You feel him smile against you, and you can’t stop your own giggles from spilling out when he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth.

And finally, finally, you pull away, chest heaving as you search his face, his brown eyes gazing at you with something more than thinly veiled annoyance for the first time, and a decision is made before you can think it through.

“If you need some stress relief again,” you say, grinning. “Let me know. Might be able to help.”

He huffs out a laugh, dropping his head against your shoulder.

“And next time I’m having a bad day…” You pry his arms from you and slip past him, cracking open the door just the tiniest amount. You glance over your shoulder to find him staring at you in open surprise. “I know who to call.”

A smirk spreads across his face just as you let the door swing shut behind you.

[insomniacpen]

NIGHTMARES

pairing: gator tillman x fem!reader

summary: you have a nightmare about your boyfriend dying and it prompts you to start reflecting on your relationship

wc: 2.1k

warnings/tags: pure fluff, boyfriend!gator, nightmares, imagined violence and guns, implied sex, gator learning physical intimacy :)

a/n: i had a bad nightmare today and im so gator pilled i immediately thought of his reaction. enjoy!!!

. ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹ . ݁

You didn’t wake suddenly. There was no gasping for air, no cold sweats. It was slow. The fade to black at the end of an episode, leaving you on a cliffhanger. But you knew what was coming after the nightmare ended.  You’d seen it clear as day. That gun. All you were left with was a slow, coiling feeling in your gut that you were hyper-aware of. 

Reluctantly, you blinked your eyes open, only to be greeted by the dark open space of your room, images still flashing even then. For a moment, you wondered if you were alone. But then you heard the heavy breathing next to you, and the slightest amount of tension released. Your boyfriend was fine, and fast asleep next to you. And that was rare. You closed your eyes again, praying it would go away. That you could just bury yourself deeper under your blanket and drift back to sleep. But it didn’t work. All that played in your head was that gun. Pointed at Gator. The slow-motion as the man pulled that trigger. In your own home. Your throat felt dry, and your stomach continued to twist. You threw your eyes open again, a frustrated exhale falling from your nose. Maybe it was the wide open space in front of you. Even though you could feel Gator’s presence behind you, you couldn’t see it, and that was making you paranoid. It was like…bad chi or something. The problem was, Gator was the lightest sleeper you’d ever met, and with the late nights and early mornings, you knew he barely got the chance to even try. Slow as you possibly could, you turned yourself around. Still, the bed shook. Once you successfully turned over to the other side, you watched with baited breath. But Gator didn’t stir. Not once. You had to smile, as you watched his figure rising up and down with each deep breath he took. He was ok. Better than ok, he was finally, truly, resting. So why was your body still reeling like he wasn’t? You wanted so badly to pull him close and breathe his scent in just so you could prove that to yourself. But you weren’t the type of couple to do that and you couldn’t wake him up.

You tried to shut your eyes again and basked in the warmth of Gator’s body next to yours, pretending that sleep would come to you. But you sensed the air, and the distant calling of birds, and knew that no such thing would be happening. Especially when you heard the buzz from the nightstand, indicating it was time for Gator to wake up. You kept your eyes closed as you heard him stir beside you. Even though the relationship was still somewhat new, having a boyfriend that was constantly waking up at the crack of dawn for work, you’d gotten used to sleeping through his departure. And right now, as you felt him flip over, pause for a moment and then press the lightest peck on your forehead, you were almost glad to not be.

Most of the time, Gator wasn’t great at the physical affection — the cuddling, casual hand holding, and kisses were all so alien to him, considering where he’d grown up. You knew that it felt like giving a piece of himself away. That’s why a moment like that, and the naturalness with which he did it, warmed everything inside you. You listened quietly as his feet hit the ground and he padded out of the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, holding back a smile the whole time. He trudged through the house, footsteps far too heavy, but the moment he stepped back into your room he was softer, movements more careful. Still way too loud but you appreciated that he was trying. 

It was when the sunlight began leaking through the windows minutes later that you finally decided to sit up, the warmth of your blanket slipping away as you glanced to where Gator was slicking his hair back. You stared at him, there — all done up in his uniform, the gun sitting on his thigh. You couldn’t believe he had to go out and face this shit everyday. Specifically because the most dangerous part of his job, was the man he worked beside. It came to you again, and you took a deep breath to try and push the worries back. It was just a stupid nightmare. Not real. Not real. Not real. 

“You’re awake?” The sound of Gator’s voice snapped you back into reality as he walked over to you. 

You just hummed, rubbing at your eyes to get out of your still half-dreaming state. “Want me to make you some food before you go?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You could already spot the panic behind his eyes, and you knew he was dreading the day ahead. You were too. “You sure? You should have breakfast.” You tried, desperate to keep him here — safe — for as long as you could. 

“I’m fine. Already late. ’S the weekend, you should sleep.” He muttered, eyes flying over the room to check he had everything. In his mind, he was already at Roy’s feet, responding to whatever orders were given. 

You sighed defeatedly, leaning back on the headboard. “Alright.” But you couldn’t resist, balling a fist into his shirt, and pulling him close. 

“What are you-“ You cut him off with a hard kiss to his lips. When he tried to pull away, you only pulled him back for another and another and another. He smirked against your lips. “Someone’s feelin’ clingy today.”

Usually, you would roll your eyes and shove him away lightly, but today you only whispered. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” He nodded, dumbfounded by your seriousness but too preoccupied to question it. You didn’t take your eyes off him as he stepped out of the room, and as you heard the front door open you sprung to your feet, tracking every step from there to his cruiser through the window. Your eyes didn’t leave the street until the car was a tiny speck in your vision. 

It was just a stupid dream. 

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You’d spent the entire day doing everything you could to forget. By the end of the day, you had deep cleaned your house, reorganized the pantry, and finished about five pages in some mindful coloring you’d scrounged up from the back of your closet. You weren’t feeling very mindful every time you would flinch at random sounds you heard or jump to check any notifications on your phone, wondering if it was Gator. You even called him at lunch, “just to check in.” He’d only laughed and told you to hold tight until he got home. That was hard when it felt like you were falling apart at the seams. 

After an eternity, night finally came. Gator promised he would be home in time for dinner but it was nearing nine and he hadn’t been able to answer your messages. You sat at the dining table, staring down the lasagna you’d made just for him, which was definitely going cold. 

The knock on the door hit like a hard smack. 

That’s how it started. In the dream. Some guy knocking furiously at that door again and again. Gator telling you to hide as he stalked towards the noise. The slam as it came off it’s hinges, and before you knew it, the gun at his face. Your throat felt dry at the thought. 

“Baby, it’s me. I forgot my keys.” 

At the sound of Gator’s voice, all the tension in your body released and you sped for the door. You’d barely opened it halfway before you were dragging him inside, and pouncing on him, lips tracing across his cheeks and neck. He caught you instantly, wrapping your legs around his waist and stumbling to the nearest wall. “What is with you today?”

“You hungry?” You asked, cutting straight to the chase. He shook his head. “You tired?”

And he immediately picked up what you were putting down. “Not for you, mama.” He smirked, guiding you back to your room.

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This was the part that you hated most. The awkward after. Especially after today, all you wanted to do was just be wrapped up in his arms, or better yet, wrap your arms around him. Just something solid. But instead, the two of you lay next to each other, catching your breaths as you stared up at the ceiling. You felt the mattress dip as he turned over to face you. “You’re bein’ loud.” He muttered, and you turned over to him then, genuinely offended. 

“What? I haven’t said anything.”

“Whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours is doing all the talking. Somethin’s been bothering you all day.” His eyes scanned over your face slowly, like he was genuinely worried. 

“It’s nothing Gator.”

He responded with a drawn out, “Mhmmmm,” and you wanted to be mad but he learned that from you. Just as you were about to turn back to the ceiling, he reached for your arm, keeping you still. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” He was so quiet when asked, that you had to give in. 

“I…had a nightmare.” You felt your cheeks getting warm as you said it. All this over something that happened in your mind. “There was this guy and I- He killed you, Gator. It just had me spiralling a little bit.”

His eyebrows furrowed and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to laugh. But he was resisting. “That’s what you were scared about?” “Yes- I mean- Yes.” You caught yourself before you admitted it, not wanting to push his boundaries. Gator, on the other hand had no such idea in mind. 

“What?” He leaned a little closer. You shook your head. “No come on, you were going to say somethin’ else.” 

You sighed. He was your boyfriend, right? The whole point was to be honest. But you were certainly going to avoid eye contact as you said it. “When it happened, the first thing I wanted to do was like, hold you.” 

This time, he did laugh. “Hold me?” You were in too deep to back out now right. “I just worry about you, sometimes, Gator. You have a dangerous job and if something happened to you… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You mumbled. “It feels nice to y’know, be in your arms or have you in mine. Know you’re still here.” You cringed as you said the words, but they were true. Your eyes stayed focused on where your fingers were twisting the bedsheets, much like the way your stomach was twisting as you waited for his response. 

It came moments later; a small exhale and a whispered, “Ok.” 

“What?” You glanced up, eyes going wide as you realized he was being serious. 

“I said ok.” He adjusted himself so that he was laying on his back, arms outstretched. “I don’t want to pressure you into any-”

“Baby, shut the fuck up, and get in my arms.” You didn’t have to be told twice, you settled your head on his chest and swung a leg over his, while his arms came to wrap around you. And god, it felt so nice to hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, breathe in his aftershave, feel enveloped in his warmth. 

Still, his body seemed stiff. “Are you sure this is ok?” 

“I want to do this.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter. “I’m just…” His chest rose and fell underneath you as you took a deep breath. “I’m not used to it.” 

Your heart split in two hearing that. “I’m sorry baby.”  

He didn’t respond to that. “But let’s get somethin' straight…you ain’t holdin’ me, I’m holdin’ you.” 

You chuckled, your hand running gently down his front. “Sure, Gator.” 

Soon enough, his muscles were loosening a little, and his breath slowed down. He buried his nose in your hair, snuggling closer. “Your hair smells nice.” He mumbled. That, in Gator speak, was akin to “I like this.” And he must have, because bit by bit, he started initiating contact more — an arm around you when you made breakfast in the morning, or keeping his hand on your thigh while driving. Little things. But those little things were big to a man who had never known them before. And you were glad, more than anything, to give him a place where he could feel safe. 

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gator tillman taglist: @thesecretoftheswan, @aecd27 , @bells-bookshelf, @st4rg1rl88, @wolfiee10, @haydensheartt, @kristywidget97, @louisbelongstome28, @beth-mirrorball, @s3xytosomeone, @scaramou, @purplequeen64-stuff, @bluezzzzzz, @lacyiris, @cpnsteverogers, @keerygirlie98, @veeweepeeknee, @keer-y, @calelundaa

[aecd27]

♡ the second death ♡

pairing: blind gator tillman x neighbor reader

summary: after being discharged from prison, gator locked himself in isolation—refusing to let anyone hurt him ever again. but when he meets you, his considerate neighbor, he realizes the life he dreams of is guarded by one thing he never felt before. fear.

word count: 4.4k

warnings/tags: blind gator, explicit language, blasphemy, religious themes, brutal angst from gator, petnames, flirting, fluff, strangers to lovers, meet cute?, incorrect use of a mobility cane (not what you think, don't worry)

a/n: hi everyone!! first gator fic, kinda nervous... truth be told, i have not watched fargo. i'm working off fanfiction, edits, and a gator scene pack. hope i captured his character well. this will be the first part of a little mini-series with these two. hope you enjoy!!

Gator Tillman was many things.

Stubborn, overconfident, bigoted—Gator had been called every insult under the sun. Whether it was his father or the town he sherriffed, Gator Tillman was made up of a million flaws. A population of words that lived under his skin, most of which seeped from his blood itself.

But he was not a coward.

Come hell or high water, if Gator Tillman wanted something, he would get it. More often than not, Gator found that his iron-like willpower was reserved for making his father happy—or at least trying to.

He didn't think he worked for anything more than making his father proud of him. Whether Roy had told him to or not, Gator did anything to please him—planting evidence, tracking down Dot, hell, even going after Ole Munch? Gator did it without question.

With all of his determination, he didn't have room for fear—for hesitation. Why would he? It wasn't like he had anything to lose. After all, he was the law—untouchable, invincible.

But being the law couldn't save him this time.

Truth be told, Gator was convinced losing his sight was worse than dying.

He would be able to handle dying. Maybe he would die a martyr and finally earn his father's approval. Even if he died foolishly, he would still be dead. He wouldn't have to live with the guilt, the shame of dying as he lived. Nothing more than a disappointment.

As far as Gator was concerned, dying would be a mercy.

But Gator didn't like thinking about what would happen next. Not spiritually. Not with his soul, or whatever—truth be told, he didn't believe in the afterlife. Heaven, hell, it was all bullshit to him. He had lived in purgatory long enough to know the only fate for him was the one where he would never wake up.

No, Gator was worried about more than where his soul would end up. He was worried about what they would do with his corpse.

Gator already knew he wouldn't be buried with his family. His name would ruin the perfect image casted generations ago—matching headstones all marked with Roy Tillman. Even in his death, Gator would be a burden. Something to be ashamed of rather than cherished.

That was all he knew—how to be a failure.

Even before the incident, Roy's words used to cycle through Gator's mind constantly, punishing Gator for daring to breathe—to live, to be his son in the first place. Despite the torture, Gator remained strong, refusing to let the pain get to him.

As he grew up, Gator learned to think of his heart as a soldier. A soldier needs armour. Protection. Without protection, you allow vulnerability, and a war isn't won with vulnerability.

So Gator lived his life with a bulletproof vest—one he had spent a lifetime weaving into perfection. It was the one thing he hadn't messed up, and Gator would have rather died than allow anyone to see it. He would be damned if he let someone ruin it for him.

If he kept it to himself, no one could scoff in his face and test it out, firing until they found the weak spot.

There were days Gator couldn't handle the weight of the bullets. He was tired of the battlefield, of standing on the frontlines, of this war he was born into—a war of shame and blood that he couldn't wash off for it lived under his skin.

But there was no other option than to live.

It wasn't until he had lost everything that his vest failed. Blind, tortured, and broken down to nothing, his father delivered the fatal blow.

“If there was any use for you, it's gone now.”

Gator could still remember that moment down to the taste of his tears—rare and broken. Discarded on the ground—blind, hopeless, and abandoned by his father—he realized that sight must be the first thing you lose when you die.

When the bullet sinks too far. When you can taste the blood travelling from your gut up to your mouth, iron lingering in between your teeth.

But like everything else, death didn't want Gator. Instead, he was given a life sentence—the punishment the darkness.

Gator didn't know what monster he was in his past life, but if he didn't know any better, he was sure God had taken it out on him in this one—for Gator didn't believe in a devil so cruel.

Now, all he had was his father's voice in his ear.

“If there was any use for you, it's gone now.”

As much as the words killed him—stabbing him in the lung—the twist of the knife was the horror that kept him up at night.

Roy was right.

He was utterly useless now. More incompetent than his father ever claimed he was before. Anything he ever had before was gone—his heart purple now. Injured in the line of duty and sent home to rot.

Gator would never have anything ever again.

And you were proof.

Gator didn't know what torture truly was until he met you. It had been almost two months of knowing you and Gator still wasn't sure how he was breathing.

It was the second of November when he had his first brush with an angel.

He had heard rummaging sounds from his front lawn, catching his attention as he collected the mail from his entryway. It had taken him—well, his parole officer—forever to find a house that met Gator's needs. He had only been there for five months, half of which he spent trying to adjust to his surroundings. Blind and bitter, he stayed inside, resigning himself to a life of isolation. It was better for everyone.

He listened in on the sound from the other side of the door, trying to decipher whether or not it was an animal, or even worse—a person. It wasn't until he had heard a whispered "Goddamn it" that he sprang into action.

Gator rushed to unlock his door, hurtling the door open with all his strength. "The fuck are y'doin' on my lawn!" His shout echoed across the lawn. Damn, he had forgotten how loud he could be—especially in the open, nauseous air. Was it just him, or did something smell?

The gasp that followed quickly refreshed his memory as to why he never went outside. He hated people seeing him, even with his sunglasses, he still felt like a freak show. He heard the same voice from before stutter. "Sorry! Shit, I didn't realize anyone was home—"

"Someone's home. Get off my lawn."

"Sorry, I was just trying to clean up the mess—" Gator's brows furrowed. The mess?

"Fuck y'talkin' 'bout?"

Your voice struggled again. "The—the eggs?"

Gator promptly came to realize what had been invading his senses. "Eggs?" He questioned, covering his nose as he came to recognize the odor.

"Yeah, and the toilet paper? They've been here since Halloween," you answered.

Gator felt anger wash over him before a tsunami of embarrassment took over.

"I'm sorry. I know I should've knocked, but I didn't see a car, so I assumed you were out of town—I'm sorry. It's just I have a thing with smells, and it's been giving me a headache—I didn't mean to overstep or anything…"

Gator couldn't tell if it was out of guilt, annoyance, or some sort of siren song he was trying to avoid that caused him to stop you.

"Stop. Just—stop," he sighed. You immediately went quiet. The silence lingered like static—dragging on until you can't discern whether or not it's getting louder or you're starting to go insane. "How bad is it?" Gator asked.

He could practically hear your following wince. "It's not… good."

Gator groaned, rolling his head. "For fuck's sake—"

"Listen, with the two of us working together, I'm sure we can get it done a lot faster."

Gator scowled. "Two of us? The fuck y'think I need you for?" He spat. Somewhere deep in Gator, he knew he was being unfair—that he was lashing out. You didn't deserve his anger over offering to help.

"I—I don't—" you fumbled for an answer before Gator picked up on you swallowing, as if you were pulling yourself together. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'll go."

The dejected tone in your voice made something in Gator falter. He could practically hear his court-ordered shrink in his head.

"Shutting people out won't prevent the criticism you're scared of."

Scared. The word had lingered where Gator kept his anger, the new vest around his heart—fragile and weak—rippling from the shot.

Gator Tillman was not scared.

He felt the vest absorb the bullet, warping around his soldier.

"Wait," he sighed. "You don't need to go. Just—give me a second." Gator begrudgingly threw his mail in the basket by his shoerack, smoothly swung a nearby baseball cap on his head, and unhooked his cane. He rolled the tip on the ground beneath him, checking for the metal threshold.

Gator felt the static grow louder in his ears as he guided himself down to the grassy lawn. You hadn't said a word since he grabbed his cane.

"What?" He barked, already irritated. His back straightened, his shoulders squaring up, ready to intimidate. Gator Tillman was not scared. Gator Tillman was n—

"You sure you don't wanna put on shoes?"

Gator froze.

What?

No pity? No comment on his cane? Not even a hesitant stutter? He wasn't prepared for someone to be blind to his faults. It felt like his heart had stopped, struggling to adapt to a new atmosphere—one where he wasn't criticized for living.

"I hardly think it's comfortable," you continued, filling in the silence.

Gator cleared his throat, trying to unclog his airways so he could fucking breathe.

"It, er—I… It helps me feel the terrain better." His voice had lost all of its bite. Pathetic. You had him bowing down to you in seconds.

You clicked your tongue, most likely nodding at the explanation. "Fair enough." You replied.

Gator didn't know what to say. Now that he thought about it, he might've been better prepared for social interactions had he not isolated himself for months. You went quiet. He couldn't tell if you expected to reply or not—

"Well, I don't know how we're gonna do this anymore," you sighed. His brows furrowed.

"What d'ya mean?"

He picked up on a second worth of hesitation before you answered. "Well, frankly, I'm not sure how you can help clean up something you can't see." Your response caught Gator off guard. Not because it was mean or cruel—no, he would've expected that, anyway. But it wasn't laced with pity, either. You didn't say it like you were walking on eggshells.

It was… casual. Like you were just saying what you thought instead of carefully arranging your words. It felt refreshing and overwhelming—like the first breath you take after almost drowning.

"I—I can still feel just fine." Gator's throat burned. The words scratched on their way out, clawing against his throat the same way his lies used to. "Y'said there was toilet paper, yeah? I use m'cane to find the toilet paper, you clean up the eggs, done."

"Really, huh?" Your tone sounded lighter. "And how do I know you're not just putting me on egg duty 'cause you don't want to do it?" You teased.

Gator's smile broke across his face like it was a new expression for him, his heart warming despite the chilled air.

"Think that lowly of me already, huh?" Gator teased back. He could feel something inside of him opening, loosening.

"How about we just see how good you are with your cane, hmm?"

"And then?" He inquired, stepping closer to you with a smirk. He didn't even care about your choice of words. If you were anyone else, he probably would've cursed at you for saying "we". But with your warmth radiating so strong he could feel his cheeks flush—he found he didn't have it in himself to care.

"We'll go from there…" you answered. The smile Gator could hear in your voice made his heart feel like it was beating to the rhythm of a song instead of a fistfight for the first time in his life.

"You got it, sweetheart."

"Hold your hand out," you told him. Gator's brow raised curiously at your demand. Nevertheless, he extended his palm outwards for you.

Warm fingers met his hand. A match—gentle and giving—landing in a pool of gasoline—violent and taking. You rotated his hand vertically, shaking it once you did as you introduced yourself. The sound of your name felt like a prayer.

Gator fumbled for words—the touch of your hand rewiring his brain. "Um, Gator." He waited for the teasing, the questioning—it was as familiar for him as his name was to damnation.

"Nice to officially meet you, Gator."

His grip on your hand loosened from surprise before tightening, as if he could hold on to how you treated him.

"You too, neighbor." Gator only pulled his hand back when he realized every second of contact was counting down on a time bomb—rigged to explode like everything in his life before. "Let's get to work, then."

With a lot of trial and error, both you and Gator had finally found a rhythm. Gator had struggled for longer than he'd ever admit, but he couldn't lie to himself—his determination to impress you had overridden his insecurity, allowing him to slowly find a technique to his work great enough to have him finish before you.

Gator raked his cane through the lawn one last time for good measure before directing his attention to his front door where he could hear you muttering to yourself.

"Think 'm all done, sweetheart." He called, complacent in his victory.

Your reply came out too low for him to pick up—muttered under your breath as if you didn't want him to hear you.

With no response, he carefully guided himself to his porch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Good job," you spat at him.

"'M pretty sure most folks'd say it's wrong to lie to a blind man, sweetheart." He heard a sigh fall from your lips. He had heard enough sighs of annoyance or impatience to last him a lifetime—yours wasn't one. "…Have a feeling you're not angry 'cause of me."

"I'm just—I'm just having trouble getting it all off," you admitted. "Fuckin' idiot punks got you good."

Gator almost smirked at your unexpected colorful language. Maybe it was his childhood, or his own propensity for swearing, but you swearing made him feel closer to you—as if he had known you longer than the last forty-five minutes.

You huffed. "It's fine. I'll figure it out—"

"Put me to work."

You paused. "What?"

"I finished my part," he started, pulling closer to you. "J's tell me what you wan'me t'do, and I'll do it."

You didn't respond for a while before he heard a light chuckle.

"Alright then, neighbor," you replied. "You have a mop?"

Gator bowed his head, scratching the back of his neck. "…Kinda," he mumbled.

"Kinda?" You echoed.

He huffed through his nose. "I got a roomba."

"…They make mops?"

"Yea, they, um—have mop attachment things you can put on the bottom…" He explained awkwardly shuffling his feet.

"Really?" He nodded in response. "Huh," you thought out loud.

You were silent for another moment, most likely thinking of a solution. "I got it," you perked up. Gator could hear the pride you were trying not to reveal. He knew that sound like the back of his hand.

"Let's hear it," he encouraged—something he always wanted from someone.

"Go get two towels."

He nodded, bowing the tip of his hat. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're gonna need a bucket of water with soap in it!" You called after him as he walked through the doorway. He gave you a swift thumbs up, making his way to his bathroom.

He came back to your voice greeting him. "Perfect, thank you." Gator couldn't help it, he beamed like a kid on Christmas—receiving the one gift he was too scared to put on his list. Your hand brushed his as you took the bucket from him, setting it down on the ground.

"The towels?" You asked. He grabbed them off his shoulder, holding it out for you. He stood there in the silence, trying to listen for any sign as to what you were doing—only the vague sounds of fabric whooshing to clue him in.

"Alright, now…" you trailed off. "I need your cane."

His eyebrows furrowed. "My cane?"

"Just trust me."

Gator hesitated before tentatively extending it towards you, his shoulders tense with anxiety as you carefully took it from him.

It's not like he even needed it. He wasn't helpless. He could get around just fine on his own. He never wanted a stupid fucking cane, anyway. If anything, he thought it slowed him down. But his heart raced at the idea of you doing something to it. What if you ran away with it? What if you tried to snap it in half? What if you were about to make fun of him for using one in the first place—

"Here you go."

Gator snapped back to reality at the return of your voice. He reached out, scanning the space for his cane until he found your hand, patiently holding it out for him to take. As he held it in his hand again, he noticed the unfamiliar weight, seemingly coming from the bottom.

"Makeshift mop." You said, answering his question before he could even form it on his tongue. He brought his other hand to the end of the cane, noting the bundle of soft fabric.

"How did you…" he trailed off in amazement.

"I balled up one towel, wrapped the other one around it from the center, pulled up the edges, around the end of your cane, dropped a hair tie from the top and used it to tie the edges—" Your explanation left Gator speechless. It was so simple, and yet he felt like he had never heard anything more brilliant.

"—Now you can use your cane to clean the walls, you know? Like you do on the ground, just… on the walls." There was something so beautiful to Gator about the growing shyness in your voice, as if you were nervous to have a solution.

Gator broke out into a smile. "That's fuckin' genius, sweetheart."

"Really?" You asked, making Gator laugh.

"Y'kiddin'? Y'just made a fuckin' makeshift mop fer me." Gator returned his focus to the bottom of the cane again, admiring your handiwork.

"It was no problem, really…" Gator didn't need his eyes to see the flush on your cheeks.

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Well, c'mon then, sweetheart. Go on n' show me where y'want me." Gator picked up on the sweetest laugh he had ever heard as he picked up the bucket of water, ready to go wherever you wanted him to.

You grabbed his arm gently, helping guide him off his porch. Gator wasn't used to having someone else guide him. He had gotten used to the layout of his house a long time ago. Every corner, every light switch, every cabinet had all been mapped out in Gator's mind. In the outside world—whenever he dared to go—he would use his cane to direct him, warning him of every danger he was walking into.

But giving his trust to you? That felt like walking on water.

"Alright, and now turn…" you directed him, delicately spinning him around. "Okay, you'll start with the garage door and the driveway," you told him. "You're facing the middle of the garage right now." Gator couldn't tell you how perfect you were. Not only did you treat him like a regular person, you accommodated him. You guided him, saw for him—Jesus, you turned his cane into a mop. You aided him instead of giving up on him, giving him every chance to do it on his own.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Gator was never one to thank people. He tried to, after the incident—to be kinder than before, to properly show his appreciation. But the more he thanked people, the more he realized no one was letting him do anything on his own. He had become a charity case instead of a human. A good deed instead of a person.

Eventually, Gator went back to being unappreciative—to not having room in his heart for others. All he had was anger. Fury that masked his misery. It was the easiest version of him he knew how to be.

But you? Something about you made him want to be someone convoluted—someone that would take effort to be. To put his corpse and his last name behind him and dwell on whether or not his soul was headed to the same place yours was. If he deserved a fate like yours.

You patted his arm, letting him know you were still there. "Have fun. I'll just be a few feet from your right cleaning your porch, okay?" Gator smiled as you once again gave him directions.

Your hand fell from his arm. "Try not to finish before me, yeah?" You called from his right. "Or I might just have to leave all the cleaning to you."

Gator chuckled. "Not my fault y'made me a super cane," he teased, hoping to elicit more laughter out of you—more sounds he could store somewhere when it came to you.

You laughed back, filling Gator's heart with warmth. "Don't make me take it back."

Gator smirked again.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

Time flew between the two of you as you both cleaned. Every now and then, Gator would ask you if he had missed a spot, and every time, you had said no, occasionally teasing him.

"You still have to ask?" You had replied after the fourth time, making Gator smile.

"C'mon, darlin'. Humor me."

Gator listened to your nearing footsteps, facing the approaching sound. "So?" He teased. "I pass?"

You tsked your teeth, most likely shaking your head. "I'm afraid not, Gator."

He tilted his head, a coy smile on his face. "Really? Whyever not?" Gator never liked being laughed at in the past, but the beautiful sound that spurred from your lips made Gator want to be responsible for that sound for the rest of his life.

"Seems you missed a spot," you answered. "At the top." Gator turned his head towards the top of the garage door. He extended his cane upwards, reaching the top. "No, a little to the left," you pointed.

Gator followed your direction. "Like this?"

"No, hold on." You joined his side, placing your hand atop his. You maneuvered him, steering him towards the spot he had missed. Gator smirked smugly as your touch electrified him. It seemed your touch was worth Gator being incompetent for once.

"There you go," you validated, letting go of his hand. "Looks like you're all done then."

"Yeah? How'd I do?" He tilted his head innocently, unable to contain his grin.

You chuckled. "No notes. A plus."

Gator beamed in your direction. "Never been a model student before."

"Must have had a great teacher, then."

"Oh, I did." Gator flattered, stepping closer. "Fuckin' genius one if you ask me."

You giggled. "Careful there, handsome. You're gonna get yourself into trouble."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, sweetheart." Gator smirked, leaning closer to your warmth.

Gator picked up on what sounded like you running your fingers through your hair. "So…" you started, "We're finished cleaning now."

"That right?"

You hummed. "Looks as good as new."

Gator nodded solemnly. "Lead me back to the door?" Gator held his hand out for you.

"Of course," you said softly—a lullaby that could soothe him to sleep—as you took his hand.

Gator felt bitterness rising in his chest. He didn't want to stop being with you, yet. How was he supposed to part ways with the one good thing he had ever known? It was when you had led him to his door—his hand on the doorknob—that Gator realized something.

He didn't want to be alone.

But Gator knew there was no other life for him.

He would be destined to a life of solitude—too infuriated with the world to allow himself a chance for happiness—

"Hey," you called before he could shut the door.

"Yeah?" Gator held the door open, unwilling to let you go so soon.

You paused. "Maybe… Maybe I could see you again sometime? When we're not both drowning in eggs and toilet paper?" You chuckled.

Gator went as still as a statue.

"You.. Y'want to see me again?" You must have nodded—a silence lingering before your audible confirmation. "Why?" As much as he wanted to beg for your company, he couldn't find one reason why you should say yes—let alone, want his as well.

"I enjoyed cleaning with you, today." There was a smile in your voice that Gator felt like he had to get rid of—self-sabotage ingrained in his bones.

"Y'enjoyed cleanin' up rotten eggs n toilet paper?"

"Okay, I think you're actively ignoring the with you part," you pointed out, still smiling. Gator couldn't keep back the corners of his lips from lifting at your quip.

"…So?" you asked. "What do you think?"

Every instinct in Gator was telling him to run—that this was a bad idea, that you were a bad idea. For all he knew, you could just be waiting to humiliate him, or worse—pitying him.

"I think you're an idiot, teach."

To Gator's chagrin, you didn't fall for his attempt to push you away.

"And here I thought I was a genius?" You argued back, catching onto him.

Gator didn't respond. He didn't know how to. All his life he had wanted more, and now that he had finally accepted he would never anything ever again, here you were to throw him off. Gator was afraid of losing what he just found.

Gator Tillman was not a coward, but he was a coward for you.

You must have taken his silence for an answer. "That's okay. Maybe I'll see you around, yeah? Who knows? Those punks might come back for more." You sounded awkward, unsure. Gator hated it.

"It was nice meeting you, Gator." Your solemn tone was fading into the distance, leaving him to rot like everything else—

"Wait." Gator stopped you. It was now or never. "I want to see you again, too." With nothing to see, Gator only had the drumming in his ears—pulsing at the speed of darkness, ringing in his ears like a warning bell, signaling the oncoming train—

"Be ready at noon tomorrow."

masterlist

divider credits: @strangergraphics

[stvswrld69]

­ meetify algorithm

pairing: keys mckey x reader summary: keys creates an experimental dating app based on user compatibility to try to get a promotion at work. to make sure it works properly, he asks users to test it before its release. you download the beta out of curiosity, and the system matches you with the creator himself. wc: 3.3k warnings: +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, fem!reader, enemies (even if they don't know), mention of alcohol, explicit sexting, guided masturbation, m jerking off, fingering, penetration, use of sexual toys, dirty talk, cursing. author's note: thanks in this one to my girl nic for the help and also juls and juana for the motivation. also i'm starting with requests as soon as i finish my finals so pls be patient

keys sat over his desk on the floor of soonami studios. the blue glow of his multiple monitors reflected off his glasses and the office hummed with the usual boring energy; keyboards clacking, whispers and some laughs from the break room. but keys barely noticed any of it. 

his eyes were glued to the same block of code he’d been debugging for the last hour while his leg bounced anxiously under the desk.

he was tired. not just physically –though the dark circles under his eyes told that story clearly– but existentially tired.

keys had been working at soonami studios for some years now, and he was good at this job. really good. he could debug complex systems faster than most others developers and he actually cared about clean codes.

none of that seemed to matter. every time another developer position opened up, it went to someone better at office politics, someone who knew how to shake the right hands and smile in the right meetings.

keys was the guy who stayed late fixing other people’s mistakes. the guy who got praised in private but overlooked in promotions. the guy who was reliable.

he was sick of it.

that morning meeting was the final straw. the manager stood at the front of the room with his usually fake enthusiasm and talked.

‘’we’re looking for something original. something fresh. we want innovation. whoever brings me a truly unique project that actually works…. let’s just say there will be serious conversations about promotions.’’

key’s heart started racing the second he heard those words. this was it. his chance. 

he didn’t just want a promotion – he needed one.

so he made a decision, and for the next two and a half weeks, keys barely existed outside of work and his laptop. he woke up at 6 a.m., worked fully day at the office, then went home and coded until 3 or 4 in the morning. 

he ate microwave meals at his desk and drank enough coffee to make his hands shake. he told his friends he was ‘’busy with a side project.’’

he poured everything into meetify.

it wasn’t just another dating app. keys hated the shallow nature of modern dating apps: endless swiping, the focus on pictures and one-liners. he wanted something deeper. so he built a system that analyzed hundreds of data points: communication style, values, conflict resolutions patterns. 

the algorithm didn’t just match interests. it tried to predict long-term compatibility with uncanny accuracy.

he worked on the psychological questionnaire for days, making the questions strangely personal but not invasive. he fine-tuned the matching engine until the compatibility scores felt natural. 

he added privacy features that made the whole thing feel safe: no photos unless both users agreed later and end-to-end encryption on all chats.

when he finally finished the working beta version, he leaned back in his office chair and stared at the screen for a long time. 

‘’please… just work,’’ he whispered.

the next day during his lunch break, he created a reddit account under a throwaway name and posted in several beta testing subreddits.

r/betatesters • 1h ago

need 50 serious testers for an experimental dating app (100% anonymous) hey everyone,  i’ve built an experimental dating app named meetify. instead of swipes and pictures, it uses deep behavioral analysis and psychological profiling to match people based on real compatibility.  everything is completely anonymous. i need real users to test the matching algorithm and give feedback before i pitch it internally for a promotion. first 50 people get immediate access. if you’re tired of shallow dating apps and want to try something different, dm me. serious testers only.

he hit the post button with nervous fingers and then refreshed the page obsessively for the next hour. by the end of the day, he had 47 messages. 

on another hand, you had sworn off dating for almost a year. after a series of painful relationships, you decided you were done putting yourself out there. the idea of opening up to someone new felt exhausting and terrifying. 

but one night, while scrolling through reddit to see if someone could help you with work, a post caught your eye.

a post written by a user called walternetius. it promised to be something different, and curiosity got the better of you. after everything you had been through, maybe an algorithm could do better than your own terrible judgment.

you downloaded the app and created your account with the user y/nlocked.

the questionnaire was long and surprisingly personal. you answered honestly, even the uncomfortable questions about past relationships, trust issues and what you really wanted from a partner. 

when you finished, the app paired you almost instantly. 

wmckynotes. your eyebrows rose at the high number of compatibility. you opened the chat.

wmckynotes: hey wmckynotes: so we’re both beta testers for this thing? nice to meet you, y/nlocked

you smiled a little at the polite greeting and typed back.

y/nlocked: hi. yeah, looks like it. that compatibility is crazy. did u answer the questions honestly?

wmckynotes: haha… i was brutally honest. that’s why probably most of my other matches were below 20% :/ wmckynotes: u are the first person who makes sense according to the algorithm. wmckynotes: btw, how are u finding the app so far?

you leaned back against your pillows, thinking how to answer.

y/nlocked: i mean, it’s… different. the questionnaire was really long and some questions made me stop and actually think, but the interface is calm i guess. i really wanted to try something different

wmckynotes: most dating apps just feel so shallow. 

y/nlocked: yeah. this one feels more…. intentional. but wbu, why did you join the beta? are you also tired of normal dating apps?

wmckynotes: honestly? i’m the developer of this app. i’ve been working on it for months as a side project. my company is very corporate and i wanted to show them something original. wmckynotes: i needed real users to test it. i didn’t want people to feel pressured so i created everything anonymous.

y/nlocked: wait… you’re like the creator? that’s so cool lol. so u testing your own app?

wmckynotes: yeah… pretty much hahah i’m nervous as hell actually. i want it to work, to help people find something good. don’t tell anyone though. i’m trying to stay anonymous too. 

y/nlocked: your secret is safe with me

keys chuckled softly in his apartment, running a hand through his messy hair. you smiled at the phone feeling a warmth in your chest.

wmckynotes: so… be honest with me. what do u think so far? any feedback? wmckynotes: i’m glad the algorithm matched us. even if this is just a test, it’s nice talking to someone who gets it and works at coding too.

you thought for a moment before replying. the conversation flowed naturally. you two talked about movies, music. he was funny, a little nerdy, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

y/nlocked: yeah… it really is :) good night wmckynotes

a month has passed since you first downloaded that app, and what started as a random experiment born out of boredom quietly became the best part of you every day. 

you were at your desk on nexus dynamics. the open office was loud, with ringing phones and sighs. you were on the same customer support ticket for almost forty minutes while a man was yelling in all caps about a billing error.

you rubbed your temples, feeling the familiar headache building behind your eyes. your phone vibrated on the desk, you glanced around quickly to make sure your supervisor wasn’t watching, then opened the app.

wmckynotes: survived another meeting. how’s your day going? please tell me it’s better than mine.

you smiled despite yourself and typed back quickly under the desk.

y/nlocked: well i’m being yelled at a customer rn and i need a coffee

wmckynotes: i would def teleport with a coffee if i could. black with one sugar, right?

y/nlocked: you remember. i’m impressed 

wmckynotes: i remember a lot of things about u

you bit your lip, feeling warmth spread through your face. 

across town, keys was sitting in his chair. he checked the beta dashboard obsessively for weeks. the app was working better than he ever expected – at least for you two.

keys ran a hand through his messy brown hair and bit his lip when your message appeared. the conversation continued in short bursts or during breaks. 

after that, the conversations become more and more frequent between you two. 

even so, work was killing you. today was one of those days where you had to apologize because you were busy and you couldn't talk to him.

your company, nexus dynamics, was forced to attend the same exclusive networking event as soonami studios. the rivalry between the two companies was known throughout the world. it was serious: years of stolen talent, leaked projects and public shade in interviews. 

the tension in the rooftop was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the employees from both side-eyed each other with barely hostility.

you were there representing your company, dressed in a sleek black dress and holding a glass of champagne you had no intention of drinking. you stood near the bar, trying to stay out of the way of the obvious corporate warfare happening around you.

the founder of the company who prepared all this suddenly appeared beside you with a bright smile.

‘’ah! perfect. come with me for a moment.’’ before you could even protest, he gently guided you across the room toward a small group of the other company.

“so… this is our brilliant guy, keys. one of our sharpest young talents.”

keys turned to you. for a split second, something flickered in his eyes but he masked it with a polite professional smile and extended his hand. 

“nice to meet you,” he said with a measured voice.

you shook his hand firmly, keeping your expression natural.

“likewise,” you replied in a polite tone.

“you two are some of the youngest and most promising people from your companies. i thought it would be interesting for you to talk. healthy competition breeds innovation, right?”

with that, the walked away, leaving you and keys standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. the air between you two was immediately tense. 

keys slipped his hands into his pockets.

‘’so….’’ he said with a carefully neutral voice. ‘’heard your team has been pushing up some aggressive updates lately.’’

you lifted your chin slightly, matching his energy.

‘’and i’ve heard yours has been copying quite a few of those ideas,’’ you replied. ‘’imitation is the sincerest from flattery, i suppose.’’

keys let out a short dry laugh, but there was no real humor in it. you narrowed your eyes.

‘’bold claim. though i’m not surprised. y’all always loved throwing accusations around.’’

keys studied you for a moment, giving you an intense glaze. 

‘’you seem… familiar somehow,’’ he said quietly. ‘’have we met before?’’

you shook your hand, keeping your voice cool.

‘’i don’t think so. i would remember you.’’ 

he gave a bitter smile, and the conversation remained polite on the surface but with subtle jabs. the night was long and boring. you couldn't wait to get home, talk to that app user, and have some fun.

the network finally ended and you arrived home a little after midnight. your heels gave you wounds, and you swore you just wanted to rest. the entire ride way home, your mind kept replaying the conversation with that guy with glasses.

there was something about him that felt extremely familiar and even if you didn’t know his name –the way he looked at you, the dry humor– that felt strangely familiar. you shook the thought away. 

when you finally stepped into the apartment, you kicked off your heels with a sigh of relief. you changed into an oversized t-shirt and stayed in your panties, washed your face and collapsed onto your bed with your phone.

meanwhile, across town, keys entered his apartment, loosened his tie, and dropped onto the couch. keys didn’t even wait, he opened meetify on his phone and saw you were online.

he smiled and started typing.

wmckynotes: hey. u still awake?? wmckynotes: just arrived home. long night… i met someone w your name. funny coincidence right??

y/nlocked: it’s a pretty common name. they are probably like thousands of girls with it

wmckynotes: yeah… but anyways talking to u feels so much better. wmckynotes: i was thinking about u all night

y/nlocked: oh??? and what were u thinking about?

wmckynotes: being honest… was wondering u were laying in bed like i am now. if you were thinking about me too

the tone shifted. subtly. slowly.

y/nlocked: maybe i was and maybe i still am

wmckynotes: yeah? what are u thinking about?

the room was starting to feel hot, your chest was starting to pound faster. you closed your legs to try and cool down the heat between them. 

wmckynotes: yeah? what are u thinking about rn???

y/nlocked: about how nice ur voice probably sounds in general and about ur looks

wmckynotes: only that way?

y/nlocked: do u want me to say more?

you playfully bit your lip, waiting for his response. you had no idea how far the conversation could veer.

wmckynotes: maybe i do

y/nlocked: where are u rn?

wmckynotes: well wmckynotes: i’m in my couch… why?

y/nlocked: maybe i was thinking about me and u in your couch

his answer was fast. he never left the chat.

wmckynotes: great wmckynotes: me too

y/nlocked: what are u exactly thinking about y/nlocked: let’s see if we are thinking the same

wmckynotes: i was thinking about you in my couch… what are u wearing?

you smiled at the question, biting your lip, and then looked at your body as if it weren't obvious what you were wearing. as if you didn't know, or as if you were looking for confirmation before telling him.

y/nlocked: shirt and panties

wmckynotes: k. so i was thinking about u in my couch with that shirt and in only panties.  wmckynotes: then in my thoughts i kiss u first, i think your lips are probably really soft 

you let out a slow breath and slid your right hand down your body. you slipped it under the waistband of your panties, feeling the heat radiating from your pussy. 

you didn’t go straight for your clit. instead, you pressed your palm flat against your mound, feeling how warm and slick you already were. 

y/nlocked: yeah?? what more… tell me

wmckynotes: i’d kiss u deeper… slowly sucking on your upper lip while my hands slide under your shirt. 

you kept pressing and rubbing your palm against your panties, the friction making you wetter. your hips moved slightly against your hand. meanwhile, keys ran his hand down his stomach and began slowly palming his cock over his pajama pants, feeling it thicken and harder under his touch.

then the next message appeared.

wmckynotes: can u touch yourself for me?

y/nlocked: i was already doing it

wmckynotes: you so dirty wmckynotes: good

keys squeezed his growing bulge firmly, rubbing it up and down over the fabric, feeling it twitch under his palm.

y/nlocked: are you touching yourself? y/nlocked: touch yourself and tell me more

wmckynotes: i’d keep kissing and sucking on your neck while my hand slides between your legs.. imagine your hand is mine and please rub your clit over your panties for me, baby. slow circles

you moved your fingers up and started rubbing slow circles over your clit through the soaked fabric. soft whimpers left your lips.

y/nlocked: fuck…. it’s so sensitive. are you stroking yet?

wmckynotes: not yet. just rubbing and squeezing over my pajamas. keep going princess

he continued palming himself, occasionally squeezing the head of his cock through the fabric, feeling himself get fully hard. his breathing was getting heavier as he watched the chat.

y/nlocked: i’m so wet… panties are a mess

wmckynotes: then pull ur panties aside and touch your bare pussy for me. tell me how wet u are

you hooked your fingers on the side of your panties and pulled them aside. your fingers immediately glided over your slick bare folds.

y/nlocked: my fingers are sliding everywhere

wmckynotes: fuck that’s so hot wmckynotes: start rubbing your clit directly now. slow circles wmckynotes: i just pushed my pants down. gonna touch myself for u. i’m so hard

keys pushed his pajama pants and boxers down to his thighs, freeing his thick hard cock. it slapped against his stomach, already leaking. then he wrapped his fist around the base and gave it a slow stroke, spreading the pre-cum over the head with his thumb.

you moaned as your fingers made direct contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow, tight circles.

y/nlocked: this feels so good

wmckynotes: i’m stroking slowly. base to tip… pls push two fingers inside yourself for me. fuck yourself 

you did it. you slid two fingers deep into yourself, moaning louder. keys tightened his grip imagining that as he started stroking with long firm movements and his fist slid easily. 

y/nlocked: i’m fingering myself y/nlocked: wish those were your fingers tho

you didn’t stop. you saw him typing.

wmckynotes: fuck wmckynotes: do u have any toys?

you bit your lip, hesitating for just a second before answering honestly. you had one, you bought it when you were dating that pathetic boy you had as your boyfriend. he never made you come, and that's exactly why you bought it.

y/nlocked: yeah. i got one in my drawer

you reached over the nightstand drawer and took the toy in your hands. then you positioned yourself comfortably with spread wide legs. 

wmckynotes: rub the tip against your clit. get it nice and wet. i’m strocking faster now

you rubbed it up and down your slit, coating it with your wetness. keys was now fully focused on his own pleasure. keys’ hand moved faster. his hips were starting to buck up into his fist as he got more into it.

wmckynotes: push it inside and imagine it’s me stretching u

you did it, pressing it against your entrance and slowly pushing it in, gasping as it stretched you open.

y/nlocked: fuck… it’s thick. i need u

keys' large hand wrapped around his entire cock. he moved his hand up and down painfully, feeling that it wasn't quite enough. it wasn’t enough for him because he needed you. 

wmckynotes: fuck w it baby. nice and deep… imagine is my cock filling u up

you started thrusting the toy in and out, moaning louder with every push. your legs were already starting to shake, and your stomach was starting to feel strange.

y/nlocked: fuck… it’s thick

wmckynotes: don’t stop. i’m so fucking close baby :) i want u to cum all over the toy while i cum all over my hand

your moans turned into cries as your orgasm built rapidly.

y/nlocked: fuck… gonna cum. gonna cum so hard

wmckynotes: cum for me. fuck, i’m cumming too

you came with a loud scream. your back arched off the bed, your thighs were shaking violently as your pussy clenched around the toy. 

at the same time, keys groaned deeply, his hips buckling as thick ropes of cum shot across his stomach.

wmckynotes: are u ok

y/nlocked: fuck yeah y/nlocked: gonna clean this mess

wmckynotes: right wmckynotes: same

you got up to go to the bathroom and freshen up a bit. washed your face and drank some water before sitting back down on the bed and checking your phone.

he wrote again since the last message.

wmckynotes: since this is getting like wmckynotes: a little bit more serious wmckynotes: do u have like… discord or something?

y/nlocked: yeah y/nlocked: i use it for work sometimes

wmckynotes: can i add u there

y/nlocked: yeah ofc

you sent him your username, waiting for him to add you and it didn't take long for him to do so. but when you saw his discord profile picture, you froze. 

it was his face. and he wasn't just anyone.

he was the guy you met that very night at the work event. 

it was him. keys.

© dividers by angeliicide and suupersonic

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ djolings as sabrina carpenter songs

steve wants to make you juno bad. it was no secret that steve really wanted to have kids. that he wanted a big family. he made that very obvious when you first got together. you thought it was sweet he knew exactly what he wanted but you told him you may have to compromise on the whole six kids thing. so, it came as no surprise that this man had the biggest breeding kink going. when it came to imagining getting you pregnant—his hormones are high. and outside the bedroom, steve loved to try and tempt you, telling you that one of him was cute but two of him though? even better. you’d roll your eyes but secretly agree.

the amount of times you had text your friends “we almost broke up again last night” when it came to gator tillman was…a lot. more than you care to admit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you fought, one of you threatened to leave and then—one of you (usually gator) would give in. you’d have sex (incredible, incredible sex) and you’d both say sorry. it was a cycle, it was probably—most definitely—unhealthy but it was you and gator.

your bed chem with teacake was well—it was fucking incredible. that man had the stamina of a damn race horse. the way he picked you up, put you down, turned you around always got you going. the way he knew exactly what your body wanted. the way he talked so fucking sweet while doing the dirtiest things to you. the way he would look at you—you were pretty fucking obsessed.

keys treated you so well that you joked a lot that it made tears run down your thighs. keys would always go red when you’d say that. he’d tell you to shush but his lips would twitch as though he was trying hard not to smile. he didn’t just treat you good but he was always so responsible. he wasn’t a manchild. you never had to baby him. you never had to remind him about an upcoming special event, he communicated so well that you began to wonder why you bothered wearing clothes around him.

you constantly had kurt talking nonsense. he couldn’t help it, it was like his tongue went numb as soon you were anywhere near him. he was in deep with you. he caught that l-o-v-e and he caught it bad. the butterflies in his stomach weren’t just fluttering around you—they were doing damn cartwheels when you were in the room. you couldn’t talk because you weren’t much better when it came to him. kurt made you forget about every ex you ever had. you had no chill about him, kurt had made you lost it. you’d find yourself wondering how on earth did he do this to you?

dividers by @anitalenia

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

⟢ 3k blurb masterlist ⟢ fanfic masterlist ⟢ songfic masterlist ⟢ headcanons & blurbs masterlist ⟢ request masterlist ⟢ active wip and requests wip

💗 fluff 💔 angst ❤️‍🔥 smut

۶ৎ steve harrington

💗 made for each other ➜ 4.1k words | soulmate au | mayfield!reader | steve harrington had always looked forward to meeting his soulmate. but you? not so much | request by @/beainabottle2

💗🔞❤️‍🔥 smile for the camera (coming soon) ➜ multi part series | rockstar!steve x famous!reader au | steve harrington was perhaps the worst person you had ever met. but unfortunately for you—hollywood's golden girl—he was also your fake boyfriend | request by @/djocufics

💔 look for the light (coming soon) ➜ one shot | apocalypse au | you haven't told steve you're immune to the virus so when you get bitten, steve is forced to make a difficult choice—believe you or kill you

💔💗 finally see in colour (coming soon) ➜ one shot | soulmate au | byers!reader | what happens when the guy you can't stand also happens to be your soulmate?

۶ৎ gator tillman

coming soon

۶ৎ travis 'teacake' meacham

🔞❤️‍🔥 a pretty bad idea (coming soon) ➜ one shot | sleeping with your roommate's boyfriend was a pretty bad idea | request by @/riddlersoupwrites

🔞❤️‍🔥 never fall for a rockstar (coming soon) ➜ one shot | tattoo artist!travis meacham x curvy!rockstar!reader | travis should have known better than falling for the rockstar he was fucking | request by @/notmily

۶ৎ walter 'keys' mckey

coming soon

۶ৎ kurt kunkle

coming soon

۶ৎ bucky barnes

🔞❤️‍🔥 thanks to you ➜ one shot | roommate au | curvy!reader | your roommate bucky is obsessed with you while you're convinced he's nothing more than a player | request by @/goldiwrites

🍒 to be added to my fanfic taglist | 18+ taglist

dividers by @dividers-are-us

[athenas-rose]

hi! can i request a fluff fic where reader is obsessed with her book and bf!steve just wants to cuddle with her and he ends up reading it to her and she falls asleep on his chest

Between The Pages

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 1k words

warnings: fluff, banter,

Steve tries to steal your attention away from your book, only to end up between the pages himself

It was one of those quite comforting days you spent with Steve. The kind where you didn’t really want to do anything or go anywhere, just bask in his warm presence.

And that’s exactly what you did, the apartment had been silent for almost an hour besides the occasional turn of a page—not even the sounds of television playing or soft music filled the room. Steve lay sprawled across the couch with one arm hanging off the side, staring at you with the same betrayed expression he’s been wearing for the past twenty minutes.

You couldn’t deny he looked cute, the furrow of his brows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the slight pout playing on his lips—okay it was definitely a pout. But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t pull your mind away from the paperback book gripped in your hands.

“You’ve ignored me for an entire chapter.” He finally spoke, gaze unwavering.

You hummed absentmindedly, eyes still tracking the words on the page. “Mhm.”

Steve scoffed dramatically, having finally had enough of the torture you’ve been putting him through and sitting up.

“Wow, okay. So this is what we are now—roommates? Coworkers? Two strangers who live together?”

You tried to keep the smile tugging at your lips at bay. “Steve, you’re being dramatic.” You shook your head.

“You haven’t looked at me since ten pages ago.” He wined, justifying his actions.

“How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been keeping track.” He said with a narrow of his eyes.

Finally, with a sigh, you reluctantly lowered your book enough to glance at him over the edge. He remained in the same position, staring at you awaitingly.

“Are you finally going to give me what you promised?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

“I will,” you rushed out. “I just—-I really wanna read.”

“And you don’t wanna cuddle your poor, lonely, desperate boyfriend who’s seconds away from dying without your touch?” He held a large hand over his chest.

“You are not going to die, Steve.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“I could be, but you’d only care if it was one of your characters.” He sighed, looking away.

You gasped loudly at his assumption. “That isn’t true! You know it’s not!”

“Then show me it isn’t.” He responded.

“I just did, I told you.” You still weren’t giving him what he wanted much to his dismay.

Having no other option, Steve groaned loudly before lunging at you. And in a flash of a second, you were no longer holding your book.

“Steve!”

He held it carefully above his head, making sure to keep open the page you were on, settling back into the cushions. “If this is what it takes to get affection from my girlfriend, then fine. I’ll adapt.” He decided.

You reached for your book again, now being the one with the pout. But Steve caught your wrist easily, tugging you towards him instead. You let out a surprised laugh as you practically fell into his chest, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist to cage you in, preventing any escape when he finally got you where he wanted.

“There.” He said smugly. “Much better.”

You attempted at burying your face further into him, to hide your smile against his shoulder. “Give me back my book.” You mumbled, but were only met with a swift shake of his brown locks.

“No.” He adjusted you more comfortably, before clearing his throat dramatically. “Now hush, I’m reading.”

“In the dark corridor,” he began, tone dropping to match the tone of the story. “The knight could only hear the faint callings of—”

You wanted to interrupt, wanted to laugh at his seriousness and untangle yourself away, but you found yourself giving in almost immediately. A sigh inaudibly left you, and the warm comfort you’d been looking for settled over the both of you as your attention focused solely on his voice.

Steve continued reading, slower this time and much softer as the minutes passed. You noticed he was genuinely trying, eyes scanning the pages carefully so he wouldn’t mess up any words or skip details.

Every so often he’d offer his own commentary, shifting your perspective in a way you hadn’t thought about before. It wasn’t long until senses strayed from the story, becoming lulled by the steady rise and fall of his breathing, it was impossible not to get sleepy.

Steve noticed instantly when your eyes started slipping shut somewhere around the middle of the chapter.

“You falling asleep on me, baby?” He said even softer.

“No, just resting my eyes.” You whispered weakly, and he couldn’t help but give a light chuckle.

“Mhm sure, whatever you say.”

You felt his fingers brush gently through your hair while he kept reading, and the words blurred together after that.

Steve suddenly paused in the middle of his sentence, looking down to find you completely asleep against him, eyes shut and mouth slightly parted against his shirt.

He completely melted at the sight, forgetting all about the book.

Very slowly, he bookmarked the page and set it on the coffee table.

You stirred faintly when he shifted, instinctively curling closer to his body.

Steve smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, feeling something clench fondly in his chest. “Yeah, yeah.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss into your hair. “I’m staying.”

He stuck true to his words, laying a blanket over you two and staying exactly where he was for the rest of the time. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he became grateful for the book, because it pulled you to him.

[joekeerysbellybutton]

Heatwave

Synopsis: A hot night has Steve feeling restless in more ways than one.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: ~2.1

Tags: MDNI, SMUT, m!masturbation, somnophilia ish, slight exhibitionism?, kinda perv!steve, sub!steve if you squint

Notes: exposing myself as British by saying the weather here is grossly hot, so naturally I’m thinking about Stevie being so hot and bothered he can’t sleep </3

Masterlist

The thing about summer in Hawkins is that it isn’t just hot – it’s wet. The air is thick like a tension that fills the town that you just can’t cut. It was the same temperature inside and out, no respite even in the dead of night. The cool tone of the moonlight filtering into the bedroom did nothing to battle the red hot heat.

04:16AM. That was the time on the clock as Steve looked over at it, just two minutes had passed since the last time he checked. He lay on his back, his sticky skin clinging to the cotton sheets under him. His sweaty palms damp as they flexed against the mattress. He was completely naked, but the humid air clothed him in a layer of sweat.

Steve managed to sleep earlier in the night, somehow. But the discomfort built to a head to rouse him at 03:30AM and he had laid there ever since, unsuccessfully counting burning sheep.

He looked over to his other side to see your figure sprawled out atop the sheets. Your limbs were stretched out, trying to circulate the air around you. You and Steve had moved far apart to stop your body heat from radiating off each other.

You, by some miracle, were fast asleep. Your brow a little furrowed, like you were fighting the heat in your sleep. You wore nothing but your most comfortable cotton underwear that still clung to your hips, sweat seeping through the white fabric, turning it translucent. Your breathing was heavy, making your chest perk up in a delectable way. Sweat collected in between your brow, your breasts, in your belly button. Steve wanted nothing but to lick it off you. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t touch you. Not when you had been given the gift of sleep in this heat, with him miles away on the other edge of the bed.

You two had tried to have sex earlier in the night, but the way your hot skin rubbed against each other was too uncomfortable. You tried different positions to make it work but you eventually pushed him off. The feeling of Steve between your legs has never been something that cooled you down.

Steve’s cock never really softened after that. And after waking up in the middle of the night, seeing you lying there, the moonlight casting your glistening body in an angelic glow, he just got so much harder.

Steve brought his hands up to rub the sweat off his face, only to find that it deposited the buildup from his palms. Something had to give. The heat he could do nothing about, but the other problem could be solved embarrassingly quickly. Maybe if he took care of one issue, it would make the other a little more bearable, he thought.

One of his hands trailed down the matted hair on his chest, following its path down his stomach to the base of his cock. His touch was so light as his grazed a finger over his hard length right to the tip. He held in a deep breath. He was going to have to be quiet.

He turned his head to you again, none the wiser of his desperation just next to you.

Steve shifted to face his body in your direction. He propped himself up on his elbow, his throbbing cock pointing toward you like it knew what he needed. He gently wrapped his hand around himself, thumb rubbing at the dampening head. He bit his lip to stop any involuntary sounds escaping him. The precum leaking from his tip and his sweaty palm was more than enough to get his cock sufficiently wet.

He started slow, not wanting to make any sudden movements that might creep into your dreams and alert you. But as he lazily stroked himself, his eyes darting over your skin, he couldn’t help but chase his release a little faster. A squeaky whine escaped him. It probably would have been a much lower tone if he wasn’t trying so hard to stay silent.

Silence was hard when wet sounds started eminently from between Steve’s hand and his cock.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself involuntarily, he froze.

His eyes shot to your face to try and see any signs that you might have heard. If anything, Steve thought your face relaxed a little more, that crease in your brow shallowing out. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

His eyes fell to your lips, open around puffs of air you let out. Steve’s hand resumed moving over his rock hard length. His eyes traced down the side of your jaw and over your neck. They settled in your collar bones, little pools of sweat filling the indents of your skin.

With much restraint, Steve worked slow. But it was hard. He knew he could probbaly cum in seconds if he just let himself go wild and fuck his fist. Hell, he could cum just as quick if he shook you awake and begged you to let him feel your insides. Both of those would mean disturbing your precious, yet precarious, slumber.

Steve held back a groan as his gaze fell further to your chest. What he would give to lean over, kiss between your breasts, lick your skin clean and suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He was drooling.

Against his better judgement, Steve spat his saliva into his palm. It felt cool for just a moment before it heated up in his hand. He lowered it back down to his cock again. Just a little more wouldn’t hurt, he thought, as he rocked his hips ever so gently into his hand.

The sheets rustled beneath him and you stirred. A slightly heavier breath left your mouth and you stretched your legs out wider. It was like you were taunting him and you didn’t even know it.

“Fuck,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

This time he didn’t stop. As much as he’d feel awful if he was to wake you, he started to find the whole situation thrilling. The thought of you catching him red handed in this vulnerable position. You finding out he was using you as his own personal Playboy. What would you do? Would you be mad? Scold him? Tell him he was perverted and make him go sleep downstairs. At least it would be cooler down there.

Or would you like it? Would it make you wanna touch yourself too? Sex didn’t work, but maybe you could get yourselves off from opposite edges of the bed.

Every possible scenario filled Steve’s dizzy head as he felt a much better feeling heat build in his stomach. His grip tightened as his gaze fixed between your legs, imagining the feeling of you squeezing around him. Those little sighs that slipped your lips as he filled you. Would you still be wet from earlier?

“Yeah, so fucking wet,” Steve said, not expecting it to actually come out rather than stay im his dirty mind.

You reacted with a little whimper, like you were losing that battle between sleep and consciousness. Your body curled in on itself, rolling on your side towards Steve. As far as he could tell, you were still asleep and he was about to break.

He flopped on his back, slapped his hand over his mouth, and stoked himself faster. He twisted and tightened his hand, trying to make it feel like you. It never did, but it was enough. He was getting so close. His palm tasted like desperation against his tongue as he tried, but failed, to stifle his moans. He was never good at keeping quiet.

“Steve…”

He heard your voice cut through the thumping in his ears – soft like butter wouldn’t melt on your tongue even in this heat. Steve couldn't be sure if it was actually you or if he was so close to the edge, his mind created a perfect replica of your voice. He should have known he couldn’t possibly recreate something so sweet himself.

Then he heard it again.

“Steve.”

Slightly more sure of itself.

He turned his face to you, still covered with his large hand. Your eyes were open, wide but clouded by a darkness in them. You were closer, just out of reach but near enough to feel your heat collide with his.

“Shit!” Steve groaned as he reluctantly pulled his hand from his cock like it burned him. It kind of did.

“Honey, I–fuck–I’m so sorry,” he blabbered breathlessly. “I just– I couldn’t sleep and we didn’t get to do much earlier, and you were there and you looked– you look so…”

“Keep going,” you said, voice level like you were unaffected.

“Wha–?”

“Finish what you started.”

With your green light, Steve’s hand was back on his aching cock. He gasped as soon as he made hot contact again. With his mouth free of his hand he let out all the needy sounds he had been holding.

You felt so hot as you watched Steve intensely. Not down at his hips thrusting, hand twisting, but his face – his gorgeously blushed, sweaty face. His head was now flung back against the pillow, his eyes screwed shut so tight he looked uncomfortable. You scooted closer, paying no attention to how your thighs stuck together. You leant into him, not quite touching, and blew cool air on his neck to sooth him.

He whimpered.

“That feel nice, baby?” You asked.

“Real fucking nice,” Steve groaned.

“How long have you been like this?”

“Dunno–ah–feels like forever.”

“Got yourself so worked up, huh?” You teased as you blew some more cold air out from your delicate mouth.

“That was all you, honey. You wouldn’t let me–hmmm–fuck you in this heat–ugh. Christ, it’s so fucking hot.”

You chuckled, “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“You don’t sound very sorry,” he whined

“Well, you did wake me up. You expect me to just give you what you want? You can do it yourself, that’s what you were doing anyway.”

“N–ugh, but you’d feel so much better.”

“Yeah I would,” you shrugged. “But I wouldn’t get to watch you desperately fuck yourself then, would I.”

“You like seeing me like this, all needy for you?” Steve turned his head to you and opened his eyes.

You gave him a sly smile. “Uh huh.”

“You wet?”

“Uh huh.”

“Uugh fuck!” Steve’s breathing was so short and fast it was almost nonexistent. “Gonna co–uuuh, ha.”

“Let me see you come. Show me how desperate you are for my pussy.”

You knew a little dirty talk sent Steve soaring. He loved to hear obscene things come out of your pretty lips.

Your name slipped from his mouth, wrapped in a groan and tied in a bow with a whimper. Steve came hot ropes over his tummy as you blew that delightful cool air over his neck. He continued to stroke himself as he sputtered out his tip until the heat and sensitivity made it unbearable. His breathing slowed and you finally made physical contact. You brushed the stray stands of hair out his face with extreme care not to put too much of your burning finger tips in his scalp. Steve hummed contently as he looked at you taking care of him.

“I am sorry, really, for waking you,” he said, his words still a little breathy.

“Don’t be,” you replied. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that.”

Not even the searing heat could keep Steve from you now as he flung himself on you, rolling your body underneath his.

“Steve,” you giggled, trying to sound stern. “You’re so sticky.”

He caged you beneath him and took your lips into a passionate kiss that almost made you forget it was half four in the morning.

“I have an idea,” you said, your palms coming up to his chest to push him back from you slightly.

“Please, do share.”

“Why don’t we take a nice, cold shower, together,” you suggested. “There is no way I’m getting to sleep after that.”

“Now who’s worked up, huh?” Steve teased.

You pushed Steve harder so he fell to the mattress beside you.

“You better not tease me, Steve.” You got up from the bed and started walking backward towards the bathroom. “Or I will leave you here while I see to myself with my good friend, the shower head.”

“Oh honey…” Steve groaned. He crawled to the end of the bed. “You wouldn’t.”

“You gonna make sure of that, or what.”

You slipped into the bathroom and Steve heard you turn the water on. He practically fell out of the bed as he scrambled to catch up to you.

He would make sure.

A/N: dipping my toe into perv!steve and i like it… part two in the shower?? Maybe?? What do we think??

Taglist: @ribeiroteresa97 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles

[tellcherhesgone]

Good Morning!

Woke up a couple weeks ago and immediately started imagining what if Keys was there in bed behind me. So I wrote up half of this in a horny mood, got distracted and lost the mood (thank you ADHD), and didn't pick it back up till today. I swear this was a lot more sensual and "lazy morning sex" when I first thought of it.

Tags: Smut, female reader, on your sides, creampie, dirty talk (almost exclusively from Keys), dry humping, teasing/edging, lube, established relationship, breastplay, lots of mentions of balls and playing with them, some praise and "Good girl"s from Keys, size kink Divider credit: @pixopix Word count: 4k

It couldn't have been any more of a perfect way to wake up.

The sun was sitting high up in the sky, its light softly diffused by the frosted privacy film stuck on the bedroom windows. One of them was still cracked from the night before, letting in a pleasant breeze and the sounds of the general bustle from the street below. While the rest of the city had gotten a start on their day already, heading into Starbucks for their second (or third) caramel macchiato, or to the seaport for the weekend flea market, you were content to stay right where you were for as long as you could. The reason? The man softly that was breathing against the back of your neck, his bare arm wrapped snuggly around your waist.

Your boyfriend rarely had Saturdays off. Or rather, he wasn't supposed to work on the weekend, but as an IT guy for one of the biggest MMO IP's of the decade, that often meant that work would pile up high and spill over into the days he'd reserved just for you. Miraculously, however, he'd finished patching the latest expansion pack ahead of schedule, and in a rare show of kindness, his boss told him to take weekend off to spent time with "the old ball and chain" (your boyfriend made sure to redact that last part when he shared the news with you, as it was crude and, to nitpick, inaccurate since you two weren't married).

A sigh against your neck brought you back to the present.

The arm tightened its hold on you to pull you in closer so that small kisses could be worked against your shoulder. A sleepy, "Morning," was mumbled into your skin. You smiled, leaning into the gesture as you returned the sentiment.

"Good morning, Walter."

The coder shuddered, a pleased tingle shooting up his spine. It was always "Keys" this, "Keys" that with him, had been ever since high school, but you? You were the only one who used his real name. He wasn't sure how to describe it, but it added something special, intimate, even, to your relationship.

You sighed as your boyfriend moved his large hand up your body to your chest, gently cupping your boobs through your loose tank top. Shifting a bit into a comfier position, your ass brushed against a familiar (and very much welcomed) hardness developing under his sweatpants. Biting your lip, you purposefully started to grind against it.

Keys groaned, leaning his head back into his pillow.

"Oh my God."

His hand briefly squeezed before letting go, using two deft fingers to work circles into a nipple. You moaned, looking over your shoulder at him. You brought a hand up to his jaw, silently pleading as you searched over his face. Swallowing, Keys glanced down at your lips before leaning in for a passionate kiss.

The merry chirps of birds carried into the room over the soft smacks of your mouths meeting and parting repeatedly. There was no rush; Just content sighs, the slow roll of your ass back against him, and his nimble touch against your chest.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, your boyfriend looked over you with lust-blown pupils.

"God, I missed you," he lowly muttered. "And this."

"Me too," you said, smiling gingerly as you pushed your chest further into his hand. "My hands, mm, they're just not as good when I touch myself. It's not the same without you. "

"Oh, my poor baby. That's awful," Keys ribbed, pulling your tank top up over your tits. "I'm sorry for being such a bad boyfriend."

Even though you knew he was joking, you thought that statement couldn't have been any further from the truth. Still, you gave him a cheeky smile as you trailed your hand down his body. His hazel eyes snapped onto the movement, eager to see where it'd end. His own hand idly took one of your pebbled nipples between two fingers to pinch. You slotted your arm between your warm bodies (somewhat awkwardly, you had to begrudgingly admit), settling your smaller hand on the hard bulge jutting out from his sweatpants.

As Keys brought your lips back onto his, you cupped your hand and slowly jerked off his (impressively) big dick up and down. You almost wanted to laugh out loud, suddenly remembering those early sexual experiences with your adorkable boyfriend when he was still insecure about his size. The poor guy had been apologizing over it, calling it “excessive” and treating his gift like it was somehow a turn off. He couldn’t have been more wrong, of course, and it was through your worship of his cock with your words and body that he squashed those needlessly negative views of himself for good.

You pulled away just enough so that your lips were brushing against Keys’, your eyelashes fluttering as you met his half lidded eyes. Taking a small breath in, you whispered,

“This all for me?”

His hips bucked into your touch, a low whine escaping him.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Yeah, all for you.”

You smiled. Keys rarely swore, but when he did, it tended to be during sex. It was a proud accomplishment for you when you’d draw out that first curse word, like a “checkmate” in chess, or getting down to your last card in Uno. Sometimes you wondered if you had your own unique quirks in bed that he’d keep mental tabs on.

“I know it is,” you teased, nipping his lower lip. Keys gasped. “I just like hearing you say it.”

Keys took his hand off your chest and brought it up to your face. Oh, you knew exactly what he wanted. Keeping eye contact, you turned your head slightly to accept his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue lathed all around his slightly salty skin, caressing the pads of the same digits he’d use to type out lines of code for hours on end, day in and day out. You didn’t flinch when he pushed them further into your mouth for you to suck the same way you’d treat his cock.

Humming, you gave him a wink and moved your hand lower on his sweats to massage his balls.

“H-holy shit,” Keys sputtered, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to squeeze one of your tits like a stress relief ball. You moaned, clenching your thighs together in an effort to relieve the lustful ache that was building between them. Your boyfriend groaned against your cheek as his other hand came up to your hip, toying with the waistband of your cotton panties.

“Jesus, babe, you’re playing pretty dirty here,” he mumbled as you moved you hand back up to pet his dick.

“Mmm, no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, smiling in faux innocence. Huffing, Keys flicked his wet fingers rapidly against one of your sensitive nipples. You cried out, arching your back further into him.

“Oh fuck. Walter, that’s—”

“Not fair?” He cooed. “I know, I know. But you started it.”

The hand on your hip gently pushed against you to get you to move further onto your side away from Keys. You felt Keys brush your hand away from his bulge as he got ready to pull his sweatpants off. Your breath hitched, and you busied yourself with pulling your panties down your legs and kicking them off. The nose that you loved so much nuzzled against the back of your neck as Keys once again took hold of your hip for purchase, moving so that the front of his body was pressed flush against your backside.

You moaned the second you felt that hard, velvety, incredibly warm thickness lay against the crack of your ass.

Keys chuckled incredulously. It still blew his mind sometimes that, after all those years of being passed over by his crushes for guys who weren’t lovers in any sense of the word, he’d actually be here on a lazy Saturday morning with someone who reacted so excitedly when he didn’t even really do anything. He kissed the side of your neck in gentle appreciation as you whimpered, leaning into his touch. The coder started to work his hips against yours slowly, measured, wanting to enjoy this foreplay a little while longer before jumping into the main event and filling you with his throbbing hard cock.

You, on the other hand, whined in mild frustration. Your boyfriend often found creative ways to edge you, and this was definitely him dragging things out just because he could. To test your theory, you started to move your hand down between your legs to ease some of the pent up tension in your desperate little clit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Keys asked, gently reaching over to stop you in your tracks by the wrist.

“Ugh, Walter, c’mon,” you groaned, rubbing your thighs together. “Fucking give it to me already.”

“Well that’s not very polite,” he said matter-of-factly, continuing to glide himself against your butt at that same frustratingly slow pace. “Nice girls get what they want when they behave and...”

Keys nipped at the junction between your neck in shoulder, making you gasp.

“…When they say please. Think you could do that, babe?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned, trying to wrestle your wrist out of his hold. He tutted, lifting it up to your chest and pinning it in place.

“I’ll fuck you when you ask for it properly. C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you.”

The movements against your ass stayed at that same slow pace, although now your boyfriend was putting more of his weight into it so that the drags were heavier. You moaned, turning your head to look at him needily. Keys just looked back with an amused smirk, motioning with a purse of his lips for you to turn back around. Huffing, you complied.

“Well?”

“Walter,” you stiffly started, shifting in place. “Please fuck me.”

“Mm, you can do better than that. Try again.”

“Oh, come on!” You whined.

You pressed your lower half further against his hips, successfully drawing a groan out of him. Precum was starting to leak out of his flushed tip onto your lower back. He almost gave up his act, wanting to pull you on top of him and fuck up into you as you threw your head back against his shoulder, screaming his praises, but he couldn’t let you “win” that easily. Not when he had your pleasure under his control with some basic dry humping.

“You come on,” Keys countered, trying to steady his voice as he let go of you to hold your hip in place. “Say, ‘Walter, can you please fuck me’?”

“You’re mean.”

“No, that’s not right. ‘Walter, can you please fuck me with your big fat cock’?”

You cried out, his words stroking your core in a way his dick currently wasn’t.

“What? I didn't quite catch that,” Keys drawled, inching the fingers on your hip more inwards towards your abdomen.

“O-oh, fuck,” you whimpered, suddenly becoming aware of the precum pressing against your back. “Walter, I…”

“Mhm, that’s it. ‘Walter, can you please fuck my greedy little pussy with your big fucking cock because I want you so goddamn bad.’”

You gasped, eyes widening. Where did that come from? You didn’t know that your boyfriend was even capable of those words. With a morning hoarseness lining your voice, you shakily asked,

“Walter, ah, c-can you please fuck…”

“My…?” Keys said, trailing off with a curious lilt as his fingers crept right above your mons pubis through your panties. You swallowed.

“My…please fuck my greedy little pussy.”

“With what? My fingers? My nose?”

You groaned, turning your head back to him with a sexually frustrated pout.

“Please fuck my greedy little pussy with your big fucking cock because I want you so goddamn bad,” you hurriedly recited, your eyes searching his hazel ones in a pointed dare for him to deny you. Smiling, Keys pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Sure thing, babe.”

You sighed, turning back over and comfortably adjusting into the mattress as he let go of you to grab a bottle of lube from his nightstand drawer. No matter how wet you were, not even if you were so wet that you could fill a bucket, your boyfriend always had to slick himself up with the viscous liquid to fuck you properly. As you faced the other side of the room, you heard the click of the bottle cap opening, your pussy clenching in response. The lewd sound of Keys dribbling the lube onto his bobbing cock and wetly sliding it up and down seemed to drown out the sound of the singing birds and bustling city outside. The bottle was set back down on the nightstand, and he laid on his side once again behind you. You nearly jumped when you felt his warm breath against the corner of your jaw, right under your ear.

“Lift your leg up for me,” Keys instructed, pressing a lazy kiss against you when you complied. “Good girl.”

Your foot partially rested against his thigh as he gripped his cock and guided it towards your eagerly awaiting lips. He slid the slick head once, twice against your dripping hole, letting himself catch against the rim. Keys let go of his dick to hold up your thigh, then eased his hips forward to push into you.

“Oh my God,” you moaned, brows knitting together as, finally, your wonderful boyfriend was giving you what you’d been craving all morning. Keys groaned as he easily slid in to fill out your tight little cunt, relishing in the dirty ‘squelch’ he heard when you took him all the way to the hilt. He stayed still for a moment in case you needed to adjust to his larger-than-average size. You didn’t (thankfully), but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

It was when you shifted your hips against his that Keys started to move. His pace, much like it’d been before he was inside of you, was relaxed. There was no sense of urgency to be found with him as he thrusted in and out at a measured pace. You found yourself not minding all that much, despite how ready you were a minute ago to hop out of bed and lock yourself in the bathroom to take care of yourself it he didn’t stop teasing you. You closed your eyes, content, focusing on the rhythmic stretch and drag along your walls.

“Now this, God, I really missed this,” Keys mumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jaw. You smiled, leaning into the sweet gesture.

“Could have this all the time if you wanted.”

“Oh, I want. Believe me.”

You refrained from saying, “You should take some more time off of work, then,” which your boyfriend secretly appreciated. He’d beat himself up more than you could ever know about his second relationship with his job, grateful that you were still willing to stick by him supportively, dotingly (within reason), allowing him to enjoy you like this. Honestly, you could have another, more available guy at your beck and call if you wanted. But you didn’t want another guy, you just wanted him, and so he was going to take every opportunity that he could to show you just how much he didn’t take you for granted.

Keys’ unoccupied hand trailed up and down your upper torso, occasionally stopping to play with one of your boobs. You mewled, pushing yourself into his touch. Your boyfriend chuckled breathlessly. His other hand kneaded its long fingers against the soft fat of your thigh. The next glide of his cock into you had you reaching behind you to paw at his arm.

“W-Walter, please, I need it.”

His breath hitched.

“Y-yeah? You need me?”

“Oh fuck, yeah, I need you!”

The coder nodded, thickly swallowing to alleviate his throat that seemingly dried at your earnest statement. Who was he to deny you when you when you sounded so syrupy sweet like that? His hips worked on their own, diving in and out of you stronger now. You cried out, turning your head to try and find his lips. He met you halfway, groaning as he firmly pressed his hand flat against your stomach. The more heated your make out grew, the faster his thrusts became. His balls were starting to stickily clap against your plump lower lips, sending a lusty shiver through both of you.

“Like this, right?” Keys asked into your kiss. “You needed me like—this—yeah?”

You let out a loud moan as he punctuated his question with a particularly hard thrust.

“Y-yeah, yeah, fuck, just like that, baby.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when I get a little rough with you?”

“Mhm!”

“Fuck, c’mere,” Keys grunted, moving to tuck the leg he was holding up around his legs so that your lower half was laying on top of him.

With his hand now free, he pressed his middle finger against your clit and started to rub circles into the neglected button. Your hips jerked into his hand as you let out another loud (and pornographic) noise. Your pussy was clenching and throbbing against your boyfriend’s cock, spurring him on to fuck you harder. He let out his own loud groan.

If you got another noise complaint from management after this, then fuck, it was more than worth it.

Sweat beaded along your forehead and clung to crevices and contours of your body. Your breasts were bouncing along with your boyfriend’s movements, which his hazel eyes immediately snapped onto. The large hand on your stomach slid up to rest right underneath them and feel the soft weight collide into it. Keys added more pressure to his pinpointed circles against your clit. You panted, pressing the back of a hand against your mouth and bringing the other up to card through his luscious brown hair.

“Ah, you’re gonna make me cum,” you admitted, lightheaded with your eyelashes fluttering.

“Mm, that’s kind of the point,” Keys cheekily replied, grinning against your cheek. You groaned, tightening your grasp into his locks and pulling. His hips stuttered in response.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” you huffed.

“Alright, ah, point taken,” he said, apologetically pecking you.

Whatever sarcastic response you had for him died out on your lips as Keys suddenly started to fuck you harder than he had in a long time, his heavy balls slapping against you as he started to give into the primal side of his brain that reminded him that he was entitled to an orgasm too. Choked whines and cries left your dry mouth as you tossed your head back, holding on for dear life onto your boyfriend’s hair as his big fucking dick absolutely wrecked your tight walls. His index finger joined the middle one to help bully your poor clit, driving you faster and faster towards that climatic edge where you knew you’d be absolutely screaming once you fell off of it.

Keys groaned and panted, hugging you closer against his lanky body.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna, yeah,” he babbled, his eyes starting to roll back. “Gonna come too, shit.”

You bit your lip, moving your free hand away from your face and down to your pelvis. Keys just barely caught the movement.

“Wha, what are you—oh, fuck!”

Your hand was positioned in a way that his balls were forced to brush against it as he fucked you. Oh, it was a dirty move. Super un-fucking-fair. But he loved it. He loved you. His aching cock started to twitch in you.

“Fuck, fuck, babe, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“Yeah, yeah, cum in me!” You begged, tears lining your eyes as your boyfriend shoved his lips onto yours for you to swallow up his filthy moans.

His hips clapped one last time against your ass as his cum shot into you, your body sobbing along with your vocal chords as you felt a sudden heat flood your slick wet cunt. The hand that wasn’t tending to your stiff nub moved to roughly pinch and roll one of your peaked nipples. Without much of a warning other than a strained moan, Keys shallowly started thrusting into you to ride out his climax. Your head swam as you felt your hips tense up and your pussy start to pulsate.

“Oh God, I can feel it, I feel it, yeah,” he pathetically whined against you. "Come for me babe, come for me."

Between his shallow post-nut fucking, the fingers relentlessly rubbing your clit, and his cute little noises pressing into your flushed face, you couldn’t take it anymore. You threw your head back as you came, your hips sloppily jerking into his hand while your back arched far off of him and the thoroughly damp bedsheets. Your boyfriend watched the whole thing with wide eyes, dazzled.

God, you couldn't be any more perfect.

You rode out your orgasm against his thick cock, aimlessly feeling around for a sense of stability. Keys understood perfectly, repositioning his arms to cradle you gently as your body tried to come down from its high. A nice breeze blew through the cracked window, cooling the two of you down somewhat, but not nearly enough. You dry swallowed, shaking your head like the physical movement would give your racing mind some much needed clarity.

“Good girl, you did good,” Keys weakly remarked, kissing your sweaty face in reverence. “You always do good, don’t you?”

“Mmm,” was all you could manage to say as your breathing started to even out.

Your fingers tingled. Your toes tingled. You were acutely aware of your hair sticking to your face. You slowly blinked and turned to face your amazing boyfriend, your eyes combing over his long wispy eyelashes and all the pretty moles dotting his handsome face like stars.

You leaned forward to softly kiss him, sighing as he carefully pulled his spent cock out of you. The combination of lube and cum that immediately flowed out of your hole had you mildly overstimulated, whining as you realized just how disgusting the bed was now. Well, it was a good thing that you two happened to do this on laundry day.

“I’m sorry we don’t get to do this more often,” a quiet voice spoke up against your lips. You pulled away, watching as Keys nervously looked down at your ass like it was the most interesting thing in the world (well, to be fair it kind of was to him). You hummed, turning your body in his arms to fully face him. His hazel eyes slowly dragged back up to meet your own.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reassured him. “I get it.”

“I know you do, and that’s a quality I really like about you, but still. I just…overthink sometimes, I guess.”

“Well I mean, as long as most of those thoughts are about me, I think we’ll be okay, Walter.”

Keys quirked his lips in good humor, amazed at your uncanny ability to stop his seeds of self-flagellation dead in its tracks before it blossomed into full on self-sabotage. Sighing, he sat up and stretched out, taking in the sight of the messed up bedsheets. Looking next at your sweat lined body, he figured he probably looked no different.

“We should probably shower before we do anything today,” he said, scratching at the side of his face.

“You think?” You snorted, resting your head on a fist as you peered up at him with a smirk. Keys rolled his eyes, playfully ruffling your hair (and enjoying your shriek) before hopping out of bed to get to the bathroom and get a cold shower going. You watched him go, eyes glued to his bare ass till it turned the corner and out of view, at which point you flopped back onto the bed with a content sigh and full smile.

Later that afternoon, when you were heading downstairs to use the building’s laundromat, there was indeed a note from management waiting for you on your door.

[zinainblue]

comin' home ✴ gator tillman

boyfriend!gator tillman x reader - wc 1.9k

summary: after a long patrol, gator finds his girlfriend in bed asleep. it's only his nature to disturb her.

tags/warnings: gator x reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, suggestive content, soft!gator, domestic fluff, grumpy x sunshine, possessive!gator, elements of casual sub/dom, gator thinks he wants a tradwife but really he wants your attitude

a/n: help me save me from the chokehold this character has me in (I'm exactly where I want to be)

---

A set of arms wrap around you, pulling you from luxurious sleep. 

You make a noise of protest, drawing in a long breath. Your down comforter feels heavenly right now, and snuggled in your favorite pair of cozy socks, you’re warmer and happier than you’ve been all day. It’s just typical of your boyfriend to interrupt.

“Right where I left you,” Gator hums, arms tightening around you, nose prodding into your cheek. From the feeling of his chest pressed up against you, you can tell he’s still in his work clothes, though he’s ditched the tactical vest. He’s been patrolling later than usual lately, much to both of your dismay. Were it not for how sweet he almost always is when he gets back and the fact it usually means you can sneak in an evening nap like this one when he’s gone, you might have had to pick a fight with his boss. 

You groan again, turning your head over your shoulder so he can see the frown on your face, your eyes still stubbornly shut. “‘M sleeping,” you mumble, voice thick. 

Gator’s letting the cold under the covers, and he probably knows it. He relishes annoying you like this, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as he presses them into the warmth of your neck.

“So fuckin’ lazy,” he chuckles. 

“Rude,” you grumble, rolling over. He laughs as you slip your arms around him, clutching him closer. In contrast to the idyllic heat of your bed, his arms are chilled from so long spent out in the Dakota snow.

“You’re wearing outside clothes,” you complain, finally opening your eyes. You blink at him, clearing them of sleep. 

He’s got that smug, lazy grin painted on his face as he watches you, and his hair is loosened slightly from its gel. “So?”

“You can’t bring outside clothes into bed,” you chide him gruffly, snuggling further into his chest. Damn it, but you’ve always slept better in his arms than alone, and as much-needed as your nap today was, you’ve missed him. You breathe him in, savoring the faint scent of perspiration and that sharp cologne you’ve told him you don’t like.

“I don’t see you complainin’,” he teases, his fingertips pressing into you. 

“Mmm,” you intone, already feeling sleep attempt to drag you under again. “How was work?”

“Same shit as usual,” he grumbles, tucking your head under his chin.“Rather be lazing around all day here with you, that’s for damn sure."

You tap a pattern onto his sternum with the pad of your finger. “I’ll have you know I’ve been slaving away all day,” you argue sleepily. 

“Oh yeah?” he snorts. “Believe that when I see it.”

If you weren’t so comfortable cuddled against his chest, you would have glared at him. “I have. I made scones for the church picnic, and I cleaned out the laundry room cabinets–”

“Mm, sounds hard,” he mocks you.

You huff indignantly. “Sounds like you’re not getting any of my scones.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest.

“I also went to check in on Mrs. Dougherty–”

“Crazy old bat,” Gator grumbles of your eighty-two-year-old neighbor who despises him. She’s really a sweet lady– just sees too much of Roy in Gator. You go over there every now and again to pick up the house for her and attempt to smooth things over between the two of them.

“And I picked up a morning shift at the diner,” you finish stubbornly. “And nobody else competent was working.”

His sigh ruffles your hair. “Baby, what’d I tell you about picking up those extra shifts?”

You roll your eyes. “It was only four hours, Gate.”

Gator pulls back to give you a displeased look. “I wish you’d just quit working at that fuckin’ place already. Those scumbags’re runnin’ you ragged.”

“I like my job, Gator,” you tell him pointedly. And you did– as shitty as any off-the-highway diner job was, yours was just decent enough to keep. And besides, you liked your coworkers, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to spend your hours keeping children from crying with smiley-face pancakes. It was more rewarding than what Gator did all day, that was for sure. “The people are nice. The tips are good.”

“Tips’re only good ‘cause you’ve got all those jackoffs making eyes at you,” he complains.

You fight not to roll your eyes again. “That’s not the reason.” Gator’s always been the jealous type– something you both love and hate about him. If he didn’t make it so difficult every time he came into your work or went out with you to a bar, you might have found the trait endearing. But he always made it all but impossible for you to hold a conversation with another man– interjecting and putting his hands all over you like you weren’t in public. It was no secret in town who you belonged to– Gator had made damn sure of that.

“Like hell it isn’t,” he argues. “I see ‘em every time I’m in there. Runnin’ their eyes over ya like they want a piece of ya.”

“Gator,” you cut in placatingly. “Everyone in town knows I’m with you. They know better than to try anything.” More importantly, they know Gator– know what it means when Roy Tillman’s son staked his claim. Every one of your regulars would much rather keep their eyes from wandering and their tone respectful than face the other end of a bloodied tire iron. 

“They fuckin’ better,” Gator adds, already spinning himself into a bad mood. But, as if he’s caught himself on it, realized what he’s doing, that anger melts slightly, replaced with a wicked, possessive mischief. “Maybe I should just knock you up. Finally send a message to all those assholes.”

Shock and a delicious jolt of warmth travel through you, and you glare at him. You pinch his side, then pull one of your hands free and hold it in front of his face, waggling your fingers. “Or maybe you could just get a move on and put a ring on it, stud. Start there.”

“You gonna quit your job if I do?” he teased, leaning forward to nip playfully at your neck. “Stay home all day makin’ scones ‘n shit?”

“Gate,” you sigh, your hand cradling the back of his head as he attacks your neck. “You know I like having something to do with my time besides sit around and take care of you.”

“Takin’ care of you’s my job,” he insists, his voice muffled against your skin. The vibrations travel up your pulsepoint, and you fight your shiver. “Y’should let me do it better. I’m the man. S’posed to provide for you.”

“You do,” you assure him, knowing this is a pressure point for him. “I’m just better for you if I’m not going stir-crazy in this house every day.”

He sighs, finally retreating from the junction of your shoulder and neck. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn. Drives me crazy, woman.”

You press forward, locking your lips onto his. Your mouths move together, slow and luxurious. “I love you,” you mumble, eyes crinkling as you stare back at him. 

“Mm,” Gator intones, holding out on you on purpose just to show he’s still not pleased. You snort, nonplussed by his pouting.

“I’m starving,” he announces, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before beginning to extract himself from the bed. “Gonna go make something to eat. You want anything?”

That reminds you– you make yourself sit up and get moving again, yawning wide. “There’s pulled pork in the slow cooker. I waited for you.”

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he asks, exasperated. He stands by the side of the bed waiting for you, which betrays the annoyed look on his face with more of that hidden sweetness.

You shrug, stretching your arms above your head. “I don’t like when we don’t have dinner together.”

“You shouldn’t have waited,” he scolds you, a frown tugging at his lips. “It’s late, doll. You can’t just starve ‘cause you’re waitin’ up on me."

“What time is it?” you ask, still groggy, ignoring his chastisement as you grab his right wrist and pull it up so you can look at his watch. When you see the time, you roll your eyes. “It’s only eight-thirty, Gator.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed and let him grab your wrists, pulling you to your feet. 

“You just told me you worked all day, stupid,” he reminds you, letting you lead the way out of the bedroom. “Next time, you eat without me. Got it?”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. It’s almost endearing how fast he switches between the insults and frustration and that care you’ve come to see in him– care that’s unlike how anyone’s ever treated you before, huge and constant and limitless. Like this boy would drive to the ends of the earth for you and yell at you all the way back home for being dumb enough to strand yourself out there. 

He’s got rough edges, your Gator. But there’s no denying he loves you.

When he’s standing behind you, beating you to taking the plates down from their high shelf as you stretch for them, you can feel it. When he watches you dig into your food and complains that you’re eating like you’ve been starving to death, it’s there, too. When he takes the dirty dishes from out of your hands and washes them while you sit on the counter beside him, drying them with a dishcloth, it’s impossible to ignore. 

On the way back to the bedroom, Gator lands a sharp smack to your ass, and you jump, glaring over your shoulder at him. He grins at you, the expression turning him so boyish. “Gotta be my favorite part of comin’ home.”

“Hm,” you intone, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you walk. “Mine’s giving you head. But I don’t know if you’ve been nice enough tonight.”

He laughs aloud, catching up to you and gripping you around the waist, spinning you in his arms as you reach the bedroom and he kicks the door shut behind him. Ignoring your squeal, he picks you up and throws you back onto the unmade bed.

You can’t help but grin as he comes over you again, his arms caging you in. 

“Careful what you wish for, pretty,” he teases, his voice a husk. “You’re lucky I love you so much. Wouldn’t take this kinda attitude from anyone else.”

Your fingers come up to clasp behind his neck, teasingly chaste. “If anyone else is offering you head, you’ve got another thing coming, Alligator.”

He leans down and kisses you, his tongue sweeping past your lips as he languishes in your taste. When you part for air, he’s smiling. “I love you,” he says begrudgingly, like he’s admitting something you can’t already tell in everything he does.

So, grinning back up at him, you only tell him, “I know.”

---

a/n: wrote, edited, and posted this in like one hour which is bizarre for me so apologies for any mistakes. also my first real x reader fic...

requests are open!

[its-djover]

First Time

pairing: travis ‘teacake’ meacham x single mom!reader

summary: you hadn’t slept with your boyfriend yet, yes you had been dating for a few months but you were honestly too scared. you hadn’t had sex since before your daughter was born, things were different and travis was gorgeous. but he’s also determined to show you just how beautiful you are to him

warnings/tags: smut, fluff, comfort, little bit of angst??, couple’s first time together, reader hasn’t had sex in a long time so she’s nervous af, oral (f receiving), body worship??, nipple play (like a smidge), creampie, p + v, unsafe sex, mention of having kids some day, travis has a big dick, squirting, beginning of the fic has some fluff with the kid, mention of breasts, vagina, etc, reader is insecure about her mom body and travis fucking loves it, description of said mom body, reader hates her body bad

wc: 6.9k

divider: x

a/n: this is my first time posting smut, i’m honestly so scared and spent so much time working on it. i hope it’s not horrible!! i’ve read this so many times i don’t think there’s any typos or mistakes but if there are yolo at this point. this is technically part 2 of this fic but can also be read as a stand alone. once again a huge thank you to my dear @bairdbesson for her help always always always.

likes, rb, replies etc are always encouraged🩷

It had been about three months since you started dating Travis, three months of giggles and butterflies in your stomach. You felt like a kid again, which was quite an achievement, considering most of your time together was spent with Lucy. Travis never complained; it never bothered him. He did things on your terms, and he understood that a mom would be busy a lot. So instead of trying to force you to just dump Lucy off at the nearest babysitter, he wanted her involved, he wanted to make your days easier in any way that he could. It meant more to you than he could ever imagine.

There was one thing you hadn't done with Travis yet, something that you were both terrified about and also dying to do. You hadn't slept with him.

Sex was a touchy subject, it had been over two years since you slept with anyone, the last person being Lucy's dad. You knew your body could look worse, but you weren't exactly happy with it, you were extra self conscious about showing it to Travis for the first time. Not to mention it was hard to have the alone time, you wanted to do it right, wanted both of you to be as loud and take as long as you want. Obviously, with a toddler in the apartment, things were a little tricky.

After putting Lucy to bed one night, you and Travis quickly move from cuddling and lazy kisses to full blown making out. Messy open mouthed kisses, as his tongue dominates yours, exploring your mouth. Your fingers tangle in his soft hair, tugging him towards you as if he can get any closer while you sit in his lap. His hand just began moving up your thigh when a loud wail comes from down the hall.

You pull away quickly, shifting off of Travis's lap so you can get off the couch.

He's up before you are, already turning on the light in the hallway as you stand behind him.

"I can get her—" you start to protest but your boyfriend gives you a quick kiss, smiling as he pulls away.

"You do enough honey pie…just give me five minutes and I'll be back." The warm light from the hallway casts a golden glow on his hair, "Then we can continue where we were." He says with a final wink before making his way to Lucy's room.

With a hesitant sigh, you sit back down on the couch. "Okay, okay." mumbling to yourself as you grab your phone off the arm of the couch. You weren't used to this kind of help, it made you a little antsy to not go and tend to every cry Lucy made.

You didn't want to get too comfortable just yet, not that you didn't trust Travis but you knew your daughter, and as helpful as he is he'd have to be a miracle worker to soothe her back to sleep in under five minutes on the first try.

"Hey Monkey Lu, what's the matter?" He coos. a soft smile curling up the ends of your lips as you hear him echo on the monitor.

"You look awfully scared, did you have a bad dream?" Travis keeps his voice soothing and light, you can hear the mattress creek as he picks her up.

Apparently your boyfriend is a miracle worker, in less than five minutes Lucy's cries stop, and the only thing you can hear are Travis's sweet whispers.

You quickly get lost on your phone, scrolling through post after post until a whispered "hey" catches your attention.

What you see when you look up should've made you roll your eyes and scold him, but instead you couldn't help but smile.

Travis stands in the entry way, the hall light casting a warm orange shine off his earring, his cheek gently resting on top of your daughter's messy bedhead as she snoozes on his chest.

"Sorry doll, we'll have to continue later." a sheepish grin resting on his face as he slowly makes his way to the couch.

You groan, playfully rolling your eyes. "If I had known my kid would've interrupted our makeouts this much, I never would’ve introduced you two."

A quick dramatic gasp leaves Travis's lips, looking at you with feign horror, "But look at her!"

"Look at me!" you pout, batting your eyelashes. His eyes move back and forth between you and your sleeping angel on his chest, this man was going to make your heart explode you just knew it.

Travis smiles down at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "How can I say no to a mini you?"

You lay your head on his shoulder, brushing your fingers gently through Lucy's curls. You were always told she was your mini me, it made you feel proud, it actually made you appreciate your own features because you saw them differently now. It was also a bit of a relief that she didn't resemble her father, that was one face that you were happy to never have to see again.

The warmth from Travis engulfs your body as you sat there curled into him as best as you could, you take in every detail of his face as he watches whatever old sitcom played on the tv. His honey brown eyes you love so much, one of the first things you noticed about him, aside from his hair and the 'howdy' tattoo on his neck that always makes you giggle. His nose is prominent, easy to kiss, or boop with your finger as you love to do. He laughs softly over something on the tv, his face lighting up into a smile…that damn smile, the same one that makes your heart flutter every time you saw it. You couldn't believe he was yours, regardless of everything that you thought would've made him give up…he stays.

Slowly you lift your head, gently kissing his cheek, jaw, and then neck feeling the goosebumps form under your lips.

"What are you—?" He began, careful of moving too quickly and waking up Lucy.

"Shh…" you hush, continuing to kiss his jaw, each kiss lasting a little longer, a little more tongue playfully swiping at the stubble.

Travis sighs, "Okay okay…" pulling his arm away and getting up from the couch as you grin, "I'll put her back."

About a week later, you decide it was finally time. Despite feeling terrified, there was an opportunity for your friend to take Lucy overnight and you knew you to take advantage of a rare free night. So, you and Travis planned a proper date, which had become a rarity since he met Lucy. You didn't mention the sex part to him; you were honestly too nervous. In your mind, it was a given when you asked if he wanted to spend the night.

Travis had carefully picked the perfect restaurant, a nice neighborhood bistro that was the right balance of upscale enough to feel special, yet relaxed enough that it felt comfortable for both of you. All you had to do was be ready and dolled up for when he arrived at your door, and boy were you ever.

His jaw actually drops when you open the door, revealing the flowing sundress that perfectly hugs your body in all the right places, made of soft chiffon that fluttered with every movement. Perfect for a breezy spring evening like this.

“Wow…" he mutters, swallowing hard as he struggles to keep his gazing from lingering too long on your legs, which were accentuated by the dress and lit by the cotton candy sunset behind him. You could feel the heat rise to your chest as his eyes explore every nook and cranny of your figure.

"A good wow I hope?" you tease, giggling at how quickly he nodded.

"God, yes!" he blurts out, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Everything about the night was incredible, Travis couldn't keep his eyes or hands off you, and it really made you feel good about. His lips found the crook of your neck, sending a shiver through your body as you fumble with the key to unlock your door. You stumble inside, his strong hands gripping your waist and flipping you around so that his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss.

With a swift motion, he kicks the door shut with his foot, then gently guiding you backwards to the couch. As your calves brush against the soft cushions, you sink down with a gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation. Travis had pulled back, then kneels down between your legs, which you spread open eagerly. One of his large hands rests firmly on your thigh as his tongue explores your mouth hungrily, deepening the connection and causing a warmth between your thighs.

You instinctely knew where this was heading and for once, you desperately wanted the voice in your head to shut up. Your desire to be with him was overwhelming, you longed to sleep with him, to feel him close. God, how much you wanted that. Gently your hand lays flat on his chest, pushing just a little, as the two of you pull apart for air. Travis looks up at you, his pupils so blown his eyes almost look black. Your eyes drifting downward, they settle on his swollen lips, your lipstick leaving a smudge of color lingering at the corner of his mouth.

"C-can we go to the bedroom, please? If that's okay with you?" His voice sounds so small it makes your heart ache, like he's scared for some reason you'd say no.

You swallow hard, nodding. "Please…" you whisper faintly, feeling your stomach plummet to the floor. Travis cups your face with one hand, his thumb gently brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, the kiss is so soft, so…chaste, like a fragile promise.

Gently, you take his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm as he responds with a tight squeeze before he gets up off the floor. You lead him into your room, where the bed seems to mock you, when was the last time this mattress was used for anything besides sleeping? Nervously, you begin to chew on your lip as Travis presses his lips into your neck, his fingers tugging cautiously at the silver zipper on your dress.

You think of all the women he's been with—whether they're around your age, younger, or even older. Most probably had little responsibility to anything besides themselves, working their various jobs. Their bodies remain otherwise flawless because they didn't grow a baby. No man had seen your naked body except doctors, which is a completely different situation.

Quickly, you turn to face Travis, your movement causing his hand to slip away from the zipper. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you look into his eyes, dark with hunger and desire. "Why don't you go into the bathroom…I, uh, need to get ready, okay?" you ask, aiming for a calm, seductive tone, disguising your nervousness and the urge to throw up all over your pretty dress.

His eyebrow arches slightly, eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. "Of course, baby. Whatever you need," he replies, his voice smooth and reassuring.

As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut, you begin to scurry around your room, your heart beat pounding faster with each step. You quickly turn off the overhead light, and instead switching on a small bedside lamp that cast a dim glow that you were more comfortable with.

Your hands tremble as you wrestle with the zipper that ran vertically between your shoulder blades. The last thing you wanted was to call Travis back in just to unzip your dress, only to come up with some weak excuse for why he couldn't simply just take the dress off for you.

Your mind wandering to the thought of his warm, gentle hands sliding over your bare skin, lips pressing softly against the crook of your neck as he carefully eased the dress down your frame. You couldn't remember the last time a man's touch had made you feel so alive, the thought of Travis touching you like that, of him exploring your body with such reverence, made your desire flare and pool between your thighs.

God, you wanted him.

A deep breath you hadn't even realized you were holding, pushes out of your lungs. Your fingers successfully find the zipper, gripping it firmly. You sigh with relief as you feel it glide down, the metal teeth pulling apart.

Quickly, you push the dress down to the floor and step out of it, grabbing it like a wad of material and flinging it over the back of a nearby chair. Earlier, you had purposefully picked this matching lingerie set, it's simple but one of your favorites, almost always making you feel good about yourself. Your eyes catch sight of your reflection in the nearby mirror, it feels like someone knocked the air right out of you.

You look at yourself carefully, the stretch marks on your soft belly, the faint silver lines on your breasts, the way your thighs still lack the toned definition they once had, your belly still bears a slight roundness, which at this point you've unfortunately just accepted as your new normal. You hate it. You despise everything about it. The anger it sparks inside you makes your chest tighten, you hate yourself for feeling this way.

So instead of leaving the lingerie on for Travis, you peel it off, squeezing your eyes shut as you caught sight of your reflection in the full length mirror again, You grimace, God. you needed to get rid of this fucking thing. You felt disoriented, unsure of how to sit or lie down, how to pose casually enough for when you call your boyfriend to come back. The mirror seems to mock you, the distorted image of yourself making tears well in your eyes. This was not how you wanted the night to go, you just want to enjoy yourself without these intrusive thoughts loudly echoing in your mind.

As a last resort, you slide under the soft sheet of your bed, pulling it up over your chest, and flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could feel the cold sweat glistening on your skin, your could hear the pound of your heart. "O-oh okay, I'm ready!" you call out faintly, wincing at the crack in your voice.

When the door swings open, a sudden rush of nerves makes your stomach tighten. The nightlight in the bathroom casting light on his strong frame. You could see he was only in boxers, the fabric clinging to his hips, highlighting the muscles in his thighs. Your eyes trace slowly upward, taking in his toned arms, his chest dusted with dark hair that was still visible. His presence was captivating, so much so that your gut twisted into a knot, a mixture of desire and anxiety.

Travis pauses and squints his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden darkness of the room. "Honey pie?" he calls out softly, tilting his head as he looked around. "I can't even see the bed, where are you? Why ya hidin'?"

His voice sounds so sweet and caring, and you could just imagine the furrow of confusion creasing his brow. You open your mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, a small, pathetic whimper slips out as you cover your face with your hands.

A soft click of a switch sounds nearby, and you know that Travis has found the switch for the lamp. A gentle light begins to spread across the room. His eyes immediately flicker toward you, noticing how you're tucked under the thin sheet, trying to hide. For a moment, he assumes you're doing this to tease him about what he's about to see. His gaze lingers on the shadowy outline of your naked body, and he can't help but salivate at the sight of your curves

"There's my baby…" he mutters softly, his voice husky and low, causing your thighs to squeeze together despite the slamming of your heart in your chest.

He stands over you, his hand gentle but steady as it reaches out to grab the edge of the sheet, slowly beginning to pull it down. You tighten your grip on the fabric, a rush of nerves flooding through you. "G-get the lamp," you stammer, your voice trembling as you kick yourself for the hesitation, noticing how his eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern.

"I wanna see you, sweetheart. You're teasin' me like crazy, hidin' under there," he murmurs softly, a playful smile lingering on his lips. Yet, his eyes, fill with tenderness, softening as he looks at your face, searching for some indication for how you're feeling.

Tears well in your eyes, shame tinting your cheeks and shadowing your features. "I-I thought I c-could do this…" your voice soft and cracking with each word.

You watch as Travis presses his lips into a deep frown, concern flickering in his eyes. "Do what, muffin?" he whispers, leaning over you, his hand lightly tracing the curve of your side.

Taking a deep breath, you try to blink the tears away before you speak again. "I got undressed…h-hid under the blanket…and now I-I'm too ashamed to show you.." you whisper, tears stream down your face as you clutch the frayed end of the sheet, unable to bear looking him in the eye.

"Ashamed of what?" Travis asks softly, tilting his head with a concerned frown. His brow furrows as he studies your trembling form, genuinely confused and scared he might have pushed you into something you didn't want.

Bringing your hands to your face, you take a shaky breath. "M-me…" you whimper, voice cracking as sobs wrack through your body. This was not how you wanted tonight to go, not at all. You thought you could handle this.

Travis's heart aches visibly as he looks at you, verging on the edge of tears just from hearing how harshly you feel about yourself. You were truly beautiful, he hadn't even seen you completely naked, yet he knew you were the only girl he could ever want.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress softly dips under his weight. His hand gently slides over the cool sheet and rests on your belly, warm and reassuring in his touch. To him, it feels like a simple, tender gesture until he notices the way your muscles tense beneath his fingertips.

"Oh sweetheart…" he coos, moving his hand from your stomach to gently hold your wrists. He lowers your hands so he can cup your cheek, his thumb carefully catching the tears that slide down your face.

A loud sob rattles out of you, wrenching through your body as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the world. "I don't look like other girls. My body is disproportionate, my stomach isn't flat like it used to be…there's stretch marks, dips a-and-" struggling to speak through your crying. Your breath hitching, you gasp, unable to control your tears.

When you meet his gaze, you're taken aback by how large and glassy his eyes are, as if what you're saying is piercing his very soul, breaking his heart.

You take a deep, quivering breath and try to continue. "No one has seen me, like this since I got pregnant," you whisper, your voice hoarse. "And I know I don't look like all the other girls you've slept with." You pause to draw another shaky breath, locking eyes with him, "It's not pretty…like it used to be. My boobs are shot, my stomach is—" little whimpers and hiccups slip out as Travis briefly interrupts you with a delicate, lingering kiss against your lips. He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"Don't say those things about yourself, sweetheart. You're beautiful, absolutely, mind blowingly beautiful." He looks at you earnestly, each word leaving his mouth in a firm but careful tone, his eyes locking onto yours. He means every single word he says, not just saying it to make you happy but because he truly believes it. "You amaze me every day, you're the strongest person I know. You're stunning, the prettiest thing I've ever seen." His hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing your skin, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on him. "I don't give a fuck what other girls look like. You're here right now, with me, and I am dying to show you just how beautiful you are, inside and out."

His words sit heavy on your chest, as you let out another sob, staring up at him while you try to blink away the tears.

Travis frowns, leaning over to softly kiss the tears away. "Sweet baby, your body has made and pushed out another human; that's nothing to be insecure about.". He presses kisses on each of your cheeks, then on your nose, and finally against your lips. "Lemme see, honey girl. I wanna remind you…"

His voice is calm and soothing, not pressuring or seductive, but soft and understanding. It makes you feel vulnerable, with an overwhelming warmth spreading in your core. Your hands instinctively find his soft, blonde hair, fingers tangling in the curls as you press your lips to his again. This one is different, its hungry, filled with want and need.

Travis gently breaks the kiss just as his hand reaches out to touch the smooth sheet. ""Is it okay?" he asks, voice still soft, waiting for your permission. Taking a deep, steadying, breath you nod, closing your eyes as you feel him delicately peel back the fabric.

"Oh baby," he mutters, in shock. For a second, a wave of panic rises within you and you momentarily panic. "Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God…" he moans…actually moans as his large hands touch your hips, then slide up your waist, over your belly, and settling on your breasts. He presses several kisses onto the valley of your chest before his eyes flash up to your face, "Open your eyes sweetheart."

When you do, his warm loving eyes lift, brimming with tender adoration, as if you're a cherished piece of art.

"Absolutely breathtaking." Travis whispers, a sweet smile spreading across his lips.

His knee nudges your legs apart as he lowers himself down. He groans when he sees how wet you are, pussy glistening in the dim light.

"Baby, when did you get this wet? Was it my words?" He asks, as his fingers massage into your plush thighs.

You smile shyly, slowly nodding as your hands go up to your face again, "That and when I was waiting for you…thinking about what you were gonna do to me when you saw me, and then I panicked."

Travis moves up again, his eyes are a mix of love, longing, and deep sadness. "Baby, I'm obsessed with you. I cant even begin to—fuck baby…"

His gaze wanders down your body, taking in every curve, every inch. You blush so hard that heat blossoms on your cheeks.

Travis chuckles, eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans down to kiss your cheek once more. "Turnin' all pretty and pink on me." he teases warmly, his voice a smooth whisper against your soft skin. The unexpected comment making you giggle, and he follows with a kiss on your nose, then your lips before effortlessly moving back down again.

"You were worried about your boobs? Babydoll, these are…" Pressing a slow, lingering kiss against each one, tongue swiping at your nipples, making you sigh. "Incredible, I'm comin' back here later."

Next, his hands gently touch your belly, fingertips softly caressing the supple skin as he traces the faint stretch marks that map your abdomen. He leaves sloppy open mouthed kisses across your plush flesh, warm and lingering. “This belly grew that beautiful baby," his words softly tremble, bringing tears to your eyes again. "This was her home." he whispers reverently, leaving one last tender kiss, before moving down between your legs.

Your breath hitches as you feel the heat of his breath hitting your core, sending shivers up your body. He bites his lip, jaw clenching tight, groaning softly as his eyes darken with lust.

"And this…this pretty pussy, fuck baby." He leans in, kissing the top of your mound right above your swollen clit. "This is not only the prettiest I've ever seen, but also the strongest." He coos, his thumbs gently caressing your inner thighs.

You feel yourself clench around nothing as you whine softly, he's right he’s truly making you feel beautiful…and undeniably horny.

"I get why someone got you pregnant, this addicting body." He smirks, eyes still locked on your dripping pussy.

You roll your eyes but can't hide a smile as you squint down at him, "Hey, don't get too crazy…not doing that for a while."

Travis lifts his head up quickly, eyes wide. "So you're saying it's in the cards?"

Giggling, you nudge him playfully with your knee. "We'll see how good you make me feel…"

He lowers his head back down, a devilish grin across his face. You can feel his nose lightly nudge against your clit, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you struggle to hold back, resisting the urge to buck your hips against his face.

His tongue drags slowly down your slick folds, exploring every crease with deliberate strokes before darting in and out of your opening. Your whines grow louder, a trembling emotion in the back of your throat as your hands tangle in his hair. He laps up the arousal that's seeping out of you and directly entering his mouth. He moans, lips vibrating against you as you feel him pull you closer.

"T-Trav..need more…" You whimper, and that seems to trigger a reaction inside him. His tongue moves faster, tasting and exploring as he works diligently. His spit and your fluids mingle, spreading all over his face before he takes your clit between his lips.

A passionate cry leaves your lungs, as your hips buck against his face. "S-so good…oh fuck…so good." You moan, your back arching off the mattress as his hands explore every inch of your body, warm and firm against your supple tits and belly. A reminder of his presence and intense obsession with you courses through the moment. Tears prickle at your lash line as the pressure rises in you, you swear you start to see stars.

Travis groans, his voice muffled as he whispers, "So sweet…so beautiful." He slides a finger inside, curling it just right to hit your most sensitive spot, causing you to moan so loud you're convinced the neighbors must have heard.

"Want another, baby?" He asks, tongue swirling around your clit fast enough to make you stop abruptly and gasp for breath.

"Please!" you cry out, nodding frantically as you feel a second thick finger stretch and fill you, the sensation intense and precise in all the right ways.

It doesn’t take long before you lose control, succumbing to his tongue, your body trembling and thighs quivering around his head. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as you soak his chin and hand. Travis laps up every drop, drinking you down with loud greedy slurps as you writhe under him. He moans against your sensitive clit, the sound vibrating through you as he lick you clean, making you whimper and jolt through the aftershocks. You hadn't even noticed Travis had been rutting against the mattress this whole time.

Your body shivers as you pant breathlessly, coming down from your high, the rush gradually fading as your muscles relax. Travis moves back, but not before pressing a soft kiss against your clit before moving up. Your head rolls back against the pillow as he kisses up your body, burying his slick covered face against your belly and then chest.

He's painfully hard, feeling the way his cock strains against his boxers on your thigh but what he says next astonishes you.

"That was just day one baby, I don't wanna overwhelm you." he hums, "Wanna take it slow."

Your eyes fly open, looking at him in disbelief. "You're not gonna fuck me?"

He smirks, giving you a little wink, and then slots his lips firmly against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your belly flutter. You moan in to it, letting his tongue slip past your lips, tasting yourself on him. He pulls away suddenly, just as your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers.

"We need to take it slow, its been so long, you're sensitive." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips grazing your forehead.

You whine, crossing your arms tightly over your chest in a huff. You're touched by how sweet he is, considering the pain caused by the tent in his boxers, but you're also pissed off. The sexual frustration makes you want to scream. You need him desperately, craving the feeling of him deep inside you, stretching and filling your pussy completely.

The mattress shifts as Travis stands up, his feet shuffle across the carpet as he begins to walk toward the bathroom. Your hand quickly shoots out to catch his forearm, stopping him before he got out of your reach.

"No way, mister!" you call out, causing him to spin around, eyes wide in shock.

"Honey, it's been so long I don't want to—" he starts, but soon you cut him off.

You lean up on your elbows, breath shallow as the heat between your thighs screams for attention. "Travis," you say, trying to sound as calm as possible, but your voice wobbles. "I need you…I need you really, really bad." The words escape in a whimper, and tears start to gather in your eyes. You need him.

He freezes, expression softening into an empathetic look. Slowly, he reaches out to put a hand on your cheek. "I don't wanna hurt you, angel."

You wish you had a reply; you really wish you did, but you're desperate. "Travis…I. Need. You." pausing after each word, your eyes fixed on his. "And if you turn me down, you have one miserable night coming because if I wait one more second, I might explode."

With determination you shift on the bed, tucking your legs under yourself so you can kneel in front of him. You eyes grow wide and watery as you focus on him. They linger momentarily on the unmistakable outline of his cock against the stretched material of his boxers, then flick upward to meet his gaze.

"Travis…mama needs your cock, real bad." Sticking your lower lip out as you whisper a final plea. His wrist remains in your grasp as you gently guide it downward between your thighs, the air thickening with tension. A faint whine fills the room as you slide his finger through your soaked lips, "Need your thick cock.."

He shudders, eyelashes fluttering as he rubs the pad of his finger against your clit, you moan in a long exhale.

"Don't wanna hurt you." Travis mutters, you can see how conflicted he feels, your heart skips a beat.

You lazily ghost your lips over his neck, another whine leaving your lips, "You won't, you'll make me so happy…so full of you." you whisper seductively, as you nibble at the shell of his ear. "Unless you don't want that?" Pulling back just enough to look in his eyes, tilting your head to the side, pouting.

Travis shakes his head, swallowing hard. "No, no…I want that," he protests, desire flickering in his eyes. You lean closer to his neck, feeling the warmth of his sticky skin, and lightly drag your tongue over his pulse point, feeling it quicken.

Then laying back down, with a slow deliberate motion, your eyes never looking anywhere but at him. You spread your legs, looking at him with a playful smile. "Then take me…"

You weren't sure if you had ever seen a man pull his underwear off so quick, almost causing himself to stumble as he kicked them to the floor. You try not to giggle, biting your lip as you watch him crawl up the bed, toward you, his bare knee padding against the sheets.

His large cock rests against his stomach, you moan at the sight of his red tip dotted with precum that smears onto his happy trail with each movement. You bite your lip, hips bucking against air. "Oh fuck…I need you."

Grinning, Travis wraps his strong arm around you, his palm pressing steadily against your back as he pulls you closer. He takes his cock, sliding the tip through your slick folds, your juices smearing together on both of you. "Please…please…" you shudder, trembling under him as you grip onto his shoulders.

"Easy sweet thing, I got you." Travis coos, lips grazing over your skin as he leans down to drop a tender kiss to your forehead. His warm breath brushing softly against your skin as he slowly sinks into you.

You mewl, back arching as his thick cock stretches you. Each inch of him gliding against your walls just right as you gasp beneath him, gripping his shoulders. You moan sinfully as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the delicious stretch. "S-so big…need more." you sigh, nails scratching his back as you dig your heels into his waist, pulling him closer,

Travis chokes out a strangled groan, filling you to the hilt. He tightly grips onto the sheet, trying to keep the steady pace as he slow as possible he fucks into you. But you want more, you need more. "P-please…p-please hmmph Trav…need more." You cry pitifully, bucking your hips up against his.

He lets go of the sheet, finding your hand that had flopped next to your head. His fingers lace together with yours as he quickens the pace, grunting as his hips slam into yours. The wet sound of skin slapping fills the room, as Travis lets out a pleased hum. "Taking my cock so good baby…such a good girl…" he pants, squeezing your hand.

"S-so full," needy little whines leaving your parted lips with each thrust.

Travis nips at your neck, moving down to the skin by your collarbone, sucking on the sweet spot, and then running his tongue over it. "You're so tight…fuck." Pressing his forehead against yours, mouth hanging open, his breath ghosts over your lips.

You're stretching with each thrust, crying out while every grind of his hips catches his hair on your puffy clit. Pleasure pulsing quickly inside you, faster than it ever had before. "Travis, I-'gonna…fuck!"

The coil in your belly snaps, dissolving into toe curling pleasure. Eyes rolling back as your climax tears through your body. You tremble in his arms as your muscles tense, clinging to his back as your nails leave dents in his skin. His name rolls off your tongue in loud moans followed by a sharp gasp when you feel your release squirt out of you.

Travis digs his fingers into your hips, "Oh..my God..fuck." His babbles low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes shut tightly, groaning in your ear, as your pussy clenches around him.

Once your haze fades a little, it dawns on you how quickly you came and a blush shrouds your face, "I'm…I-m sorry I came so f-fast, I just haven't done that in a while." you stutter, hiding your face in his neck.

Travis stops mid thrust, still deep inside you, holding off with a shaky breath. Eyes opening as he lifts his head up, gently rubbing his thumb against the spot he had been gripping.

"No, no, that's good baby, that's so good. I wanna make you feel good and that felt like you felt damn good." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder.

You pull away from his neck, still out of breath, face flushed. "You can finish in me." You whisper shyly and his eyes go wide.

"Ya sure?"

You nod, "I've been on the pill since Lucy, might as well make use of it."

Travis smashes his mouth into yours in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clicking as his tongue swirls around yours. His thrusts begin again, rough, and sloppier than before, you can tell he's getting close.

Your fingers tangle in his hair tugging hard, feeling him snap his hips against yours. Panting out little whines every time his cock pulses against your sensitive g-spot, it feels intoxicating.

"You look so pretty…all fucked out…creaming all over me." Travis coos, looking down at where you're connected. Streaks of your cream coating his cock every time he draws back, you feel him twitching inside you.

"Wanna feel you cum in me," You whine softly, "Want you to fill me up…it's been so long Trav. Want you t'claim me."

The little pleads just egg him on, bringing him closer as he shudders out a broken moan, babbling your name as his hips lurch forwards, spilling inside of you with a low breathy growl. Some of his cum drips down his shaft, there's so much of it as he periodically jerks his hips, pushing more inside you just for it to spill back out.

You whimper, body trembling from the warmth as your mouth hangs open, "Fuck, Travis." feeling him smirk against your neck, a low groan rasping from his throat.

"So good, you took me so well, you were so good for me." his babble comes out a little hoarse as he comes down from his high. Breath uneven, his body limp, and boneless against you; making you feel safe.

"Evidently you needed some release too." You tease, twirling his hair around your fingers.

Travis's breath tickles your damp skin as he chuckles, a sigh leaving his lips. He pulls back just enough so he can look you in the eye, nose rubbing against yours. "You did so good for me honey pie." the gentle sound of his voice almost making you want to cry…again.

His lips slot against yours once more, weaving together slow tentative adoration as his hands explore your body. "Feel so good against me, feels so good to be inside you…feels so good to hold you."

Blinking away tears, you cup his face in your hand, "Thank you." you whisper, watching Travis smile wide. His thumbs rubbing up and down your ribs, holding you close to him like if he let go you'd disappear, and he can't have that happen.

The two of you stay in that deep embrace, Travis laying on top of you, head tucked under your chin in sweet contentment. Every few minutes he sprinkles kisses all over your jaw and collarbone, making you giggle.

Your eyelids gradually start to feel heavy under the warmth of his body, but you feel him start to stir. Whining as he pulls out, the emptiness aching more than the fullness did. Keeping your eyes shut you hear him pick his boxers up off the floor, followed by his feet padding against the carpet to head to the bathroom.

The next thing you know he's gently tapping your knee, making your eyes flutter open. He's standing over you with a lovesick smile on his face, a damp cool cloth held in his hand. Shining a sleepy smile, you spread your legs to let him clean you up. A whimper falls from your lips, making him freeze.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks hesitantly, carefully searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

You smile, slowly blinking the sleepier you got. "No, no, its just been a long time and we…enjoyed ourselves a lot." Breaking out in a giggle, feeling so giddy it hammers in your chest and you love every bit of it.

Travis takes your hands and carefully pulls you up to a sitting position on the bed, picking up his t-shirt that was thrown on the floor earlier and slipping it over your head. The shirt was big and soft, wrapping your tired muscles in a sense of security.

You began to stand up, feeling your legs start to wobble once you put weight on them.

"Need my help?" He asks, arm instantly wrapping around your waist.

"I think I got it." Taking a small step as you slip out of his grasp, your legs feeling a little more like part of your body and a little less like jelly.

"But if you do need me-"

"You'll be the first to know." Turning to look over your shoulder before entering the bathroom, a smirk toying at your lips.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you settle back into bed, pulling the cool sheets over your tired legs. Travis presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering, as his arm instinctively pulls you closer.

You curl up comfortably against him, resting your head on his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

"Thank you for being so good to me." you mumble, eyelids beginning to flutter, as the exhaustion begins to take over.

"Always." He whispers in return, his calloused fingers tracing soothing circles along your arm. The room is quiet and calm, the only sound is your shallow breath as Travis's warmth lulls you sleep.

[thecreelhouse]

always ready to be left out in the cold

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.

WC: 18k+

Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.

A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine.

‎♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬

This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.

Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.

Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.

Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.

Yeah, lucky you.

This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.

You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.

It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.

And that's never your call to make.

Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."

"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.

He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.

Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"

"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."

"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.

"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"

"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."

"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."

"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."

"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"

"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."

Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."

"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"

"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.

Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."

There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.

Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.

Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?

It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.

Until you just… left. 

 Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.

No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.

You'd drift in, drift out.

Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.

In, out.

All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.

So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.

Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.

When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.

What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?

What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?

What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?

If you stayed… would it have been worth it?

The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.

It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.

That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.

No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.

Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.

Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?

Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.

You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.

Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.

Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.

That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.

Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.

The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.

That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.

You can only tread water for so long, though.

"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"

Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.

"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."

And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.

"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"

"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."

His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.

Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.

What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?

Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.

Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.

"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."

He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."

"God, you're such a bitch."

"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."

"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"

"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"

"Stop!"

"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"

"I meant the van, asshole!"

Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.

Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.

You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.

"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"

Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.

His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"

You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.

Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.

"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.

"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"

He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."

Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.

She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"

You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.

"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"

Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."

"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.

In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.

Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."

"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."

So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.

Fantastic.

"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."

Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.

"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"

"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"

Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"

Hopper.

Oh, boy.

Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.

Well, can't say you didn't try.

Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."

You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.

"Okay, where are you exactly?"

The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.

You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.

Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."

"Language."

"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.

"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."

So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.

Way off.

"I- I don't know."

A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.

"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"

Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.

There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."

Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling a cold.

You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.

"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."

You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."

Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."

"I didn't lose the fucking—"

The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.

"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"

"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."

Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.

Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.

"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."

Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.

"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."

There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.

Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.

He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".

"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."

Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."

Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."

Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."

That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.

Together.

Alone.

"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"

A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.

"Yeah, kid. I got it."

In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.

It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.

Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.

"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"

"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"

Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?

"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."

Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"

"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."

"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.

"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.

There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.

Unless…

There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.

You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.

"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."

But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"

"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."

"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."

"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"

His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.

"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"

"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."

"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."

He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"

Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"

"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"

You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"

"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"

"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."

"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"

"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."

"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."

"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.

Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.

The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.

If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.

Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.

The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.

Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.

Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.

Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.

He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.

And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.

So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.

He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.

By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.

Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?

What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.

To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.

To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.

The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.

The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.

He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.

Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.

You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.

Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.

It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.

Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?

In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.

There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.

"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.

You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.

"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.

When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.

"Ow… S'loud," you groan.

"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.

"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.

It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.

Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.

Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.

"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.

Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.

And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.

Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.

Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.

"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.

He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.

Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."

"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."

"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."

The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.

Yeah, you're worse than he thought.

"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"

"M'yeah, s'kay."

If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.

Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.

Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.

He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"

"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."

"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.

He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.

"Okay, c'mon, boots first."

Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.

Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.

And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.

He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.

You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.

"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."

There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.

At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.

"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.

"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.

"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."

He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.

"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."

If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.

"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."

You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.

"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"

That's a dumb fucking question.

"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."

When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.

About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.

"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."

"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.

"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."

Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.

Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.

But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.

Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"

"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.

You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."

He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.

What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.

Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.

"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."

He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?

That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.

Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.

Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.

He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.

That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.

The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?

God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?

Whatever.

It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.

The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.

Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.

That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.

Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—

"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"

Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.

Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.

Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.

He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.

"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.

He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.

"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."

Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."

The words ache with more desperation than he intends.

"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.

"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.

"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"

He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Fu- fucking cold."

"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."

You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."

"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."

You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.

Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.

Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.

Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.

"Be n- n- nice!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"

"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"

The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.

Like a fucking fool.

"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."

The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.

"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."

"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"

You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"

"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"

"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.

He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."

"You could h- have some f'ya' want."

"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."

"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."

"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.

You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."

He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."

Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.

"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.

You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.

"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."

Oh, if only you knew.

"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"

"Make wh- what weird?"

Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.

The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."

"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."

"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.

The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.

"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."

"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."

You sound mortified.

"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"

"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"

He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?

"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."

"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."

He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.

There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.

Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.

Talk about something else. Anything.

"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.

"Hm? Wi- with what?"

"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."

"We still ended up in a ditch—"

"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."

You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.

"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."

Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."

"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."

Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.

"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."

"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."

It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.

"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."

He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.

"… What?"

Because since when do you care about letting him down?

"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."

Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.

"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."

And look where that got the two of you.

Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.

You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."

"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."

"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."

"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."

The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."

We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.

"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."

An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.

Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.

"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."

It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…

Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.

And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.

"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"

"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"

"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."

Scared is an understatement.

He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.

He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.

He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.

And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—

Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.

Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.

Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.

Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.

And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.

Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.

Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.

If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.

And you.

You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—

It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.

He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.

Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.

So much wasted time—

"Steve?"

Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.

Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"

"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"

A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."

"Oh my god, Steve."

"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."

"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.

"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."

Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.

"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.

"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."

"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."

Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."

A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.

The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.

"Fuck, shit, fuck—"

Yeah. He's hard.

He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.

Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."

"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"

Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."

Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.

"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"

Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."

He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?

"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."

"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"

"Not to death."

"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."

"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"

"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"

"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"

He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.

"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."

"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"

"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."

"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.

No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.

"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."

"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"

He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.

Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.

Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.

Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."

Not like this one's much easier to talk about.

Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.

"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"

"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."

You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.

It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.

"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"

When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.

"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."

For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.

"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."

It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?

There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.

The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.

"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."

Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.

Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.

You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.

He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.

The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.

"Shit, Steve…"

He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.

He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.

"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"

"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.

If, you know, you were into that.

His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.

The two of you just have to survive this night first.

"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."

You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.

Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.

"Finish. The. Sentence."

You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.

"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"

"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."

Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.

"Bet you were this wet before you left."

Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."

"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."

"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."

Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."

"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.

"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."

Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."

The smug expression falters, "Too much?"

"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."

Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."

Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.

He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.

Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."

"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."

"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."

You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."

"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"

"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."

He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.

And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.

The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.

Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.

"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."

Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.

"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"

Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.

"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."

The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.

"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"

The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.

"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"

Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.

"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"

You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.

This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.

Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.

And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.

He's missed you. So, so much.

The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.

"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.

"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"

Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.

"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."

Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.

"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.

"I- I want it."

"Want… what?"

Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."

"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."

"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.

Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.

Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.

"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."

As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.

You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.

"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"

Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."

He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.

"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."

Steve blinks as the words sink in.

Oh.

"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."

"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"

He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.

"One step at a time, okay?"

He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.

Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.

Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.

"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.

Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.

"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.

In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."

Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.

Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.

"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"

You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.

Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.

Oh, no.

"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"

Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"

"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"

"Steve."

"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.

"Were you— oh my god."

"What?!"

A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.

The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."

He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.

Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"

"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."

"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"

"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."

Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.

You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.

It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.

A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.

Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.

It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.

By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.

He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.

Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.

"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"

The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.

"S'okay?"

"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.

"But?"

Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.

Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.

He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"

"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."

Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.

As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.

You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.

Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.

"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.

"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'

Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."

And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.

"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."

"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."

"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."

Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.

"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"

Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.

With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.

"You done talking logistics yet?"

Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.

That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.

No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.

"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.

Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in. 

Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.

Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.

What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.

Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.

It tightens.

Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.

"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.

The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.

"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."

Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.

But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.

Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.

That plucks at his heartstrings, too.

"Steve?"

Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.

"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."

Baby.

Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.

Wait, did you say he was crying?

"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."

"Steve—"

"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."

"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."

"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."

Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.

"St—"

He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.

You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"

"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."

And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.

You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"

He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.

"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"

"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.

You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.

"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."

Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"

"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."

Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"

It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.

His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.

And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.

No one's like you. No one could even compare.

"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."

"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."

Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.

"Steve," you whine.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."

You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."

"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."

"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"

"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."

You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."

"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"

"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."

"Please… what?"

"Steve, I s- swear to god—"

"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."

"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.

He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.

"Such a what?"

"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"

Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.

"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.

 The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same. 

"I… Yours?"

 Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.

"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"

Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.

"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.

He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.

"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"

"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you. 

"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."

"Y- you."

Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.

"I'm right here."

Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.

The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.

And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.

"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.

It's only fair to match his energy.

"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."

He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.

No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.

"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."

Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.

Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.

God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.

"Fuck, you're unreal."

You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.

Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck

"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.

"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"

He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.

Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.

Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.

Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.

That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.

"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.

All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.

"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."

Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."

"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."

Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.

The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.

"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."

And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.

There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.

"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."

"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"

Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"

"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.

Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.

It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.

"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."

"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"

"Okay."

"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."

This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.

"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."

He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."

"Steve."

The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will. 

And he will, too.

[keer-y]

Free Show

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 4.3k tags: MDNI//SMUT: [unsafe] vaginal sex, cock warming, public sex, exhibitionism, creampie, and very briefly oral sex (f receiving), come eating a/n: this is set in an au where the tillman family is normal and not unhinged. :) from this brainworm

&&

“Hey, sugar,” Gator said as he stepped into your bedroom, where you were readying yourself for the day. It was already hot, the windows open, the slight breeze doing nothing to help with the still air in the house.

“Hey, Gates,” you replied, adjusting the straps of your sundress in the mirror. It hugged your curves exactly the way you liked, fabric clinging to your chest and waist.

“Pretty dress,” he commented as he stepped past you, holding a towel around his waist. He smacked at your ass as you bent closer to the mirror over your dresser, clasping a necklace, and then he just pinched the hem of your skirt in his hands and lifted it up. You sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself in the mirror, because you were used to this kind of thing.

You patted the necklace against your chest and straightened up, and still, Gator held your skirt aloft, but when you glanced at him in the mirror, he was looking at you, not your ass.

“Yes?” you asked, reaching for a pair of earrings.

“Just thinkin'...” he said, dropping your skirt, and you sighed, smirking a little, because whenever Gator started “just thinking” you were usually in for it.

“About...?” you led him.

“Just thinkin'... what if ya took these off 'nd went commando today?”

“Gator...” you said, sighing again, but unable to hide the amused grin on your face. “There will be kids there.”

“I ain't askin' ya ta run around with 'em! Just, y'know, a little treat fer me and you. A little thrill, right? Knowin'...” He met your eyes in the mirror as you hooked the earrings through your lobes.

“You're disgusting,” you said. He only winked at you, and you couldn't help yourself—you let yourself laugh a little. Your biggest flaw—not that you had many, let's be real—was that you always allowed Gator to talk you into shit like this. But it was fun, you couldn't deny it; he was fun.

“A'right, have it your way,” he said, swatting your ass through your skirt again before moving away from you, tossing the towel into the laundry basket set outside your closet as he went about getting himself dressed. You'd chosen his clothes for him, because you knew if you didn't he'd end up in his ridiculous camouflage pants and a faded Old Navy Fourth of July tee that had seen countless better days. It wasn't even Fourth of July.

Dutifully, and because he knew better than to argue with you, he dressed himself in the cargo shorts you'd selected (a compromise) and the linen shirt (non-negotiable), fidgeting with the buttons as he decided just how many he wanted to leave open at the neck.

“Leave your hair like that,” you said, as he had sidled up next to you to use the mirror to slick it back.

“What? No,” he protested, picking up his pomade.

You took his wrist in your hand and held it, and when he turned to look at you, you didn't blink, flinch, crack in any way. “I said leave it like that.”

Releasing his wrist, you picked up your final pieces of jewelry to wear—your wedding band and engagement ring, slipping them onto your finger before taking a couple steps back and holding eye contact with him. Without missing a beat, like you'd been planning on doing it the entire time without him even asking, you lifted the hem of your dress and slid your hands down into your underwear, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor, stepping out of them and then crouching to pluck them from the carpet. Gator watched, smirking and transfixed, as you passed him and tossed them on top of his towel in the basket.

You turned back to him. “Leave your hair like that,” you repeated. He placed the tub of pomade back down onto the dresser.

Smiling sweetly, you walked back past him, making a kissy face as you did, before heading downstairs to get everything you needed to bring with you together.

Gator joined you, carrying the food you'd prepared and told Roy and Karen you'd bring, while you had a few extra tablecloths as they'd requested, and an empty pitcher for the Kool-Aid you were sure the kids were all going to want.

The drive over to the ranch was quiet and calm, windows open, your hand stuck out to feel the cool air on it as the highway rolled along beneath you. The radio was humming, staticy—not so much you couldn't make out the music playing but the volume was low enough that you couldn't really hear it anyway. After a few comfortable, silent minutes, Gator reached out to take your hand and rest it on his thigh as he drove, and you glanced over at him. He didn't look back at you—eyes on the road, of course—but you saw a smile curving his cheek.

When you arrived, Jessica and Maude ran over to greet you along with a cluster of other children, who were all somehow under the impression that you had brought the overly saccharine Kool-Aid with you, not just the pitcher to mix it in.

“It's not ready yet!” you said, leaving them frowning and stamping their feet, their disappointment in you evident. “I'll go get it mixed up for you, ok?” You followed Gator into the house, where it felt a few degrees cooler but not much, and headed straight for the kitchen where Karen looked frazzled and Roy was nowhere to be seen.

You helped her as best you could, along with a few other guests' wives, while Gator disappeared to look for Roy (and if you saw him palming his vape, you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you helped Karen carve up watermelon before fixing the Kool-Aid).

After the preparations were finished, the kids scattered god-knows-where playing hide and seek, and you found Gator outside standing beside one of the tables the men had set up earlier in the day. He was leaning against the tree thankfully shading the table, all by himself, smoke billowing from his mouth as he took a drag. You called this “strategic vaping:” a tactic he used when he wanted to be alone and made sure that the entire area stunk of whatever flavor he'd chosen for the day.

“Don't feel like socializing?” you asked, stepping up to him, the breeze kicking up just enough to make you hold your hand to your thigh, keeping your skirt down against your legs.

“Hate these fuckin' family things,” he mumbled. “Rather be at home on my day off than here.”

“You have the next two days off too,” you said, leaning into him, and he wrapped his arm around you as you rested a hand on his chest, rubbing him a little through the thin fabric. “We don't even have to get out of bed if you don't want.”

He huffed, lifting the vape to his mouth again, and you reached up to try and pluck it from his fingers, but he dodged you and blew the smoke up and away from you, though the scent of strawberry-kiwi still permeated the area. “Least I got you,” he said, and you almost let yourself smile, until his hand dropped from your waist to your ass, groping you through your skirt. “C'mon, lemme see ya?”

“Gator, your whole family is right over there,” you said, looking over at the group of people; Roy and a group of men playing horseshoes, Karen and the other moms slathering sunscreen on their children because Gator had commandeered the only table set in shade—you could see them throwing nasty looks his way every now and then, but he didn't react other than to squeeze your ass through your dress.

“Y'know,” he said, and his tone already had you on edge, because it was the same one he'd used earlier when he asked you to take your panties off in the first place. “Just thinkin'...”

You stayed still, biting your lip to keep from laughing, already knowing he was going to ask for something inappropriate, as his hand fondled your ass. He tugged you closer to him, turning you so your front was pressed to his, and you saw him do a sweep of the yard before turning down to you and kissing you, soft lips grazing yours.

“No one's botherin' us over here,” he said. “Could have a little fun.”

“A little thrill?” you asked, and he nodded, smirking.

“See, you get it,” he said, “Turn 'round, stand in front'a me. Like that.” He pocketed his vape and moved you around, using you to block him as he pulled one of the benches out from the table with his foot, angling it so that he could sit on the edge. Seated, with the tablecloth obscuring his lower half from the rest of the gathering, and you also providing some cover, Gator nonchalantly leaned one elbow on the table and—

You spun where you stood, not saying anything, just needing to be sure you were hearing what you thought you were—and sure enough, he had tugged down the zipper of his shorts, and was working at undoing the button one handed too.

“Gonna sit ya right here,” he said, finally managing to slip the button after a moment of struggling. You stared openly at him, then turned to your left to see whether anyone had seen or even bothered to notice the two of you off on your own. The men were still tossing horseshoes, save for Roy, who was over by the grill. The moms were seated at the other tables, fanning themselves with whatever Karen had found in the house and distributed—magazines, junk mail, one was even using a couple paper plates. The kids were running around, hooting and hollering, playing tag now by the looks of it.

“Someone will see us,” you said, turning back to Gator, but your words caught in your throat as you saw him, shorts unbuttoned and pulled down just enough that he was able to slip his cock out of them, and he was stroking it surreptitiously. He was already hard—he must have gotten himself all worked up thinking about this—and he reached for you with his free hand, fingers curling around yours as he tugged you closer.

“No one's gonna see,” he said, pulling you even closer. You stumbled a little as he put his hands on your hips and firmly moved you, finally standing up just a little from the bench and wrapping an arm around you, falling back down and pulling you with him. You landed on his knees, and he quickly pulled at your dress, almost comically so, trying to get it out from beneath you and over his cock as the first step.

“This is the sickest thing you've ever done,” you said, palm flat on the table as you felt his length pressing against your ass.

“We've ever done,” he corrected you. “Y'ain't exactly objecting, sugar,” he continued, and you had no rebuff to that, because he was right, you weren't, and now you were actively moving with him to lift yourself up enough that he could angle his cock between your thighs, the head slipping between your folds until it notched into your slit, and you tried to slide back onto him in the most nonchalant way possible, even though you felt like there was a spotlight on you, a siren blaring, a big neon sign boasting Perverts here! Free show!

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he mumbled, drawing the words out, arm moving around your middle to hold you tight to him. “Now, don't that feel nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice tight, your arm resting over the top of his, your palm on the back of his hand, fingers curling between his. He was stretching you out so beautifully, your walls already pulsing around him—you could feel every inch of him deep within you, and as you tried to compose yourself, Gator went about fixing your skirt, making sure that it billowed around the two of you so that the fact that you were joined with him was completely hidden.

“Gonna let ya just sit on it fer a while, how's that sound?” he asked, pressing his face into your back, before tightening his arm around you. You thought he was just being possessive—he sometimes got like that when you cock warmed him; it brought out this base, feral side of him that got clingy and grabby, needing to feel you as close as possible—but no, he only lifted both you and himself up to turn on the bench, so you were facing the table now, and you let your elbows rest on it, needing the support to try and gather yourself back together.

“You feel so good,” you said, testing out speaking, trying to see if you could keep your voice steady. You managed it well enough, you thought, and Gator let his hand drop to your thigh, rubbing it slowly through the soft cotton of your skirt.

“So d'you, sugar,” he said, “'m the luckiest motherfucker in the county.”

“What if someone comes over?” you whispered, turning a little to look at him. He adjusted you on his lap, your slit dripping around him as he held you open, no other stimulation for either of you, other than your muscles clenching down on him, and that was mostly involuntary at this point.

“They ain't gonna know,” Gator said, not really answering your question. You squirmed a little on his lap—it was hot and sticky already, because of the summer weather, but having him buried in you like this made you even more jumpy, more sensitive, and knowing that the eyes of his family could fall on you like this made your nipples peak in your bra, the excitement knowing that if Karen or Roy came over to talk to you, you were doing something insanely fucked up right in front of them, well—Gator had been right all along. It was a thrill.

You sat there, hands clinging to the edge of the table, Gator puffing away on his vape—you had no idea how long it had been, how much time had passed. He offered you his vape and you took it, taking a drag on it to try and ease the tension you felt building in the back of your neck, but it didn't quite help. And when Karen walked over, carrying a couple of plates for you both, it felt even tighter—your neck, and your cunt.

“You two lovebirds just wanna be alone?” she asked, setting the plates down in front of you.

“Somethin' like that,” Gator said, thankfully taking point. His cock was rock hard inside you, pressing against you from every single angle, no matter which way you moved, and the plate of ribs and corn on the cob and the pasta salad that you'd brought to the barbecue didn't even entice you. You were actually fairly certain that you might not be able to move even your hands without moaning.

“You ok?” Karen asked, clocking your rigidity, the flush in your cheeks.

“She's fine,” Gator said, rubbing at your stomach, which you knew he was doing so he could try to feel himself inside you, pressing your front wall against his cock where it rested, heavy and thick within you. “Lil' bit'a heatstroke, y'know? Not feelin' too well.”

“Oh,” Karen frowned. “That's too bad. Maybe eating something will help? Or a nice cool drink.”

You nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Why don't you come inside and cool off? I can get you a wet washcloth to pat yourself down.”

“No, I'm—I'm ok,” you said.

“Karen, darlin', you wouldn't mind grabbin' her some iced tea, wouldja?” Gator said, letting his hand dip further down your front, between your legs, the tablecloth hiding what he was doing. He pressed against you again, seeking your clit through the fabric of the dress.

Karen did look a bit taken aback, but nodded after a moment.

“She likes a slice'a lemon in there too, thank ya, Karen,” Gator said, and Karen only snapped out a clipped “My pleasure” before tossing down some plastic cutlery for the two of you and stomping away.

“Gator,” you hissed, as soon as she was out of earshot, his finger rubbing you through your skirt. He'd found your clit with no trouble—your lips were open, your legs on either side of his, and all he'd had to do was widen his own to spread yours even further. The pressure of his finger against you and the friction of the cotton against you had you whimpering. “She's coming back.”

“Not yet,” he said, ignoring the plates of food in front of you, instead letting his other hand knead at your thigh, tugging your skirt up a little to get his palm on bare skin. “Y'should eat somethin' though,” he said. “Gonna put ya through yer paces the second we get home.”

You whined as he pressed harder against your clit. In the distance, you saw Karen exit the Tillman's house, a plastic cup in her hand. “Gator,” you warned.

“Might not even wait ta get ya home,” he said, rubbing your clit a little harder. “Might pull right over'n the side'a the highway and go down on ya in the backseat. Would ya like that?”

“Gator,” you said. Karen was halfway to you now, watching the ground as she walked, and you felt everything in you rushing to your groin.

He nosed at your back, mouthing at your shoulder blade where the back of your dress didn't quite cover it, and almost as soon as Karen reached you, his fingers moved against you just the right way, bringing you over the edge. He had you coming on his cock, squeezing down on him as Karen plunked the cup down on the table, eyes narrowing a little as you tried to keep a straight face.

“Honey, you don't look so good,” she said. You only nodded, jaw clamped shut as Gator gave one more harsh rub to your clit, ruining your dress—the wet spot would be wildly obvious, you were sure—and then he reached for the cup.

“Here y'go,” he said, holding it for you to take with a shaky hand.

“I'm fine,” you said, taking the cup and lifting it to your mouth. The cool liquid did help, and at least the little pop of sugar would give you the energy to deal with the man whose lap you were currently straddling, anyway.

“Well, eat before it gets cold.” She gestured to the food she'd brought you. “And—I'll tell everyone to stay away from you two,” she said. “If you're sick, I don't want that spreading to the girls, or any of the kids. You should head home once she feels up to moving, ok?”

“Good idea,” Gator said. “Yeah, jus' make sure t'give us a nice wide berth. 'Nd thanks fer the iced tea, Karen, really 'preciate it.”

She only gave you another look and then departed, and you loosed the breath you'd been holding, finally exhaling deeply. “Oh, fuck you, Gator,” you said, swatting at his thigh but not meaning either your words or your action.

“Got ya doin' exactly that,” he said, kissing the beck of your shoulder. “Felt so nice 'round me just then. Think y'got another one in ya?”

“What about you?” you gasped as he flexed his hips, pushing up into you for a brief moment.

“Oh, trust me, sugar, I'm enjoyin' every goddamn second'a this,” he said. “You ok? Can't have ya tappin' out on me now.”

“No, I'm—I'm fine,” you said. “We've done this for longer before.”

“My girl's a champion,” Gator said, chuckling, rubbing your bare thigh again, your skirt easing up so high on your leg that you could tell, without even looking, that your mound was almost exposed.

“Trained me—real good,” you replied, and Gator kissed the back of your arm.

“I know that's right. So sweet fer me,” he mumbled, letting his hand dip back down between your legs, this time pulling your skirt up fully, letting the warm air flow over your exposed pussy. “'S why I call you my sugar, y'know that?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, because this time he let the hand on your leg drift down to grab at your inner thigh, squeezing you there as his other hand moved to your cunt, cupping you and letting his middle finger drag down through your folds until he reached your spread open slit, the tip of his finger just barely nudging his cock.

“Think y'can—?” he started to ask, voice tight, like now that he felt himself inside of you with his hands, it was real and really happening. “Think y'can make me come just like this, huh? Bet y'can, fuckin' pussy's so tight. So fuckin' wet fer me, c'mon, make me come, sugar, you got—oh, fuck—”

You'd squeezed down on him, tightening up as much as you could and trying to roll your hips as subtly as possible while still letting him feel it. The two of you were a good distance away from the rest of the party—and after Karen's warning, no one was even looking at you. You loosed a short mewl as you lowered your hands from the table, trying to find purchase, but only able to really reach your own thighs. Pressing your palms flat against them, you lifted yourself up just enough to slide back down on him, barely even pulling off him, but he was so wound up, and you were so fucking wet around him, your pussy clinging to him as you made any kind of movement, that you could tell he could come from this, and you'd see to it that he would.

“Good?” you asked, the only word you were really capable of getting out, and behind you, Gator actually whimpered, a short little sound that he cut off as quickly as possible, but you heard it. His fingers slicked through your folds as you circled your hips on him, and he let the pads of his middle and ring fingers slip over your swollen, sensitive clit, not bothering to tease, not bothering to try and coax it out of you slowly—this was quick and dirty and urgent, both of you eager to finish, both of you eager to get the fuck away from the ranch and this barbecue and all of these fucking people.

“Close,” Gator mumbled, grinding his hips up into you, just a little, eyes sweeping over the gathering of people settled well away from you.

“Me too,” you replied, and you felt him press harder against your clit, so you clamped down on him, the solid pressure of his cock inside you making you almost double over, your body was so lit up. “This is so—so—fuck, Gator—”

“Just give it to me,” he said, hugging you, rubbing at your belly like he was trying to soothe you, in case anyone happened to be watching.

“They can see us,” you muttered, not even sure—and maybe not even caring.

“Too late t'worry 'bout that now, sugar,” Gator said. “They lookin', let's give 'em a show.”

You groaned softly and felt your pussy spasm a few times around him, and then you came, drawing in a shuddering breath as you fought to keep yourself quiet through the shockwaves rocking you, your whole body slumping back against him as he held you, murmuring soft nothings against you to help you through it, telling you what a good girl you were, how you were holding onto him so good, but his voice broke as your cunt gripped him hard enough that you felt him come too, inside you, filling you with a short grunt that he barely managed to contain.

“Oh, my god,” you said after—you didn't know how long had passed, again, or how long it took to come down. “Gator.”

“I gotcha,” he said, but his voice was just as shaky and uneven, though his arms were still around you, holding you. “Jus' a minute 'nd we'll get the hell outta here.”

You covered his hands with yours, looking back at him. “Will you clean me up in the car?” Your voice was soft, sweet, just this side of begging, and he smirked.

“Didn't even have ta ask.”

&&

You drew looks as you walked to Gator's car. Of course you did. Concerned ones, mostly, but a few dirty looks from Karen and the women she was sitting with. She was shrewd enough to know what you'd been up to, you were sure of it, but it wasn't like you showed face at the Tillman ranch too often, so thankfully, you weren't worried. The next time you saw her would probably be for Gator's birthday in a few months, and that was how you liked things.

And a few minutes later, after Gator had sped down the stretch of highway far enough to find a secluded area to pull off, after you'd climbed into the back seat and tugged your dress up to your waist, spread your legs for him, one down into the well behind the driver's seat, the other hooked up and over the backs of the rear seats in the car, Gator cleaned you up, just like he'd said he would. He sucked your arousal and his own release out of you, licking it off your thighs and smearing it over his lips and chin as he ate you out, sloppy and with abandon, then leaned up to kiss you, out of breath and promising you that for the next two days, he might not have to do his job, but he was absolutely going to be putting in the work.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @morninglesss @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @s3xytosomeone @thecreelhouse

[coasthaze]

Omg, i loveeeee your spidy!steve. can get one where he andreader are already dating, but as he becomes Spider-Man he starts pulling away (lik canceling plans, disappearing, being inconsistent) but its because he’s trying to protect her and doesn’t tell her the truth. He’s still super sweet and loving when they are together, which just makes it more confusing for her. Lots of angst from her POV (feeling ignored, overthinking, etc.), and then eventually fluff/comfort when the truth comes out 🥲

spidey secrets

─ spidey!steve harrington x reader

─ lacy talks : loveee spidey!steve sm

────

you've been dating steve for almost eight months now, and for the first part of it everything felt like some kind of dream you were scared to wake up from.

he was the kind of boyfriend who showed up at your door with flowers he definitely picked himself because half the stems were too short, who remembered the exact way you took your coffee even when you only mentioned it once.

steve was steady. warm. the kind of guy who made you feel chosen every single day.

then things started shifting.

at first it was small.

he'd cancel a friday night movie because "something came up with the kids", or whatever else bullshit excuse he had. you told yourself it was nothing. steve had always been protective of the people he loved, always carrying the weight of the world like it was his personal responsibility.

but the gaps between seeing him grew wider, and when he was with you he was still so good it made the absences hurt even more.

one night he climbed through your window at 2 a.m., cheeks flushed, eyes bright like he'd just run ten miles. he kissed you so softly you almost forgot to be mad about the radio silence for the past two days.

"missed you," he murmured against your lips, hands sliding around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. "god, i missed you so much."

you melted into him because how could you not?

steve looking at you like that was its own kind of drug.

but later, when he fell asleep with his head on your chest, you noticed the fresh bruise blooming across his ribs. purple and ugly.

when you asked about it in the morning he just shrugged and said he tripped helping dustin with some science project.

you didn't believe him. not really.

the overthinking started creeping in like ivy.

maybe he was getting bored.

maybe there was someone else.

maybe you'd become one of those girlfriends who just existed in the background while the guy lived his real life somewhere you weren't invited.

you hated how small it made you feel, picking apart every canceled plan, every vague text that said:

sorry babe, can't make it tonight, love you

- with nothing else.

you tried not to let it show.

when he did show up you'd smile and let him pull you close, let him bury his face in your neck and whisper how pretty you looked, how lucky he was.

he'd make you laugh until your sides hurt and then kiss the smile right off your face.

those nights were perfect. too perfect. they made the disappearing acts feel like punishment.

last week he missed your anniversary.

not the big one, just the monthly one you both joked about, but still.

you'd made his favorite pasta and worn the shirt he always said brung out your eyes.

he texted at 11:47 saying

i'm so sorry, something came up

i'll make it up to you.

you cried in your kitchen until the pasta went cold.

when he finally came over the next night he looked wrecked. eyes tired, a cut on his cheekbone that he tried to hide with his hair. but the second he saw you his whole face changed.

"hey sweetheart," he said softly, pulling you into his arms before you could even speak. "i'm an idiot. i'm the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends."

you wanted to stay mad.

you really did.

but he held you like you were something precious and fragile, hands stroking down your back, murmuring apologies between kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

he spent the whole night making it up to you in every way he could. until you were dizzy with it.

by the time morning came you were convinced it was fine. he loved you. he was just...busy.

but the cycle kept going.

you started checking your phone obsessively, hating yourself for it.

you'd type out texts and delete them. you'd stare at the little "delivered" under your messages and wonder what the hell he was doing that was so important he couldn't even type back a heart emoji. nights alone stretched long and quiet. you'd lie in bed replaying every sweet thing he'd ever said like it was evidence in a trial you were desperately trying to win.

tonight was supposed to be different. he'd promised. actually promised, with that earnest look in his eyes that always made your stomach flip.

dinner at your place, just the two of you, no interruptions.

you'd spent the afternoon cleaning and cooking and trying not to get your hopes up too high, because lately hope felt dangerous.

at 8:15 your phone buzzed.

something came up, i'm so sorry. rain check? love you

you stared at the message until the screen went dark. something inside you cracked open, all the doubt and hurt and confusion spilling out at once.

you didn't text back.

instead you turned your phone face down and tried to eat the dinner alone, but it tasted like ash.

around 11:30 you heard the familiar tap at your window. your heart jumped even though you were furious. you almost didn't open it. almost.

but it was steve, of course you did.

he climbed inside looking windblown and guilty, that same soft expression he always wore when he knew he'd messed up. his hoodie was torn at the sleeve.

there was dirt on his jaw.

"hey," he said quietly, reaching for you. "i know i screwed up again. i came as soon as i could."

you stepped back before he could touch you.

the words started pouring out before you could stop them, fast and messy and a little unhinged.

"you know what steve? i can't do this anymore! the disappearing, the canceled plans. the way you show up looking like you got hit by a truck but won't tell me anything. and then you kiss me and hold me and act like everything's fine and i'm just supposed to be okay with it?? like i'm some kind of emotional support human you visit when your real life isn't too busy???i feel like i'm losing my mind here!! i keep thinking maybe it's me, maybe i'm too much or not enough or- god i don't even know anymore! i made dinner tonight. again. and i sat here like an idiot waiting even though i knew. i knew you'd bail. and then you show up at midnight looking all sorry and handsome and it makes me so mad because i still love you so much it hurts and i hate it. i hate feeling like this. like.. i'm waiting for scraps of your time while you're out doing whatever secret thing you're doing that you won't tell me about. are you in trouble? are you cheating on me?? are you in a cult? because honestly at this point i'd almost prefer the cult because at least then i'd know."

you were pacing now, hands gesturing wildly, voice cracking between anger and the tears you were trying not to cry.

"and the bruises, steve. the cuts. you think i don't notice? you think i'm stupid? last week you had fingerprints on your throat like someone tried to choke you and you said it was from basketball. basketball! you haven't played basketball since high school. i'm not an idiot. i'm just.. i'm so tired of pretending everything's okay when it's not. i feel like i'm drowning and you're just waving at me from the shore sometimes."

steve stood there frozen, eyes wide.

he'd never seen you like this, unraveling in real time, words tumbling over each other in that frantic way you got when your brain wouldn't slow down.

you kept going, because stopping felt impossible now.

"i love you. god, i love you so much is fucking embarassing. but i can't keep doing this- i can't keep wondering if tonight's the night you decide i'm not worth the effort anymore."

your voice broke on the last word. you pressed your hands to your face, shoulders shaking.

for a long moment the only sound was your ragged breathing.

then steve moved. slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal. he reached out and gently pulled your hands away from your face.

"baby," he whispered. his voice was thick. "look at me."

you did, even though your eyes were blurry with tears.

he looked devastated. but underneath that there was something else.

resolve.

"i'm not cheating. i'm not in a cult. and you're not too much. you're..you're everything. i need you to know that."

he swallowed hard. "i've been lying to you. not because i want to. because i thought i was protecting you."

you stared at him, heart hammering.

steve took a deep breath, then reached up and pulled his hoodie off in one movement.

underneath he was wearing a suit. red and blue, tight, with a black spider emblem across the chest.

it looked ridiculous and impossible..and yet it made every weird bruise and late night suddenly click into place.

"i got bit," he said quietly. "by this..spider. it wasn't normal. it changed me. i can..climb walls. i have these senses that go crazy when danger's near. i've been trying to help people. stop things before they get bad. but the more i do it, the more i realize how dangerous it is. and i couldn't- i couldn't drag you into that. the idea of someone using you to get to me, or you getting hurt because of what i am now..it kept me up at night. so i pulled away. i thought if i kept you at a distance you'd be safer. but i couldn't stay away either. every time i tried to keep my distance ,i'd end up right back here because i need you like i need air."

you blinked at him, brain struggling to catch up.

"you're..spider-man..?"

he gave a small, sheepish laugh. "yeah.."

you reached out and touched the suit tentatively,like it might burn you. it was real. the texture was strange, almost alive under your fingers.

"all this time," you whispered. "i thought you were bored of me."

steve made a pained sound and pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you so tight it almost hurt. "never. god, never. you're the only thing keeping me sane through all this. every night when i'm out there..swinging around like an idiot, all i think about is coming back to you- how safe i feel when i'm with you even though i'm the one who's supposed to be superhuman now."

you buried your face in his neck, breathing him in. he smelled like night air and a little like metal.

"i was so scared," you mumbled into his skin.

"i know. i'm sorry. i'm so fucking sorry." he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing away your tears. "no more secrets. i promise. it's gonna be dangerous, and i still want to protect you, but i can't do this without you anymore. i need my girl in my corner. even if that means you yelling at me when i come home bleeding."

you let out a watery laugh. "good. because i have a lot of yelling saved up."

he grinned, that crooked steve harrington smile that always made your knees weak. "i deserve it."

────

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