The Harrington Hive

Age: 33. 18+ only. In my Joe Keery Era.

[djostateofmind]

I just want you guys to come hang out with me in The Harrington Hive and talk about Joe Keery with me 😭

The Harrington Hive | Facebook

The Harrington Hive is a safe and welcoming place to enjoy and discuss our favorite actor/musician, Joe Keery! Come and join the Hive Mind!

[vader-anakin]

busy right now | Steve Harrington

Summary: The phone isn't enough to interrupt you and Steve in the middle of sex. Little does Eddie know what both of you keep doing on the other line.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: SMUT (+18 DNI), p in v (unprotected), slight fingering

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The rhythm of your hips doesn't falter as you bounce on Steve's thick cock, your pussy grips his shaft with every slam as you lift and lower your hips. His length buries deep into your cunt, stretching your slick walls, the wet sounds of your bodies fills the room.

Steve's hands press into your ass cheeks, spreading them as you grind down, his balls pressed tight against your perineum. Both your juices of arousal coat his length, making each thrust feel smoother and faster.

Suddenly, the nightstand phone rings with a shrill that breaks the atmosphere. Steve's eyes jolt wide open and he glances at it, but you don't slow, rolling your hips to swirl the head of his cock against your cervix. The sound cuts off, then starts again immediately – insistent, relentless. It rings a third time before silencing, only to ring again once more.

Steve groans with frustration, still high in his pleasure.

"Ignore it," you murmur, lowering your hips hard enough to make him hiss.

But it keeps going, the fourth ring pierces through the air and Steve's eyes meet yours, pleading.

"It's Eddie," he pants, thrusting into you and grunting. "He won't stop until I answer."

He knows it's Eddie because the metalhead is the only living person who won't take hanging up to his face as an answer.

You smirk, lifting high so just his tip ghosts into your entrance, and then dropping fully, forcing a choked moan from him.

The phone rings a fifth time, and your eyes roll with the disturbance.

"Fuck, baby. Slow down," he whines.

You pant, digging your nails into the skin of his chest. "Just answer the fucking thing."

He stretches his arm for it with a curse, snatching it up as you resume your punishing pace. It's deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. He brings the phone to his ear.

"Hey, man," he manages with a strained voice like he'd ran a marathon.

You lean forward, bracing on his chest, and pick up speed, your breasts swaying as you fuck yourself on his dick. The headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. Steve clears his throat, disguising a whimper as a cough.

"What's... uh, up?"

Eddie's voice anxiously crackles through, sounding a little rushed. "Steve, dude, I need advice. This date tomorrow... Chrissy's friend, you know? The one with the killer legs. What if I fuck it up? She's way out of my league, man. Rehearsal's got me wiped, and now I'm overthinking every riff I play."

Steve's free hand clamps your hip, trying to still you, but you swat it away and clench your pussy around his hard length, milking him deliberately.

"You'll be fine," Steve says, his abs contract as you slam down extra hard, grinding your clit against his pubic bone.

A soft whine escapes from him, and he turns it into a high, brittle laugh.

Well, he tries. But to no avail.

"Just... play it cool. Chicks dig confidence." His cock throbs inside you.

His thick veins pulse against your fluttering walls. Sweat beads on his forehead, dribbling down his temple.

Eddie continues, oblivious to the situation on Steve's end.

"But what if she hates metal? Or thinks I'm a freak for the whole Hellfire thing? I mean, last date ghosted me after I mentioned demodogs. Should I tone it down? Wear something less... me?"

The phone nearly slips from Steve's grip as his sweaty, shaking hand tries to hold it.

You hold his knees and bend them, changing the position, now his cock drags directly over your g-spot with every plunge. Your arousal soaks the sheets. Steve bites his lip so hard enough to draw blood, his hips bucking up involuntarily to meet your pussy.

"N-no, own it," he forces through clenched teeth, the words hitching on a gasp.

You cover his mouth with your hand, muffling the noise that follows as you ride him viciously, your ass cheeks rippling from the impacts. His eyes roll back, muffled moans come out against your palm. He removes your hand off gently, panting.

"Eddie, she's into you. Trust me. Just... don't overthink the kiss or whatever."

"Kiss? Shit, what if I go for it too soon? Or my breath is bad after practicing? I got mints, but..." Eddie's rambling intensifies, words tumbling fast and you roll your eyes again, in annoyance.

But you don't stop riding him.

Steve's replies start to break.

"Hmm, yeah, timing is key."

You twist your hips as you bounce, stirring his cock deep inside, and he coughs violently to cover the sudden groan, pounding his chest with his fist. His balls draw up tight, slapping wetly against you. Pre-cum floods your cunt, mixing with your slick walls.

You rake your nails down his hair, your nipples nearly brushing his mouth. Steve's back arches, driving his dick even deeper.

"Dude, you're golden," he rasps with a shredded voice. A whimper escapes between his ragged breath. "Gonna... crush it."

Eddie pauses. "You sure you're okay? Sounds like you're dying, man. Working out or something?"

'Yeah– dumbbells. Brutal set." Steve is lying through his teeth.

His face contorts in ecstasy as you speed your pace, your pussy spasming erratically around his throbbing shaft. His free hand sneaks between you, bringing his thumb to find your clit and rubbing furious circles.

A retaliation that sends sparks up your spine. You retaliate back by squeezing your inner walls in circles, from base to tip.

Eddie sighs. "Alright, thanks man. Owe you one. Talk tomorrow?"

Steve nods frantically, though Eddie can see it. It's desperate. "Y-yep. Later."

He shoves the phone into the cradle aggressively, both hands squeezing your waist. "Fuuuuck, baby"

Then, it bursts. You slam down relentlessly, chasing your peak. Steve thrusts up savagely, his cock battering you deeply. Your orgasm hits like lightning. Pussy convulsing, walls clamping his length in pulses, gushing hot fluid down his balls.

He roars, hips snapping as ropes of thick cum blast into you, filling your pussy with creamy rivulets leaking out with each aftershock.

You collapse onto him, chests heaving in sync, his softening cock still twitching inside your cunt. Steve's arms wrap around you, and he brushes his lips against your ear.

"That was torture... best fucking torture. Eddie's clueless ass almost ruined it." He nips your shoulder.

He manages to push off of him, only to throw you against the mattress, turning you over. "Your turn to beg next?"

[stvswrld69]

lying to my therapist

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: after a bad breakup, you start therapy to fix your intimacy issues. your new therapist, steve harrington, is younger than expected and far too way attractive. what starts as professional help slowly turns into something more complicated and probably forbidden. wc: 8.9k warnings: porn with plot, +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, therapist / client relationship, thigh riding, cheating mention, fingering, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, female masturbation, semi-public if you squint, internal conflict, p in v, consensual sex, kinda forbidden sex, big dick steve. author's note: hihiii sorry for not posting tysm for 490+ followers and ty ani for the idea & nic for the help. i have a lot of exams but i wanted to post this before locking in and coming back with all requests and fics <3 love yall

four years. that's how much time passed since the night marcus –your now ex– broke up with you.

the breakup with him didn’t happen because you were unavailable. it happened because he was a lying cheating piece of shit.

and the memory still lingered like a bruise that refused to fade completely.

you found out a random tuesday evening. a mutual friend posted a story on instagram: nothing dramatic, just a casual photo for a party the previous weekend. in the background, clear as day, you saw him with his tongue down another girl’s throat.

the same weekend he told you he was ‘’too tired to hang out’’ and needed ‘’space.’’

you confronted him the next night when you two went out to have dinner. you played your role perfectly; laughing at his jokes and leaning at the right moments.

you were good at faking. you always had been.

you wanted to talk about that, and when you did, he didn’t even try to lie.

‘’yeah. i slept with her. so what? you’re never really present anyway. you’re always halfway out the door emotionally.’’

you tried not to cry. not in public. not in such a luxurious restaurant. you were about to speak, but he interrupted you.

‘’maybe if you actually talked to me instead of acting like some mysterious untouchable girl… i wouldn’t have needed to find pleasure in someone else.’’

his words were cruel, but the betrayal burned deeper than the insult.

you had let him in more than most. you shared pieces of yourself you usually kept hidden. and he rewarded that vulnerability by cheating you and then blaming you for it. 

that night you drove home in silence, your hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white. you didn’t cry until you took a shower. 

the hot water was burning your skin as reality settled in: trusting someone backfired spectacularly.

after marcus, something inside you shifted.

you stopped believing that real intimacy could be safe. 

every man who showed interest felt like a potential traitor. every sweet word sounded like manipulation waiting to happen. every touch made you wonder what that guy was hiding behind that smile.

you still went on dates. you still flirted effortlessly and still let men take you home and fuck you. but you never truly let them close.

the second things started feeling real –the second a conversation turned vulnerable, when sometime tried to stay the night and hold you, or even when a touch became too tender– you disconnected. you left your own body and watched everything from above.

years passed like this.

a string of shallow relationships that never lasted more than a few weeks. you became an expert at keeping people a comfortable distance while making them believe they were close. 

but you never stayed. not emotionally at least.

your best friend watched this cycle repeat itself with growing worry and frustration. she was there the night you found out about him cheating. she held you while you cried angry tears. and she was tired of seeing her best friend never letting anyone in.

one afternoon, after you mentioned yet another guy who slowly ghosted you after a few dates, she sat you down on her couch with two glasses of wine and a look that said she wasn’t going to let you dodge the conversation this time.

‘’i love you more than anything in this world,’’ she started quietly. ‘’but i can’t keep watching you destroy any chance of real connection because of what he did to you four years ago. you deserve to feel something.’’

you tried to brush it off with some humor, but she wasn't having it.

‘’you need therapy,’’ she said. ‘’you’re so scared and that fear is costing you years of your life. just go to one session. if you hate it, i’ll never bring it up.’’

‘’i don’t need therapy,’’

‘’yes, you do. you think you’re fine because you can still flirt and get guys, but you’re not fine. you’re lonely when you’re with someone.’’

you let out a bitter laugh.

‘’i’m not scared. i’m smart. after what marcus did, why the hell would i let someone in again? so they cheat on me and then blame me for having trust issues? no, thanks.’’

‘’not every man is marcus. but you’ll never know that if you keep pushing everyone away before they even have a chance. you deserve to feel safe with someone. you deserve to be loved and not just desired.’’

you looked away.

‘’i’m handling it.’’ you repeated stubbornly.

‘’you’re not handling it,’’ your friend said softly. ‘’you’re surviving. there’s a difference.’’

she slid a small business card across the table toward you.

hawkins behavioral health.

you didn’t book the appointment right away.

for nearly three weeks, the small business card your best friend gave you sat in your kitchen like a quiet accusation. every time you went to drink water, you saw it. every night you came exhausted from work, it was still there.

at first, you ignored it completely.

you told yourself you didn’t need therapy. but the words felt thinner every time you repeated them.

you started researching the place anyway – mostly out of boredom, you convinced yourself. hawkins behavioral health had a clean website and good reviews. 

but one name kept appearing with particularly strong feedback: dr. steve harrington.

you read review after review.

‘’he actually sees you. doesn’t just nod and write things down.’’

‘’first therapist who called me out on my bullshit in the kindest way possible.’’

‘’made me feel safe enough to be honest.’’

you closed the browser more than once, annoyed at yourself for even considering it.

then came the date with tyler. a guy you met.

it was supposed to be casual, just drinks at a nice bar. he was charming, successful, and funny. 

on paper, he was perfect. in reality, he spent most of the night talking about himself.

when you finally opened up a little, he didn’t seem to care. but there was a specific comment that hurt.

‘’guys don’t want to deal with a bunch of emotional baggage, you know?’’

the comment stung more than it should have.

later that night, when he kissed you outside the bar and invited you back to his place, you went. but the entire time you felt hollow. you two didn’t even kiss there, just talked at night and he let you stay to sleep.

the next morning you drove home in silence. when you walked into the apartment, the little business card was still on the counter. you picked it up, turned it over in your hands for a long time, and finally sighed.

‘’fuck it,’’ you whispered.

you called hawkins behavior health that same afternoon and booked an appointment for the following thursday.

the day of your first session arrived faster than you expected. 

you spent the entire morning convincing yourself you could still cancel. you changed outfits three times and almost turned the car around twice on the way there.

but somehow, you ended up walking through the front doors of the building.

the reception area was warm and comforting, with soft lightning and exposed brick walls. behind the desk stood a woman with short brown hair and energetic presence. 

her name tag read: robin buckley – office coordinator.

she looked up and gave you a bright welcoming smile.

‘’hi! you must be the 4:30. first time with us?’’ you nodded, gripping the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

robin’s smile softened, sensing your nerves.

‘’totally normal to feel anxious. everyone is on their first visit.’’ she typed something on her computer. ‘’you’re here to see dr. harrington, right?’’

‘’yes.’’

‘’he’s really good,’’ she said kindly. ‘’a little young for a psychologist, but perceptive. something annoyingly so, but don’t tell him i told you that.’’ she gave you a playful wink. ‘’just be honest with him. he can candle the truth.’’

she printed some forms and handed them to you.

‘’fill these out and i’ll let him know you’re him. deep breath. you’ve got this.’’

ten minutes later, robin returned and led you down a quiet hallway lined with plants. 

she stopped in front of a wooden door and gave you one last encouraging smile.

‘’dr. harrington? your 4:30 is here.’’

you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

the office was nothing like you had imagined. it didn’t feel clinical or cold. warm afternoon light poured through tall windows, bathing the room in a soft golden hue. 

one wall was lined with tall bookshelves filled with psychology texts, novels, and a few personal items – like a small framed picture of a group of friends, and what looked like a tiny hawkins high keychain hanging from a shelf.

two comfortable deep armchairs faxed each other with a low wooden table between them. a box of tissues on the table and a long couch that looked untouched.

and he was rising from one of the armchairs. steve harrington.

he was younger than you expected even if robin told you before. 

much younger. early twenties, if that. 

he looked tall even if he was sitting, with messy brow hair that looked like he’d run his hand through it several times that day.

and he had warm hazel eyes. big hazel eyes you weren’t able to ignore.

he also wore a brown jacket over a button-up shirt. 

steve looked more like a handsome graduate student than a licensed psychologist.

‘’hi,’’ he said with low warm voice. ‘’i’m steve harrington. you can call me steve if that makes you feel more comfortable. come in, please.”

he gestured toward the empty armchair across from him.

‘’sit however you’d like. there are no rules in this room.’’

you gave him a small smile and sat down, crossing your legs neatly and folding your hands in your lap. you studied him from a moment: the way he moved, the way he looked at you. 

he was annoying attractive. too attractive to be doing this job.

steve sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. he didn’t speak right away. he just looked at you –not staring, but truly paying attention– and it made your skin prickle.

‘’so,’’ he said gently after a few seconds, offering a small smile. ‘’what brings you here today?’’

you let out a soft breath and gave him a smile.

‘’well…. apparently i’m very good at making men want me, but terrible at actually letting them stay.’’ you titled your head a little, letting your gaze linger on his face for a second. ‘’my last boyfriend said i’m emotionally unavailable. among other things.’’

you finished with a light laugh, hoping it would steer the conversation into safer waters.

steve didn’t laugh with you.

he simply watched you with a calm and thoughtful expression. 

after a moment, he talked.

“you started with a joke,” he noted gently. “and a compliment hidden inside it. you smiled while talking about something painful. that’s interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your expression light.

“are you always this direct?”

“well… i’m noticing some things. you are trying to deflect,” he replied but not unkindly. “you’re very good at it. you use charm and humor to keep things from getting serious.”

you felt a flicker of irritation mixed with uncomfortably and nervousness.

“you’re very observant for someone so young,” you said, your tone was still light but with a subtle edge. “does that usually work for you? reading people before they even say anything?”

steve’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

but his eyes remained steady.

“you’re doing it again,” he said softly. “shifting the focus onto me and testing my reactions.” he paused, then added. “it’s okay. we don’t have to rush. this is your space.”

you sat back slightly, studying him.

he was good. too good.

and the fact that he was young somehow made it worse. 

he shouldn’t be this perceptive.

he shouldn’t be able to see through you this easily.

steve waited patiently, giving you time. his presence was calm, steady, and strangely grounding.

those hazel eyes never left yours, but they weren’t intimidating either.

they were patient. kind. like he really had nowhere else he’d rather be.

“so,” he said again. “when you say you’re “terrible at letting people stay”… what does that feel like for you?”

you opened your mouth, ready to give another polished half-joking answer.

but for the first time in a long time, the words got stuck in your throat.

steve didn’t push. he simply waited, watching you with that calm gaze. 

the silent stretched between you, not awkward, but heavy. for once, you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t have a clever line prepared. you didn’t have a flirty deflection ready.

after a long moment, you let out a slow breath and looked down at your hands.

‘’i don’t know how to… stay,’’ you admitted quietly. ‘’when things get real. when someone starts looking too closely. i just… leave. not physically. but emotionally. i go somewhere else in my head. i smile. i say the right things. but i’m not really there.’’

steve nodded slowly, his expression soft but attentive.

‘’that sounds lonely,’’ he said gently. ‘’being with someone but no really being with them.’’

you swallowed hard.

‘’it is,’’ you whispered. ‘’but it’s safer.

steve leaned forward sightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’can you tell me more about that? when did you start feeling the need to protect yourself from the others like this?’’

you hesitated. the memories of your ex came rushing back – his cruel words, the way he blamed you for his own cheating, the humiliation of realizing you tried to be vulnerable with someone who never deserved it.

‘’four years ago,’’ you said, voice quieter now. ‘’i was with someone. i thought i was letting him in. i was trying and he cheated on me. then told me it was my fault and after that… it just felt easier to never let anyone close enough to hurt me again.’’

steve listened without interrupting. you liked that. and his eyes never left your face.

when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’so you learned that being vulnerable leads to pain. and now, even when you want connection, your mind and body protect you by disconnecting.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how gently he said it.

‘’you’re very young to be this good at this,’’ you said, trying to regain some control with a teasing smile.

steve’s lip curved into a faint smile.

‘’and you’re deflecting again,’’ he replied softly, but there was no judgment in his tone. ‘’it’s okay. we’ll work on that. one step at a time.’’

he paused and then asked gently.

‘’when you’re with someone now… physically… what does that disconnection feel like in your body?’’

you shifted in your seat, feeling exposed under his attentive gaze. you hadn't expected him to go there so directly, yet so kindly.

‘’it feels like… im floating,’’ you admitted. ‘’like i can do everything right but i’m not really feeling anything. it’s like automatic.’’

steve nodded slowly, processing your words.

‘’and does that bother you?’’ he asked. ‘’or has it become normal?’’

you stayed silent for a long moment.

‘’.. it bothers me,’’ you finally whispered. ‘’but i don’t know how to stop doing it.’’

he gave you a small nod.

‘’that’s why you’re here,’’ he said gently. ‘’we’re going to figure that out together. no pressure. just honestly, at whatever pace you need.’’

for the rest of the session, steve listened carefully as you spoke. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t judge. 

he simply asked thoughtful questions and noticed things you hadn’t even realized about yourself; the way you joked when things got heavy, the way you crossed your arms when you felt vulnerable…

by the time the session ended, you felt strangely drained. but also lighter.

steve stood up when the hour was over and gave you a warm smile.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said. ‘’i know it wasn’t easy. same time next week?’’

you nodded, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and relief. 

as you left his office, you couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he had seen through every wall you tried to put up.

then the days after your first session passed in a strange haze.

you went back to your routine: work, nights with your best friend… but something felt different. lighter, maybe. or perhaps just more aware.

you tried dating again. not because you suddenly believed in love, but because you wanted to prove to yourself (and maybe to steve), that you could try.

his name was daniel. he was kind, funny and worked as a graphic designer. 

he didn’t try too hard. 

on your first date, you talked for almost three hours about music and movies. on the second, he kissed you goodnight outside your car. 

you wanted this to work. 

you returned for the second session. you spent the entire week thinking about steve’s words.

the way he looked at you. the way he actually listened. it was unsettling how much space he was taking up in your mind.

when you walked into his office and steve was already waiting, sitting in his usual chair. he wore a blue polo shirt that made his hazel eyes stand out even more. 

the moment you entered, he gave you a warm smile that made your stomach tighten.

‘’hi,’’ he said. ‘’it’s good to see you again. come in, make yourself comfortable.’’

you sat down in the armchair across from him, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your lap. for a few seconds, you didn’t know where to begin. 

steve waited patiently, as always – never rushing you, never filling the silence.

‘’i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,’’ you started quietly. ‘’and… i went out with this guy named daniel. a few times, actually.’’

steve nodded slowly, giving you his full attention.

‘’tell me about that,’’

you took a deep breath.

‘’he’s really kind. patient. he doesn’t pressure me. we talked for hours and he actually listens.’’ you paused, then added more softly. ‘’i wanted it to be different this time. i want to try going somewhere serious with him. not just casual.’’

steve listened, his eyes steady on you. when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’that’s a significant step – choosing to try something real with someone after being hurt. how did it feel for you?’’ you looked down at your hands.

‘’at the beginning it was okay. i felt present. but then i slipped away again.’’ you let out a small breath. ‘’i hate that i keep doing that.’’

steve was quiet for a moment, processing your words with care.

‘’what you’re describing is a very common trauma response,’’ he said gently. ‘’after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your nervous system learned that vulnerability equals danger. so when intimacy starts to feel real, your mind protects you by dissociating.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how good he explained it. steve continued.

‘’the fact that you’re aware of it happening is already a progress. most people don’t even notice when they disconnect.’’

his words wrapped around you like a blanket. you felt your cheeks grow warm and you bit your lip. 

‘’thank you,’’ you whispered. steve’s expression softened further.

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’would you like to practice some grounding exercises? things you can use when you feel yourself starting to flow away?’’

you nodded. and for the next thirty minutes, steve guided you through several exercises with patience and care. his voice was incredibly calm and silky as he spoke.

he watched you practice, his eyes never leaving you.

‘’good,’’ he said when you did it correctly. ‘’that’s really good. you’re picking this up quickly.’’

every time he praised you, even subtly, you felt warmth spread through your chest. you found yourself feeling timid under his attention.

steve remembered details from your previous session and wove them in naturally.

‘’you mentioned last time that you tend to perform because you want others to feel good,’’ he looked at you. ‘’we can work on finding balance.’’

you felt exposed but safe. the way steve spoke made you feel truly seen.

when the session was nearing its end, steve looked at you.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said softly. ‘’you were honest about something difficult. you let yourself be vulnerable.’’

his praise hit you deeply. you felt your face flush.

you left his office with warm cheeks and the confusing realization that your therapist’s gentle praise was starting to affect you far more than any touch from daniel ever had.

after that, you continued seeing daniel. the relationship –if it could even be called that yet– developed slowly and sweetly. he was consistent in a way that was almost foreign to you. 

but every time the moment leaned toward something more intimate, you gently stopped him.

daniel was always understanding. he’d kiss your forehead and never made you feel guilty. and yet, every time you left his apartment, you felt a quiet frustration with yourself.

you wanted him fully. you wanted to be normal. but something inside you still head back.

in the other way, your therapy sessions with steve became the anchor of your week. you found yourself in that office. steve seemed to look better each time you saw him. 

sometimes it was the way his hair fell across his forehead. 

sometimes it was the soft sweaters that hugged his biceps and shoulders. 

sometimes it was simply the way he looked at you.

the flirting on your part was subtle, almost unconscious. quiet and soft words while tucking your hair behind your ear. 

steve never crossed any lines. 

he remained perfectly professional. but his gaze would linger a second longer than necessary, and his voice would drop into that low silky tone when he praised you.

you told yourself it was nothing. he was just doing his job.

one afternoon, after a particularly long session, you met your best friend for a coffee. the moment you sat down, she studied your face with a knowing look.

‘’so… how are things going with daniel?’’ she asked, cutting into her avocado toast.

you smiled, a small genuine one.

‘’they’re good, actually. he’s really sweet. we’ve been seeing each other a couple times a week. we haven’t slept together yet… but i feel like i might be getting closer to wanting that.’’

her eyes lit up.

‘’that’s great! i’m really happy for you. he sounds like a good guy.’’ you nodded, stirring your coffee.

there was a comfortable pause. then she took a sip of her drink and asked casually:

‘’and how’s therapy going? you haven’t told me much about it lately.’’

you hesitated for a second, then shrugged lightly.

‘’it’s… going well, i think. my therapist is really good. he’s patient, he actually listens, and he explains things in a way that doesn’t make me feel like i’m broken. we’ve working on grounding exercises so i can stay more present, especially with daniel.’’

she raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

‘’tell me more about him. what’s he like?’’

you looked down at your cup, feeling a little shy.

‘’he’s… younger than i expected. really perceptive. he remember everything i tell him. he just helps me understand why i do it.’’

she stayed quiet for a moment. then she leaned forward with a mischievous grin.

‘’okay… i have to confess something. after you told me you started therapy, i got curious and looked him up on google.’’

you blinked. ‘’you what?’’

‘’i googled him,’’ she said, laughing. ‘’dr. steve harrington. i found his profile on the practice’s website and some pictures. girl… he’s ridiculously hot. like, stupidly attractive. i mean… i get why tour sessions feel intense.’’

you felt your face heat up instantly. you looked down at your latte.

‘’he’s just my therapist,’’ you said quickly, trying to sound casual. ‘’he’s professional. really good at his job. that’s all.’’

‘’sure. that’s why you are blushing right now.’’

after that comment, you may have started seeing steve a little bit differently. 

maybe more handsome. 

maybe with more interest.

you tried to think it was just nonsense, that your best friend’s talk was inside your brain.

while waiting in the reception area for your session, you made the mistake of checking the practice's recent google reviews on your phone.

several new ones appeared. from women in their twenties.

one in particular caught your eye:

‘’dr. Harrington is incredible. i’ve never felt so understood in my life. he’s helped me so much with my intimacy issues. 10/10, would recommend to anyone.”

there were several more like that – all women praising how attentive and emotionally available steve was.

your stomach twisted with an ugly feeling you didn’t want to name.

jealousy.

then, as you were sitting in the waiting room, the door to steve’s office opened.

a pretty brunette woman stepped out, smiling brightly. steve followed her to the door, speaking to her in that same gentle, warm tone he used with you.

“see you next week. you did great today.”

she left, laughing at something he said. you felt a sharp pang in your chest.

when Steve turned and saw you waiting, his expression softened immediately.

“hey,” he said warmly. “ready?” 

you forced a small smile and followed him into the office, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting inside you.

you sat down in your usual armchair. steve settled across from you, leaning forward sightly with his elbows on his knees.

‘’how has your week been?’’ he asked softly. 

you hesitated for a moment and opened your mouth to give a vague answer, but steve continued you could speak, his tone calm.

‘’you mentioned last session that you’ve been seeing someone. daniel, right? how are things going with him?’’

the question caught you slightly off guard. he had remembered the name. 

of course he had.

you shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed.

“they’re… going well,” you said carefully. “he’s really kind. patient. we’ve been spending more time together. we talk a lot, we kiss… but we haven’t slept together yet.”

steve listened with complete focus, his eyes never leaving your face. he nodded slowly, processing your words.

“and how do you feel about that?” he asked with a soft voice. “about holding back with him?”

you let out a slow breath.

“i feel guilty sometimes,” you admitted. “he’s a good guy. he deserves someone who can give him everything. but i’m scared. every time things get more physical, i feel myself starting to disconnect again. i don’t want to perform with him… but i don’t know how to stop doing it.”

steve was quiet for a few seconds. His expression remained calm and professional, but you noticed the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his fingers tightened slightly around his pen.

“it makes sense that you’re scared,” he said gently. “after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your mind and body learned that intimacy equals danger.”

he paused, then added in that low silky tone he had.

“but I also notice that when you talk about daniel, you describe him as ‘nice’ and ‘kind.’ you don’t talk about desire. about wanting him. does that feel significant to you?”

his question felt more direct than usual. you felt your cheeks warm under his steady gaze.

“i… i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe I’m still not ready. or maybe i’m comparing how i feel with him to… other things.”

steve’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. he didn’t push further on that comment, but the air in the room felt heavier.

you felt your face flush. you looked down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes. 

a shy, nervous smile formed on your lips as you played with the hem of your sweater and your fingers trembled slightly.

you left his office with the confusing realization that steve’s gentle praise affected you.

and no matter how many times you told yourself he was just being a good therapist. 

the feeling was getting harder to ignore.

another day that daniel texted you asking if you wanted to do something casual. you said yes before you could overthink it.

the night arrived. he was the same as always: easy to talk to, interested in what you said, and never pushy. he brought you flowers –white daisies– and remembered your drink.

when dinner was over, you ended up on his couch. the kissing started slow and sweet. his hands were careful as they slid under your sweater, caressing your back. 

for a while, you stayed present. you felt the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the way he whispered how beautiful you were. it felt nice.

but the moment his hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, something inside you tightened.

you pulled back gently, placing a hand on his chest.

‘’daniel… wait,’’ you whispered. he stopped immediately, looking at you with concern.

‘’is everything okay?’’ he asked softly.

you sat up a little, pulling your sweater back down. 

your heart was racing, but not from desire – from anxiety.

‘’i’m sorry,’’ you said quietly. ‘’i thought i was ready, but… i’m not. not tonight.’’

daniel nodded without hesitation. he sat back and gave you a kind, understanding smile.

“that’s completely fine,” he said. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. i’m really happy just spending time with you.”

you felt a wave of relief mixed with guilt. 

yet you still couldn’t give him what he probably wanted.

you stayed for a little while longer, talking on the couch, but the atmosphere shifted. 

when you left his apartment that night, you hugged him goodbye and told him you’d text him soon. the drive home was quiet. you felt disappointed in yourself.

by the time you got home, took a shower, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the frustration had built up to a breaking point.

now it has been months. months of this same cycle. flirting, dating, getting close, but then freezing or performing the moment things became truly intimate. 

you were tired of it. exhausted.

you arrived at your session feeling a mix of determination and deep embarrassment.

steve was already seated when you walked in. he wore a sweater that made his shoulders look broader. when he saw you, his hazel eyes softened with that familiar warm attention.

“hi,” he said gently. “come in. make yourself comfortable.”

you sat down. steve noticed your body language immediately.

“you seem a little nervous today,” he observed softly. “would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

you took a deep breath and decided to be honest.

“i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,” you said quietly. “about why i disconnect during sex. i… i want to understand it better. so i can try to fix it with daniel.”

steve nodded slowly, his gaze steady and kind.

“i’m glad you want to explore this,” he said. “to help you, i’m going to ask some personal questions about your sexual experiences. you don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable. but the more honest you can be, the better i can understand what’s happening and help you work through it. is that okay with you?”

you swallowed hard and nodded. steve kept his voice low and professional.

“when you’re with daniel, or with previous partners… do you feel any physical pleasure at all? or does it become purely mechanical after a certain point?”

your cheeks started burning.

“sometimes… at the beginning,” you whispered. “i feel warmth. tingling. but then it fades. i start focusing on what i should be doing instead of what i’m feeling.”

steve nodded, completely focused on you.

“do you touch yourself when you’re alone?” he asked calmly. “masturbate?”

your face went hot. you looked down at your lap, fingers twisting nervously in your sweater.

“…yes,” you admitted.

“how does that feel compared to sex with someone else?” he asked gently. “do you stay present when you’re touching yourself?”

you bit your lip, feeling incredibly exposed.

“mostly yes,” you whispered. “it’s easier when i’m alone. i can control everything. i don’t have to worry about what the other person is thinking.”

steve’s voice remained soothing.

“that’s very common,” he said. “when you’re alone, there’s no fear of judgment or betrayal. your body feels safe enough to stay present. but when someone else is involved, that safety disappears and your mind protects you by dissociating.”

he paused, then continued.

“when you masturbate… what do you usually think about? do you stay focused on the sensations in your body, or does your mind wander to fantasies?”

your face was burning now. you couldn’t look at him.

“i… try to focus on the sensations,” you mumbled. “but sometimes i fantasize. about… being wanted. being seen. not just fucked.”

steve was quiet for a moment, giving you space. the silence felt heavy but not uncomfortable. 

when he finally spoke, his voice was even softer, almost careful.

“thank you for being honest about that,” he said. “that’s really helpful information.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“as an exercise for this week, i’d like you to try something at home. when you masturbate, i want you to focus completely on the physical sensations. you don’t have to do it every day, just when you feel comfortable.”

your heart was beating fast. the idea of doing that and then telling him about it made your stomach twist with nerves.

“and… you want me to tell you how it went?” you asked, voice small.

steve nodded calmly. 

“only if you feel comfortable sharing. this is your space. but yes, talking about it next session could help us understand what makes it easier or harder for you to stay present.”

you swallowed hard, cheeks still burning.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’ll try.”

the drive home was quiet. your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly the whole way. 

steve’s voice kept echoing in your head. 

the way he looked at you when you spoke. the subtle way his fingers tapped against his knee.

by the time you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed, replaying steve’s words from the session.

you lay back on your bed, still wearing your clothes from the day. you slid your hand inside your now pajama pants and started slowly rubbing yourself over your panties. 

you tried to focus on the sensation, on your own body like steve suggested. but after a few minutes your mind began to wander.

you kept thinking about him.

about the calm way he looked at you when he spoke.

about how low and steady his voice got when he explained things. 

about the way his hands rested on his thighs during sessions. 

you imagined those same hands on you and immediately felt a rush of heat between your legs.

you slipped your fingers under your panties and touched yourself directly, circling your clit slowly. soft sounds left your lips as you got wetter. 

every time you tried to push the thoughts away, they came back stronger. 

you pictured steve’s face, his kind eyes, the slight scruff on his jaw, the way he said your name.

guilt twisted in your chest even as pleasure built between your legs.this is wrong, you thought. 

he was your therapist. he was trying to help you and you were here touching yourself while thinking about him.

still, you didn’t stop. your fingers moved faster, sliding inside yourself while your other hand gripped the sheets. 

your breathing grew heavier. you whispered his name once, very quietly, like a secret you couldn’t keep inside.

when you finally came it was sharp and intense; your thighs shaking, a soft broken sound leaving your throat.

you felt dirty. wrong. like you had crossed a line you could never uncross. 

steve trusted you. 

he was patient and professional and genuinely trying to help you heal, and here you were fantasizing about him.

“what the hell is wrong with me…” you whispered into the quiet room.

the next few days were hell.

you tried to pretend it never happened.

you told yourself it was a one-time mistake. that it wouldn’t happen again.

but when thursday afternoon came and you walked into steve’s office, your hands were already shaking.

steve was sitting in his usual chair, wearing a soft beige sweater, looking calm and professional like always. 

he smiled gently when you entered.

“hey,” he said warmly. “how have you been since last session?” 

you sat down on the couch across from him, legs pressed tightly together.

“fine,” you mumbled.

he studied you for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“did you try the homework i gave you?” he asked, voice gentle but direct. “touching yourself without pressure?”

you stayed silent, staring at the floor. your throat felt tight. steve waited patiently.

“you don’t have to share details if you don’t want to,” he continued softly, “but it would help if you could tell me whether you did it or not… and if you did, what came up for you. what you were thinking about.”

you still didn’t answer. your fingers twisted in your lap.

steve tilted his head.

“it’s okay,” he said. “you can sit over here if it feels easier to talk.” he gestured to the smaller couch closer to his chair, only a couple feet away. “sometimes being a little closer helps.”

you didn’t move.

after a few seconds of silence, steve slowly reached out and placed his hand gently on your knee, warm and steady, trying to get your attention.

“hey,” he said quietly, voice low. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?”

your heart hammered in your chest. his hand on your leg made everything worse. you felt tears burning in your eyes.you finally whispered, barely audible:

“…i did it.”

steve nodded slowly, thumb brushing lightly against your knee in a comforting motion.

“good. that’s okay. and when you were doing it… what were you thinking about?”

you stayed quiet for a long moment, shame burning through your whole body. then, in a tiny, broken voice, you admitted:

“…you.”

the word hung heavy in the air between you.steve froze. his hand stilled on your knee. 

for the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

steve didn’t move. the air between you grew thick. 

he stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing your words, then spoke carefully.

“you need to try thinking about something like that when you’re with daniel. that kind of arousal… that’s what we’re trying to build with him.”

you finally looked up at him with glassy and frustrated eyes.

“how am i supposed to feel that way with daniel?” your voice cracked. “how do i differentiate it? how do i know what i really want with him?”

steve stared at you. his breathing changed.

the professional mask cracked right in front of you. 

for a moment he looked conflicted, struggling hard with himself.

then he leaned in slowly, cupped your face with one hand, and kissed you.

the kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but full of months of hidden tension. his lips were warm and gentle against yours. your heart slammed in your chest.

he pulled back after a few seconds with his breathing ragged.

“fuck… i’m sorry,” he whispered. “that was completely unprofessional. i shouldn’t have done that. we can’t—”

you didn’t let him finish.

you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him back into the kiss, harder this time. 

steve froze for half a second before he gave in completely, kissing you back with a quiet groan. his hand slid to the back of your neck as the kiss deepened, growing more desperate.

both of you knew how wrong this was.

but in that moment, neither of you cared.

“this is so wrong…” he said. “i could lose my license. i could get fired. we shouldn’t be doing this.”

you looked into his eyes, desperate.

“i need you, steve,” you whispered back, voice breaking. “i don’t want anyone else. i only think about you.”

he let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself. 

then pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, your jeans rubbing against his thighs. his hands immediately gripped your hips.

“fuck… you’re going to ruin me,” he murmured before kissing you again, deeper this time.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as his hands worked between you. 

“ride my thigh, baby,” he whispered hotly against your neck. “just like this. with your clothes on. use me to feel good.”

you moaned softly and started rocking your hips, grinding your clothed pussy against his thick, muscular thigh. 

the rough fabric of your jeans created a delicious friction against your clit with every roll of your hips.

steve’s hands stayed on your hips, guiding you, pulling you harder against his leg.

“that’s it,” he breathed, sucking on the sensitive spot below your ear. “grind on me. use my thigh to get yourself off.”

you moved faster, rolling your hips in desperate circles, the seam of your jeans pressing perfectly against your clit. 

you could feel how wet you were getting, the fabric growing damp as you humped his leg.

“steve…” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

“good girl,” he praised softly, kissing down your neck while helping you grind harder. “look at you… riding my thigh fully dressed like you can’t wait any longer.”

his hands squeezed your ass, pulling you down firmer against him with every roll. the pressure was intense, the friction making your legs shake.

“does that feel good, princess?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “humping my leg like a needy girl?”

“yes… fuck, yes,” you moaned quietly, moving faster, chasing the building pleasure.

steve kept kissing and biting your neck gently while you rode his thigh desperately, the wet patch on your jeans growing bigger with every grind.

then he didn’t even wait for you to cum and unbuttoned your jeans and tugged the zipper down. his long fingers slipped inside your jeans and under your panties, finding you soaked.

you gasped as two thick fingers touched you.

“so wet already,” he breathed against your neck, kissing and biting softly while his fingers played with your pussy. “you really do need this, don’t you?”

you moaned quietly, rocking your hips against his hand as he fingered you deeper. 

his thumb found your clit and rubbed firm, steady circles while his mouth continued its assault on your neck.

“steve…” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “with you… i feel good.”

he lifted his head from your neck, eyes dark but full of concern. his fingers kept moving inside you, slower now.

“tell me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and careful.“i don’t feel blocked,” you breathed, grinding down onto his fingers. “i’m not anxious… i’m not overthinking. i’m just… enjoying it. i feel safe with you.”

steve let out a shaky breath, clearly worried.

he stopped moving his fingers for a moment and looked straight into your eyes, his free hand gently cupping your cheek.

“are you sure?” he asked softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “i need you to be honest with me. if anything feels wrong or too much, you tell me immediately, okay? your comfort is the most important thing right now.”

you nodded, leaning into his touch.

“i’m sure,” you whispered. “i want this. i want you.”

steve searched your face for any sign of doubt, then kissed you again, slower this time, more tenderly. 

his fingers started moving once more, curling gently inside you while his thumb kept rubbing your clit in steady circles.

“good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice full of care. “just relax. i’ve got you. tell me if you want it slower or deeper.” he whispered hotly against your skin, curling his fingers inside you perfectly. “just ride my fingers, baby. take what you need.”

his other hand slid under your shirt, squeezing your breast as he kept kissing and marking your neck. 

his fingers moved faster inside you, thrusting deep while his thumb pressed harder on your clit.

you were grinding desperately on his hand, moaning softly into his shoulder, completely lost in the feeling of his fingers stretching you and his mouth on your neck.

steve groaned quietly against your skin.

“you feel so fucking good… so tight around my fingers.”

you moaned quietly, rolling your hips against his hand as he fingered you with perfect rhythm. 

his mouth returned to your neck, kissing and sucking softly while he focused completely on your pleasure, always watching your reactions, always making sure you felt safe.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmured against your skin, fingers curling just right. “i just want you to feel good, baby. nothing else matters right now.”

the pleasure built quickly until it crashed over you. you came hard with a broken moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. 

steve kept moving his fingers gently, helping you ride out every last pulse.

when you finally came down, breathing heavily, you reached down to palm his obvious erection through his pants.

steve immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.

“no,” he said softly but firmly, breathing hard. “not today. this is about you.”

he gently lifted you off his lap and laid you down on the couch. 

he knelt on the floor between your legs, pulled your jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, and spread your thighs wide.

steve leaned in and kissed your inner thigh, then higher, until his mouth was on your pussy. he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting you. 

you moaned loudly, your hand flying to his hair.

he licked you slowly at first, savoring you, then became more eager; sucking gently on your clit, fucking you with his tongue, then sliding two fingers back inside you while he focused his mouth on your sensitive bud.

“steve…” you whimpered, back arching. “oh my god…”

he ate you out with perfect focus, humming against you, curling his fingers deep while his tongue worked your clit in stead patterns. 

you felt completely overwhelmed in the best way.

“it’s been so long…” you moaned, voice breaking, fingers tightening in his hair. “i haven’t felt this good with anyone in so long… steve, fuck—”

he groaned against your pussy, the vibration making you shiver. 

he doubled down, sucking harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster.

you came again with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head as intense pleasure flooded your body. 

steve kept licking you gently through it, drawing out every wave until you were trembling and oversensitive.

he finally pulled back, lips shiny, breathing heavily. he looked up at you with dark, worried, but undeniably hungry eyes. then he slowly stood up, towering over you as you lay on the couch. 

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at you for a long moment.

“do you really want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice low and rough. “because we’ve already broken every rule… if we do this, there’s no going back.”

you nodded, still catching your breath.

“yes,” you whispered. “i want you.” steve let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself one last time.

he quickly unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, pulling out his cock. he was big — thick and long, the head already leaking. 

you stared at it, a mix of nerves and excitement flooding you.

“you have to be quiet,” he warned, voice serious. “no matter what. if someone hears us, i’m done.”

you nodded quickly. steve pulled your jeans and panties completely off, then climbed on top of you on the small couch. 

he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked pussy before slowly pushing inside.you gasped at the stretch. he was so big it almost hurt, but it felt so good. 

he covered your mouth with his large hand as he sank deeper while his eyes were locked on yours.

“shhh, baby,” he whispered, bottoming out inside you. “fuck… you’re so tight.”

he started fucking you on the couch, deep and steady thrusts, his hand still firmly over your mouth to muffle your moans. every time he buried himself completely you whimpered against his palm, eyes rolling back.

after a few minutes he pulled out, stood up and turned you around, bending you over the desk. he pushed back inside you from behind in one smooth thrust, groaning quietly.

“quiet, princess,” he reminded you, hand returning to cover your mouth as he started fucking you harder. 

the desk creaked softly with every deep thrust. steve was so big you could feel him in your stomach, stretching you perfectly.

his free hand gripped your hip tightly as he pounded into you, trying to stay as quiet as possible while giving you exactly what you needed.

“is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your ear, voice strained. “you feel so fucking good…”

you could only moan helplessly against his hand, completely lost in how full you felt and how deep he was hitting inside you.

“is this what you wanted?” he whispered, voice low and rough, lips brushing your ear. “when you were touching yourself at home… thinking about me… is this what you imagined?”

you moaned against his palm, nodding frantically.

“oh yes, steve…” you whimpered, the words muffled against his hand.he fucked you a little harder, deep and slow, making sure you felt every inch.

“you were fucking yourself thinking about my cock, weren’t you?” he breathed, voice soft but filthy. “touching that pretty pussy and wishing it was me stretching you open like this…”

you whimpered louder, pushing back against him.

“yes… yes, steve… i wanted you so bad,” you gasped against his fingers.

steve groaned quietly, pressing deeper, grinding against you.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck while still covering your mouth. “you feel even better than i imagined… so fucking tight and wet for me.”

he kept a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. his hand stayed firm over your mouth, muffling your moans as you trembled beneath him.

“that’s it, baby… take it,” he whispered hotly. “this is what you needed, isn’t it? my cock deep inside you while you’re bent over my desk…”

you nodded desperately, tears of pleasure in your eyes.

“yes, steve… oh god, yes…” you moaned against his hand, voice broken and needy.

steve kissed your neck again, sucking softly on your skin as he fucked you deeper, slower, making sure you felt every single inch.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he praised gently, voice full of lust and care at the same time. “such a good girl… letting me fuck you like this…”

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and rough. “cum for me. let go.”

your orgasm hit you hard. your whole body tensed, thighs shaking as you came around his cock with a muffled cry against his palm. 

your pussy clenched tightly around him, pulsing again and again.

steve groaned quietly, burying himself deep as he followed right after you. his hips stuttered and he came hard inside you, filling you with warm pulses while pressing his face into your neck to stay quiet.

for a few seconds you both stayed like that, breathing heavily. 

then reality seemed to hit him. steve pulled out slowly and grabbed the box of tissues from his desk. he cleaned you gently first, wiping between your legs with care, then cleaned himself.

you both dressed quickly in silence. he helped you button your jeans. once you were both fully dressed, steve sat on the edge of the desk and pulled you to stand between his legs.

he looked at you softly.

“how do you feel?” he asked quietly, genuine concern in his eyes. “be honest with me.”

you took a deep breath, still a little shaky.

“i didn’t feel blocked,” you whispered. “i didn’t overthink everything like i usually do. i just… felt good. really good. safe.”

steve’s expression softened. a small, relieved smile appeared on his lips.

“that’s really good,” he murmured, sounding genuinely happy. “i’m glad you felt that way. that’s important.”

“and… is this what all your patients get?” you asked softly, half-joking but clearly a little nervous.

steve’s eyes widened. he let out a surprised little laugh and shook his head immediately.

“ohhh no, no, no,” he said quickly, almost embarrassed. “you’ve been the exception. completely. i usually stay very professional… i’ve never crossed this line before. not even close.”

he cupped your face with both hands, looking straight into your eyes, sincere.

“this has never happened with anyone else. you’re the only one.”

you bit your lip, feeling a strange mix of relief and warmth in your chest.

steve leaned in and kissed your forehead gently, then rested his forehead against yours.

“this is new for me too,” he whispered. “and probably really stupid… but i couldn’t stop myself with you.”

© dividers by angeliicide and suupersonic

[whispersoflost]

18+ giving steve, also known as your best friend, a head while he’s in his scoops ahoy uniform | wc: 799 ⟡˖°

a/n: i need scoops ahoy steve.

“oh fuck, baby…”

steve’s pants and briefs were wrapped around his thighs, his thick cock on full display, hard as a rock and standing against his stomach while you stroked him lazily, teasing him with your mouth.

his soft moans echoed through the small space of the back room at scoops ahoy.

it was absolutely risky, but god, you would lie if you said that you didn’t like the thrill.

and steve seemed to like it as well—at least it looked like that when you pulled him through the door, lips moving against his and finding him already hard in his pants.

“you know… it wouldn’t be so hard for me to hold myself back if you’d just loose that damn uniform… because stevie, this is absolutely sexy,” you murmured, giving the tip of his cock a kitten lick.

his hips bucked upwards instinctively, a low groan rumbling through his chest while one hand flew to the back of your head, clenching in the strands.

“jesus christ…” he whispered, pupils dark with lust, “it’s my work outfit. you know i can’t just ‘lose it’.”

that earned him a gentle suck on the head, and you felt him twitching greedily in your hand.

it all started when you came to him about two weeks ago, right after your date dumped you.

he was clearly convinced that an inexperienced girl like you wasn’t good in bed, that’s why he wanted to find someone else—someone with more experience.

shortly, not a virgin.

and so you came to your best friend, since you where twelve years old, asking him to help you get some of that experience.

since then, you made out almost every day.

and god, steve was a mess. he always was.

his eyes were pressed shut, biting down on those plump and pink lips, looking like some sex god who just jumped right out of your dreams.

the only difference: he was your best friend and all of this happened because you only needed him to teach you in things like blowjobs.

but lord, it was the best thing that ever happened to you.

“fuck! you’re…” steve grunted, more precum spilling out and coating your lips. “you’re learning so fast, princess.”

you decided to go further then. by now, you knew what drove him crazy.

so you took him slowly, swallowing on the way down until his head hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

steve’s hand gripped the arm of the chair he was sitting on, knuckles turning white while he other hand stayed in your hair, guiding you gently.

“oh shit, baby. just like that,” he choked out, his hips thrusting up, further into the heat but you stopped him by wrapping your hand around his base—the only part you couldn’t take.

the squeeze made him twitch against your tongue and you hummed, eyes beginning to water from the intensity of holding back more gags.

“you’re taking it so well…” you hear the praise and it made you press your thighs together. “such a good girl.”

then, his control snapped.

he bucked his hips upwards again, hitting the back of your throat again and you gagged, one single tear dropping down as your fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his hairy thighs.

“just like that… good girl…” he chanted out, his hips setting a steady rhythm, fucking up into your mouth.

you took steady breaths through your nose, relaxing your jaw, giving him the space he needed to get off.

he made you choke on him, tears streaming down your face and saliva dripping from your chin, making everything messy.

after a while, you swallowed again, his cock pulsing, signaling you he was close.

now it was you, starting to bob your head. up and down, letting him slip out, suckling on the tip before taking him all the way in again.

“baby, baby, i’m gonna—fuuuck—i’m gonna cum. you need to—“

you knew what he wanted to say. he always did. but you never pulled away.

thick ropes of his cum shot out, spilling down your throat and all over your lips and face when you pulled away.

it was messy, but god, it was absolutely perfect.

steve’s head lolled to the side, his cock still twitching as he came down from that intense high, his gaze on you without daring to look away.

you licked your lips clean from his semen, grinning when he let out a gasp. “you just… did it again,” he murmured, reaching out, his thumb brushing some drops of his cum away from your chin.

“licking my cum like it’s some kind of candy. my dirty little slut, hm?” he teased, but you knew better.

he meant every single word.

2026 whispersoflost

[drippingsteve]

Pull Over

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female! Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut (18+), P in V sex (protected), dryhumping, praise kink, semi-public sex (parked car), softdom! Steve (kinda), WAP! reader lmao

A/N: This is definitely my favorite piece of writing so far. Very very filthy so if you know me I’m sorry. Let me know what you think! Enjoy xoxo

You tease Steve all through dinner.

It starts with you grazing your heel-adorned foot over his calf under the table as you sip your drink. You don’t miss the way he straightens slightly in his seat, leaning toward you. 

“How was your day today?” You smile sweetly at him, setting your drink down. 

“No complaints. Kids were good. They all turned in their final projects, which I wasn’t expecting.” He laughs. “One of them wrote a song about abstinence that I can’t wait to hear.”

“It would do you some good to listen to that song,” you tease, cocking an eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes in response. “C’mon, I didn’t hear you complaining after our last date.” 

That shuts you up, and you sip your drink again as the two of you exchange a knowing glance. How could you forget? He nearly drilled you into the mattress, and you came four times– your personal record. 

You’re fantasizing about what the night has in store for you when his voice snaps you back to reality. 

“How was your day, gorgeous?” He prompts, taking your hand in his across the table. You begin telling him about your day, tracing figures into the palm of his hand. Your fingers meander to the inside of his wrist, swiping over the band of his watch before you let your hand rest in his again.  

After you’ve finished your food and seduced him thoroughly, Steve slips a wad of cash into the little black book and helps you up from your seat. 

In the alley outside the restaurant, he pulls you close for a minute so he can murmur in your ear. “I know what you’re doing.” Goosebumps form on your arms at the tone in his voice.  

“Hmm?” You play dumb, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He wastes no time pressing you against the cool brick and planting a hot kiss to your mouth. You pull him closer as he kisses from your ear to your collarbone. “Lookin’ all pretty for me. Turnin’ me on in the restaurant. I know what you want, baby.” 

The pet name goes straight between your legs. “And what are you gonna do about it?” 

He straightens up, looking down at you as he slides a hand over your waist. “I’m gonna take y’home, if you’ll have me.” 

You nod, suppressing a grin as you slip your hand into his and lead the way to his car. He opens the door for you, and you shoot him a mischievous look through the windshield as he walks around the car. 

You admire him, eyes flitting over his hand, his arm, his irresistible face. The key turns, and you’re off. 

You haven’t even reached the first stop sign before his hand is on the inside of your thigh, pinky slipping beneath your skirt. You take the opportunity to slide your hand up his arm, squeezing his bicep. 

“You’re so strong, Steve,” you purr, and the grip on your thigh tightens. His gaze slips away from the road to you for just a second to take you in. 

They snap back to the road, and the knuckles on his left hand turn white against the steering wheel. “Keep talkin’ like that, and we’re not gonna make it home.” 

The tension in the car settles over you, and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to do something about it. He kneads your thigh, eyes still steady on the road, but you catch the way the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. 

You don’t know whether Steve is taking you to yours or his, but you’re still about ten minutes out either way. You look around, observing the empty road, and decide that you can’t wait any longer. 

“Pull over,” you plead, and he does as you ask, tires crunching against the gravel on the side of the road as they roll into the nearby pull-off.

“You okay?” He shifts the car into park, his hand sliding off your thigh. 

“No.” You sit up in your seat, leaning over the center console. “Need you to kiss me. Please.” 

He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, cupping your face with his hand. His thumb roams over your chin before swiping over your bottom lip, and you waste no time sucking it into your mouth. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, but it’s loud in the otherwise silent car. “Can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

Soon enough, he’s pulling you in and kissing you. It’s slow and soft at first, but when your fingers grip the collar of his shirt, his tongue slides against yours. You moan into his mouth, spurring him on. 

If there was any doubt about where the night was going to take you, it dissolves quickly when he mutters, “C’mere,” and pulls you across the center console. 

You settle in his lap. It’s a little cramped, but you don’t mind the door digging into your leg when he’s kissing you like this. 

His hands find your hips, grinding you down on him, and you feel his hard length press against you. “See what you do to me?” 

You nod, letting your head hang as you grind against him again, letting out a moan this time. 

You kiss him again, pressing your chest to his as you roll against him, desperate for any friction you can get. Every movement has your body on fire, and you think you could come just like this. 

Steve sees how good you’re feeling–how you moan into his mouth and writhe against him, and he urges you on. He pulls you against him, pushing his hips into yours at your pace. 

You know that any second a car could drive by–the police, even. It’s not even that late, actually. The fear brings more urgency to the situation, and you move faster against him. 

You’re so turned on that Steve can feel the dampness seeping through the clothing separating you. 

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling away to look at you while continuing his motions. “Want you to come.” 

“M’so close,” you whine, legs starting to tremble above him. You catch his eyes, and the desire behind them sends you over the edge. You writhe above him as his hands explore your hips and back. 

Your hips slow to a stop, and he moans against your lips as he kisses you. He’s hard beneath you, cock straining against his jeans in a way that you know must be painful. You move to unbutton them, trailing your kisses down his jaw and neck. 

He helps you pull his jeans down, freeing him. “Need you so bad,” you breathe, wrapping your fingers around him and stroking him slowly. “Been waiting for this all week.” 

“So have I,” he responds, eyes fixed on the movement of your hand. “Condoms in the glove box, can you reach?”

You turn and open the glove box, pulling out a brand new package. You wave it in front of him. “Fresh pack, just for me?” you ask teasingly, opening it. 

“M’not seeing anyone else,” he responds, squeezing your hip. After a moment, he asks, “Are you?”  

You shake your head, your face flushing. Then, you smirk. “In the glovebox? Were you expecting this? Here?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Well, I had a feeling something might happen, and safety first, right?” He takes the condom from you, opening it and rolling it on with ease. 

“Right.” You bite your lip, hovering over him. He pushes your skirt up your hips, crudely yanking your panties to the side to get a good look at you. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” He rubs his cock from your entrance to your clit and back, collecting your slick.

You expect him to slide into you, to give you that delicious feeling of being stretched out, but he doesn’t. He continues to tease you, sliding between your folds and basking in the feeling. 

When he finally enters you, you sink down on him slowly, breath catching when he grazes the spot only he has ever reached. You start to ride him, thighs burning but unable to stop.

“I’ve been hard since dinner,” he moans, sliding his left hand up your shirt to cup your tit. “That’s what you wanted, right?” 

You try to answer, or at least think about answering, but you only stutter out a moan as he starts fucking up into you. 

“C’mon, answer me.” He grabs your jaw with his other hand, directing you to face him. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“Yes!” you cry. 

“Good girl,” he praises, releasing your face and sliding his hand down to rub your clit with his thumb. He feels you clench around him as you ride him faster, panting. 

“Oh, y’like when I call you that? My good girl?” 

You moan, nodding into his shoulder as you let your head drop again. You’re dripping down his balls now, pulsing around him.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Y’gonna come again?” His thumb continues circling your clit as you fuck yourself on him. 

“Mhm,” you whine into his neck. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop baby. Gonna come with you,” he pants. “Kiss me.” 

You turn your head to kiss him messily, one hand on his chest and the other behind you, bracing yourself on his thigh. He licks into your mouth, rocking his hips into yours and rubbing your clit until you come undone. 

You shudder, breaking the kiss to moan loudly into the car as you ride out your orgasm. He’s right behind you, flooding the condom and grazing his teeth over your shoulder with a muffled moan. 

“Shit,” he pants, his head falling back against the headrest as he slips out of you. “We made a mess.” You look down between you, both covered in your sticky release.

“Don’t worry,” you giggle into his neck. “Saw some tissues in the glove box next to the condoms.” 

He rolls his eyes, reaching in and grabbing a stack of them. He wipes you up first as best he can before he does the same to himself, leaving the tissues and used condom on the mat by his feet. 

“Gross.” You scrunch up your nose. 

“Gross? That’s all you, babe,” he teases as you settle back into your seat and fix your clothes. “Wanna spend the night? We’ll swing by yours and get some stuff. You can keep showin’ me how good you are.” He winks, and you blush all over again. 

You wonder if you’ll break your orgasm record tonight.

[entrenoussir]

Two Little Words - Gator Tillman x Reader - One Shot

Gator decides he needs to figure out what sort of nickname “gets you going” - so what happens when you turn the tables on him?

a/n don’t ask why or how this entered my brain . doesn’t matter.

TW/CW: pet names but no use of y/n, fingering, grinding, softer Gator (ish)

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The television droned on in the background, some reality show you weren’t actually watching, but it was good noise to fill the apartment. Gator Tillman was sprawled on your couch, boots kicked up onto the coffee table despite the glare you’d shot him earlier. He was fidgeting, bouncing his leg, tossing your phone up and catching it repeatedly.

The two of you were still in that grey area - the "sort of dating" phase where you spent most nights together but hadn't truly had the "what are we" talk. He was decent company. When he wasn't being a pain in the ass.

"Would you quit that?" You didn’t bother to look up from the book you were trying to read on the opposite end of the couch. "You're gonna break my phone.”

"Can't help it," Gator drawled, tossing it onto a cushion. He turned his head, studying you with that intense, slightly manic stare. "I’m thinkin'."

"Awe, be careful. I’d hate to see you hurt yourself."

"Ha ha." He sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. "No, seriously. I was thinkin' about us. About how we do all this couple stuff." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "But we ain't got the lingo down just yet."

You sighed, marking your page and looking at him. "What lingo?"

"Names," he said simply. "Ain't that what couples do? Give each other cringe-ass nicknames that make everyone else wanna gag?"

You stared at him. "You wanna give me a nickname?"

"I think it’s required." He stood up, cracking his neck. "Yeah. Gotta figure it out. The right one."

"You can just call me by my name, Gator."

"Nah. That’s borin’. That’s for strangers. Not someone who’s already seen you naked." He started pacing the small living room area. "I gotta find one that sticks. Somethin’ that fits you."

You rolled your eyes and went back to your book, deciding to ignore him. It was usually the best strategy with Gator when he got like this - wired and looking for entertainment. If you didn't engage beyond an occasional nod, he’d eventually get bored and sit back down.

But he didn't.

You felt him walk behind the couch, leaning over your shoulder. His breath was hot against your ear, smelling of gum and the faint, lingering scent of leather and gun oil from work

"Hey, baby," he whispered. The word was low, gravelly at the edges.

You stiffened slightly, turning the page even though you hadn't read a word of it. "Stop it."

"Sure thing, little lady," he tried again, moving to the other side of the couch so he was leaning over the arm rest to whisper into your other ear. "Kinda sounds like you should be on a horse or somethin’, huh?"

"Gator, knock it off," you said, swatting a hand out to push him away. He dodged it easily, laughing as you stood and retreated to the arm chair.

"What about… Princess?” He murmured, ignoring your hand. "Think you’re a princess? Certainly got the attitude for it, goddamn.”

He moved towards you with a restless, buzzing energy radiating off of him. It was like he was hunting something. If you knew one thing about Gator Tillman, it was that he was like a damn dog with a bone. Once he latched onto something, there was almost nothing you could do to get him to let it go.

"Sugar'," Gator whispered, kneeling down next to the chair, his fingers trailing over the back of your neck. A shiver went down your spine that you tried to suppress. “Ooh, you like that?”

“Shut up.”

"Okay, sweetheart." He was in front of you now, crouching down so his face was level with yours, invading your personal space. "That one's real classic. My old man uses it.”

You looked at him, exasperated. "Are you done yet?"

"Nope." He grinned, showing teeth. "None of 'em feel right yet. I need data."

"Data?" You almost laughed out loud at how seriously he was taking this.

"Yeah. Physical evidence." He stood up abruptly, grabbing your wrist and tugging you out of the chair. You stumbled, dropping your book onto the floor.

"Hey! What the fu-“

Gator didn't let go, steering you backward with surprising strength until your back hit the living room wall with a dull thud. He boxed you in, one hand by your head, the other resting on your hip, his body pressing close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Gator," you warned, though your voice lacked the bite you wanted it to have. Your heart was pounding a little harder now, adrenaline spiking.

"Pay attention," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. They were dark, pupils blown wide. "Need to see which one works."

"Works for what?"

"Which one gets you goin'." Gator’s expression was devious at his hand slid from your hip, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweatpants.

You inhaled sharply, grabbing his wrist to stop him, but he didn't pause. He just pushed his hand down, rough and demanding, sliding past the fabric of your panties until his fingers were pressed against you, right where you were already starting to warm up under his scrutiny and touch.

"Fucking Christ," you breathed, your grip on his wrist tightening, but you didn't pull him away. Not really.

"Relax," he teased, his voice dropping an octave. "Just testing a hypothesis."

“Pretty big word for a guy like you.”

“Think I’m stupid?”

“Just thought you mostly did monosyllables.”

His fingers moved, dragging through your folds, and he hummed in satisfaction when he felt how slick you were. "Well, well. Wouldja look at that. All ‘a this is doin’ somethin’ for you. "

You flushed, your face heating up. "Shut up."

"No, no, this is good." He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Let's try again."

Gator slid a finger inside you, curling it just enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. He watched your face intently.

"Baby girl," he whispered, the words slow and deliberate. He pumped his finger once, twice, watching your eyelids flutter. "Yeah? You like that one?"

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but your body betrayed you. Your hips tilted toward his hand instinctively, seeking more friction.

"M’kay. That’s a maybe," he continued, his voice a rough rasp against your ear.

“It’s not anything.”

"Quit lyin’," Gator withdrew his hand slightly, circling your clit with a maddening lightness that made your knees weak. "My sweet girl knows better than to lie to me, right?"

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the wall. "Gator..."

"Say it," he demanded, pressing his thumb harder against you. "Which one?"

"I don't know," you gasped, your resolve crumbling under the steady rhythm of his hand.

"Liars get punished," he said, though there was no true malice in it, just a dark, playfulness. He added a second finger, stretching you, the sudden fullness drawing a low moan from your throat. "Come on. What one made you all like this for me? Or do you just like bein’ told what to do?”

You looked up at him, seeing the smug satisfaction written all over his face. He knew he had you. You felt exposed, pinned against the wall by his hips and his hand, completely at his mercy, and the terrifying part was that you liked it.

"I think," you managed to get out, your voice breathless, "I think you're enjoying this way too much."

"Damn right I am," Gator grinned, leaning in to bite gently at your pulse point. "Now hold still. If you ain’t gonna tell me, I’m gonna find out.”

He didn't give you a chance to recover, his wrist twisting so his palm cupped you possessively, grinding against you in a way that made your vision blur at the edges. The friction was electric, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine that made your knees threaten to buckle.

"You're trembling," he observed, his voice dropping to that low, insinuating rasp he used when he was about to do something reckless. He leaned his weight into you, pinning you harder against the plaster so you couldn't escape the rhythm of his hand. "Means it's working. But which one did it, huh? Was it sweet girl? Or are you just a slut for being manhandled?"

You opened your mouth to snap at him, tell him to get off his fucking high horse, but all that came out was a broken, pathetic moan when he curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot that made your toes curl in your socks. His grin widened, sharp and predatory, like a wolf that had cornered its prey and realized it didn't even need to chase.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he taunted, pressing his forehead against yours, forcing you to hold his gaze. You could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was cataloging every gasp and flutter. He didn’t even seem like he was looking for a pet name anymore. "Look at you. Tryin’ to act all tough and independent. Then the second I get my hands on you, you turn into a fuckin’ puddle. It's cute. Or pathetic. Dunno, haven’t decided yet."

"Fuck you, Gator," you gasped, trying to find purchase to push him away, but your hands lacked conviction. Instead of shoving him, you were clinging to his flannel shirt, grounding yourself as he worked you over with ruthless efficiency.

"Language," he chided, though his tone was anything but disapproving. He pulled his fingers back, teasing you with the loss of fullness before sliding them back in, deeper this time, harder. "Think you can talk to me like that when I'm fuckin’ wrist-deep in you? Doesn't seem like you're in a position to negotiate, does it, babydoll?"

He punctuated the question with a rough thrust of his hand, the wet, obscene sound of his movements filling the small apartment. You felt heat flood your face, a mix of embarrassment and arousal that was dizzying. He was right, and you hated it. You were completely at his mercy, pinned to the wall by your own traitorous body.

"Wanna try another one?” Gator murmured, ignoring your frustrated glare. He moved his mouth to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point, nipping just hard enough to sting.

“No -“

"Darlin'," he drawled out the nickname, letting it hang in the air, thick with mockery. "Sounds real southern. Real gentlemanly. Does it make you feel special? What about honey? Nah, never mind. I don’t like that one.”

Gator didn't wait for a coherent response. He shifted his angle, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with agonizing slowness. Your breath hitched, your head falling back against the wall with a thud as you squeezed your eyes shut. The pleasure was building rapidly, a tight coil in your stomach that was winding tighter with every pass of his fingers.

"Open your damn eyes," he commanded sharply.

You forced your eyes open, vision swimming. He was watching you with an intensity that was almost frightening, like he was dissecting you.

"There she is," he said softly, though the smugness in his voice remained. "Damn, are you actually gonna let me get you off just by talkin’ to you?" He laughed, a breathy sound against your neck. "That’s fuckin' hilarious."

"Shut up," you whimpered, hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, seeking more of that friction, more of that pressure that was threatening to send you over the edge. You didn't care about his taunts anymore; you just needed him to keep going.

"Make me," he challenged, pulling his hand away slightly, denying you what you most wanted.

You let out a frustrated cry, hand flying out to grab his wrist, trying to force him back, but he was too strong. He held his ground, his fingers hovering at a cruel, teasing distance.

"Ask nicely," he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"No."

"Guess we're done here." He started to pull his hand out of your pants, the loss of warmth making you shiver.

"Wait," you blurted out, hating yourself for giving in. He stopped, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

"Go on," he prompted, his fingers twitching against your skin.

"Please," you gritted out, the word tasting like defeat.

"Please what?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your ear. "Please touch you? Please make you come? Or please call you my little princess?"

Gator emphasized the last word, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but as he said it, his hand was already effortlessly back into place and resuming that devastating pace. You groaned, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder, unable to hold yourself up anymore as the pleasure washed over you.

"Yeah, that's it," he crooned, his voice almost gentle now, though the undercurrent of mockery was still there. "Take it. Doin’ so good for me."

Gator’s free hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head back so he could look at you again. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with his own arousal, but the triumph in them was unmistakable. He owned you in this moment, and he knew it.

"You're so desperate," he whispered, his gaze dropping to watch his hand moving inside your sweats. "You really are my sweet girl, aren'tcha? So fuckin’ needy for me."

The combination of his voice in your ear, the grip on your jaw, and the relentless movement of his fingers was too much. The coil in your stomach snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You cried out, your body arching off the wall. Gator worked you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking, your breath ragged. When you finally slumped against him, spent, he didn't pull away immediately. He kept his hand where it was, feeling the aftershocks rippling through you, a smug satisfaction radiating off him.

"Well," he said, pulling his hand out slowly a few minutes later, the movement deliberate and lingering. He held your gaze as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, tasting you. "Think we found a winner."

You stared at him, your chest heaving and face burning. "You're an asshole, Gator."

"Yeah," he agreed, wiping his hand on his jeans with a casual disregard that made your flush deepen. "But I'm your asshole. And you know you loved it."

He leaned in, pressing a quick, hard kiss to your lips, stealing your breath before you could formulate a retort.

"So, sweet girl it is?" Gator asked, backing away with a grin that said he already knew the answer.

"Go to hell," you muttered, sliding down the wall until your ass hit the floor, your legs feeling like jelly.

"Awe, boo-hoo. I'll pick you up later," he winked, stepping over your discarded book and heading back to the couch like nothing had happened. "We ain't done watching the show."

You sat on the floor for a minute, letting your heart rate settle while Gator reclaimed his spot, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He kicked his legs up on the coffee table once more, exuding a cocky confidence that made your blood boil - in the best way, but still. He thought he’d won. He thought he was the one in control here.

Pushing yourself off the floor, you smoothed down your sweatpants, wincing slightly at the lingering sensitivity. You walked over to the couch and stood right in front of the TV, blocking his view.

"Move it," he complained. "You make a better door than a window."

You ignored him, straddling his lap before he could react. He grunted in surprise, his hands automatically coming to rest on your hips, but you caught his wrists, wrenching them away from your body and pinning them against the back of the couch.

"Whoa there,” he laughed, looking up at you with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. "What's this? Round two?"

"Something like that," you murmured, leaning down so your face was only an inch or two from his. "You played your game, Gator. Now we're playing mine."

"Oh?" He challenged, though you felt his muscles tense under your grip. He wasn't used to being on this side of the pin. "What’dya want?"

"Remember how you said couples need nicknames?" You traced the line of his jaw with one hand, your touch light and teasing. "I think we need to find one for you, too."

Gator scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I ain't the sweetheart type."

"Didn't think you were," you agreed. You shifted your hips, grinding down against him experimentally as you released his writers. His breath hitched, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But everyone has a button, Gator. And I’m gonna find yours."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he smirked, trying to regain his composure, though you could feel him twitching beneath you. "I'm a simple man."

"We'll see." You leaned in, brushing your lips against his neck, right over the rapid pulse point. "How about... Cowboy?" You whispered, letting the word hang in the air.

He groaned, but it was a sound of annoyance rather than pleasure. "Don't start that shit. My old man called me that as a kid. Kills the mood."

"Noted." You moved lower, nipping at his collarbone. "How about... Handsome?"

"What am I, goin’ to my first communion? Are you my grandma?”

"Okay big guy?" You felt his stomach muscles contract as you laughed softly against his skin. "Tough guy?"

"You're runnin’ out of steam, sweetheart," he taunted, though his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer. "Just admit it, you can't fluster me."

You pulled back to look him in the eye, a slow smile spreading across your face. You could see the challenge in his brown eyes, the arrogance that made you want to wipe that smug look right off his face. You leaned in close, your lips ghosting over his ear, taking your time. You felt him tense up, waiting for the strike.

"Bad boy?"

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your waist. "That's a given. Try harder."

You shifted again, deliberately rolling your hips against the growing hardness in his jeans. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his head falling back against the couch cushion. You had him now; you just had to find the right key.

"Daddy?" you suggested, dragging the word out.

"Absolutely not," he choked out, his eyes flying open. "Christ. Don't ever fuckin' say that again. Weirds me out."

"Okay, okay," you soothed, secretly relieved because you didn’t want to have to call him that.

You ran your hands down his chest, feeling the way his heart was beating against his ribs. He was affected, more than he wanted to admit. He liked the chase, but he wasn't used to being the prey.

Then, a thought struck you. All the times you'd seen him with his dad, the way he sought approval, the way he bristled at authority but secretly craved some direction. You thought about the way he looked at you sometimes, like he wanted you to tell him what to do. He talked a big game, but you knew he’d secretly do anything to see a trace of happiness from you.

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to think. "You try so hard, don't you? Always acting out, always making noise." You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "But I know what you really are."

"Yeah?" he rasped, his voice rough and husky. "And what's that?"

You moved your mouth to his other ear, tugging at his earlobe lightly with your teeth before your voice dropped to a whisper that was barely audible.

"My good boy."

The reaction was instantaneous. Gator froze, his entire body going rigid beneath you. A sound tore from his throat - half-groan, half-whimper - and his eyes squeezed shut as if he’d been struck with dizziness. You felt him twitch violently against your core, his hardness pressing up against you, undeniable and sudden.

"Awe, you alright there, Gator?" You pulled back to see his face. He was flushed - lips parted and chest heaving. When he opened his eyes, the pupils were blown so wide the chocolatey color was just a thin rim. He looked utterly wrecked, and it delighted you.

"Say it again," he breathed, voice cracking.

You whispered the words once more, watching him shiver.

"Fuck," he hissed, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he pressed several kisses against you.

"Oh, you like that?" you teased, though you were secretly thrilled by how easily he’d crumbled. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his nails lightly against his scalp, and he practically purred. "You like being my good boy?"

"Y-yeah," he admitted, the word muffled against your neck. He was practically nuzzling into you, seeking friction, completely abandoning his earlier bravado. "I like it."

"That's because you are, aren't you?" you cooed, tightening your grip in his hair and pulling his head back so he had to look at you. "Deep down. All that attitude. Your gun and badge... But you just want to be told you're doing good, dontcha?”

He stared up at you, his eyes wide and glassy, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a desperate, pleading need that made your stomach flip. The power rush was intoxicating. You’d never seen him like this - pliable, eager, submissive. It was like finding a secret weapon.

"I am," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm good. I'll be so good for you."

His hands scrambled for purchase on your hips, his grip bruising as he tried to pull you down harder, but you held back, keeping the pace maddeningly slow.

"Please," he whimpered, actually whimpered. The sound went straight to your core. "Please let me..."

"Let you what?" You asked, enjoying the way he was squirming beneath you.

"Touch you," he gasped. "Fuck you. Don’t care. Anythin’. Just... Say it again."

You leaned down, kissing him deeply, swallowing his moan. When you pulled back, you brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead.

"Good boy," you whispered.

He broke. With a guttural groan, he surged up, flipping you over so your back hit the couch cushions. He settled between your legs, his weight heavy and grounding, kissing you with a frantic intensity that bordered on desperation. You wrapped your legs around his waist, laughing softly against his mouth as you realized you had him exactly where you wanted him - putty in your hands, all because of two little words.

[silverstarpotion]

Making him watch

word count: 3.8k | steve harrington x fem!reader | (18+) smut. mdni.

summary: steve got grumpy over no pda >:( , now you're making it up to him by showing him just how needy he's been.

warnings: established relationship, slightly bratty steve, sub steeeeb <3, handjob, mirror used for teasing :P, edging?? HAHA, uhh cum eating (#happytrailmentioned)

a/n: HAI!! i've been sitting on this idea for a while and finally locked in. needy and eager steve is the red sauce that makes me go crazy.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

For once, you and your boyfriend’s schedules aligned, and you were actually able to spend some time together. Just the two of you. No babysitting. No interruptions. Just you and Steve. 

You had both agreed to go out for lunch, chatting about anything and everything. Then got some shopping done, picking out new outfits for each other, but not before ending up lip-locked in the dressing rooms. You guys had some time to kill before you were supposed to be heading to catch your movie anyway. 

You take note of something though.

Steve’s been clinging to you all day. 

His hands always seem to find their way to your waist, keeping you close. He’s been showering you with kisses. Both in and out of the dressing rooms…

Mumbling compliments laced with temptation into your neck. You can tell he’s getting into a certain mood.

You both finally make it into the theater and settle into your seats. It’s pretty packed for a mid-day screening. Halfway through the movie, Steve’s attention is fully on you. He’s not even looking at the screen anymore. He has a hand splayed over your lap, fingers curling around your inner thigh. He leans in and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your skin and you feel his teeth moments later.

“Steve…” you whisper.

“Hmmmh?” he hums back, hand gripping you harder as he leans his face further into you.

Your hand digs in his hair and you give him a few light scratches.

“Steve, c'mon....not here-” your voice is soft and gentle. Normally, you’d never put up a protest for a good time, but you were well aware of the families and groups of strangers in the seats surrounding you. You can already sense the attitude to come.

As predicted, he pulls away with a huff of irritation, but stays close enough that your faces are nearly touching. Your hand lands on top of the one he has on your thigh. You intertwine your fingers with his.

His eyes are big and his lips form into a subtle pout. Eyebrows furrowing, making him look a little annoyed. 

There he is. Your bitchy boyfriend. <3

You take his attitude as a blessing in disguise sometimes, because of how ridiculous it seems: he’s cranky because he can’t jump your bones right here, right now. Like, it irritates him to the point where he starts to get snappy. Only Steve Harrington. <333

The corners of your lips twitch into a smile and a giggle escapes. 

“You mad at me?”

Steve’s eyes dart around your face.

“A little,” he pouts. 

You raise your eyebrows at his response, “Yeah?”

He purses his lips to the side and nods his head repeatedly.

Somehow he’s still incredibly endearing even when he’s being bratty. You lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Will you forgive me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, scanning every bit of your face.

“Mmm. Maybe. If you make it up to me later,” he says as he lets go of your hand and crosses his arms over his chest, turning his attention back to the movie.

Ouch.

Your mouth falls open into a smile as you let out a scoff. You lay your head on his shoulder.

“That was mean, baby,” you tease.

You feel him press a quick kiss to your hair, because of course he would. Underneath the attitude, he’s all whipped and soft for you, kind of like frosting. Sweet and addicting. 

“I don’t like being shut down”

You lift your head up to look at him.

“We’re in public, Steve. People everywhere,” you whisper with a lighthearted tone.

He practically rolls his eyes, “Yeah, whatever.”

The movie ends and you two start walking back to Steve’s car. You cuddle up to him, hugging an arm around his waist, knowing he’s still probably bitter about earlier. He snakes his hand into your back pocket and you feel his fingers settle around the curve of your ass. Good sign.

“Where to?” he asks, keys jingling in his other hand.

“My place?” you suggest. “We’ll have the house to ourselves…” you add, knowingly.

He looks at you, fighting back a smirk, “Sounds good to me.”

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

After hanging out on the couch for a while, Steve follows you into your bedroom. He takes a seat at the edge of your bed. You’re drawing the frilly floral curtains decorating your window. A faint golden light shines through.

“Hey,” he calls out, leaning back on his hands.

You turn around, taking in the sight of him. He scans the room as if he’s scoping the place out. 

“Huh…look at that. We’re no longer in public,” he says with a smug look on his face, referring to earlier when you put a stop to his advances.

You exhale with a laugh. A smile forming on your lips. You take slow strides across the carpet towards him until you’re standing in between his legs. His eyes stay on you the whole time. He sits up and his long fingers wrap around the back of your thighs. Your own hands drape around his neck.

“I dunno, Harrington. You were kinda harsh back there,” you tease, looking down at him with a faint smirk. He looks up at you, eyes big and gleaming. He starts to place soft kisses along your arm, watching you like a puppy dog.

“I didn’t mean it, baby-” he switches to your other arm, speaking in between pecks, “just been. aching for you. all day.”

You comb through the front of his hair softly and settle your hand on his cheek, swiping your thumb across his skin.

“Yeah? I could tell.” There’s a subtle sultryness in your voice.

A low hum vibrates in his throat, “What a tease.”

“Hmph. You have no idea,” you say before you meet his lips in a slow kiss.

He smiles into it before he pulls back, the tips of your noses touching.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he can’t hide the excitement in his tone.

“Wanna find out?” 

He moves his grip up your skin, palming your ass in his large hands.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies contently.

You like the sound of that. And the sight. He’s completely pliable for you. His fixated gaze makes you realize you have full control right now. Your fingers cradle his chin and the way he’s looking up at you sends a rush through your body. You can’t help the grin that stretches over your lips.

“Lose the shirt,” you direct softly.

“Happily.”

He listens right away, hands moving quickly to pull his shirt over his head as he tosses it behind him somewhere. 

Watching him closely, you notice the urgency he takes on. A pleased hum materializes in your chest. He seems to receive it as a nonverbal praise by the way his eyes soften and pupils double in size.

Your hands grip his bare, meaty shoulders as you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. On his jawline. Right below his ear. Down his neck. You slide your hands down his chest as you drag your mouth all over him.

His skin is soft, tan, and covered in moles. You love using them as a guide, kissing and licking wherever they’re scattered.

He places his hand right where your shoulder and neck meet, massaging into your skin. His touch is gentle but filled with a pleading invitation.

Lowering yourself on your knees, you continue peppering his skin with kisses as you reach his torso.

His skin becomes bouncier as you reach his belly. A soft pudge pools over the waistband of his jeans. Your mouth grazes over his happy trail, the dark patch of hairs tickling your nose as you spend a little extra time admiring him there.

You come back up and kiss him lovingly. He meets your lips with haste, deepening the contact. His hands scoop your face tightly, pressing your mouths against each other harder.

Hearing his breathing become ragged, your own hands take charge of undoing his belt buckle in a few short motions.

“Jeans off,” you make sure to specify. He moves to lift himself up briefly and slides the denim down and out of the way. Leaving him now in only his boxers. You place both hands on his knees and slowly, very slowly, slide them up. The faint tickle of his hairy thighs prominent underneath your palms. 

You look up at him and he seems to be bracing himself. Teeth biting down on his lower lip. Nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Eyes droopy with desire. Your fingers dip underneath the hem of his boxers, moving up just enough for him to shutter at the sensation.

You keep one hand placed on his thigh as you take the other and pull him in for another kiss. He moans at the feel, melting into you.

As you kiss him messily, you let your hand wander up his thigh, fingertips juuust barely making contact with the bulge in his lap. He groans into your mouth. You hear the way he’s starting to unravel.

His tongue slips past his teeth and finds yours. Wet and needy. He’s practically sucking your face, growing more and more eager by the second. 

The intensity brings a moan from your throat and into his mouth. He swallows it and reciprocates. Louder. More frantic.

Your hands move against him again. This time, palming him through his boxers. He feeds a whimper into your open mouth. It pulses right through your core.

If there was one thing you loved most in the world, it was turning Steve into a needy, whimpering mess. He looks so pretty with his eyebrows furrowed and his perfect pink lips parted into an open gasp. It fuels you right up.

His hips grind against your hand, dying for more contact. Once. Twice. Something comes over you and you know exactly what kind of cards you want to play. 

With a third roll of his hips, you sit back on your heels the moment you feel him move. Both of your hands in your own lap.

“Wha-” 

He looks down at you, confusion taking over his previously angelic expression.

Your mouth hangs open, trying to find the right words. 

“Honey…all I want you to do is to sit back and let me take care of you. Alright?” There’s a slight rasp in your voice, but quiet and calm enough to get through to him.

He doesn’t register what you’re telling him for a moment, but he nods along. Throat bobbing as he swallows. You can tell he’s just so eager and impatient at this point.

“Fu- yeah, okay,” the words fall out of him in a quick whisper, barely audible.

It looks like he’s in a trance. A literal trance. 

Every time you take the lead, he gets shy and nervous. 

Nervous that he won’t be able to last long enough to see your tactics through. 

You know this. He always tells you about it after. How he finds it ‘so fucking hot’. Knowing that you’re able to wear him down like this fills you with immense pleasure — in every sense of the word.

Your eyes land on the tent in his boxers. It’s hard to miss. He’s gripping the edge of the mattress with white knuckles.

Both of your hands land on either side of his hips. You lay your face on one of his thighs, his erection in your direct line of sight. The outline of his dick is strained hard against the fabric. His tip threatening to bust through the large dark spot he managed to create with his precum.

“Awww…that looks like it hurts,” you tease softly as you stare at the sight. Saliva starts pooling in your mouth.

Steve closes his eyes shut and swallows dryly.

“Mmhm…ngh. Not…helping-” he mumbles weakly.

You bring your face to his lap and kiss his tip right through the wet fabric. His mouth hangs open with a groan as he tenses under you. Your tongue now swirling lazy circles around his head.

“Fuuucck,” he drawls out.

He brings a hand to cradle the back of your head as you lick him.

You pull back at the feel of his touch and you begin to stand. Steve quickly turns his focus on you in anticipation.

“Take those off,” you direct as you climb onto the bed next to him. With a brief rustle, Steve peeled off his boxers in record time. You position yourself so that you’re just slightly behind his body. He automatically starts to shift himself towards you, but you wrap your hand around his jaw and snap his head forward, stopping his motion.

“Uh-uh,” you interject.

Both your eyes and his are watching each other in the large full-length mirror across your bed. You lean down and align your lips to his ear.

“I want you to just watch. Can you do that for me?” 

You can practically see the words seep into his brain and rush straight down to his dick.

He lets out a small breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His eyes finally start to blink, catching up to the present moment, watching you stare back at him.

He begins to nod with an open mouth, “Oh, fuck,” his voice is strained, “Yeah. Yes. Done.”

“Good,” you press a kiss to his face and turn to look back into the mirror. He looks thrilled. Eyes glossy and pleading. Lips curled into a faint smile. If he had a tail, it would be wagging a mile a minute.

You take your hands and start them off on his shoulders, running them down his chest, making sure he’s watching you in the silver glass.

“I don’t want your eyes leaving this mirror. I want you to watch yourself…...want you to watch me.”

Your hands reach his torso and soon they slide flat against his thighs. Just inches away from his crotch. His eyes follow their path in the reflection before him.

“And hands off, okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you warn him, waiting for a response.

He watches your stern expression in the frame in front of him.

“Yeah, got it,” he nods.

“Just....please, baby,” he turns his head to nuzzle into you as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

“Hurts so bad. Please. I need you,” he whimpers into your body before he returns his gaze on the mirror. 

You look down over his shoulder and see for yourself. His shaft is pulsating with veins. His tip is glossy and bright pink. So fucking pretty.

Before you touch him, you bring your right hand up to his mouth.

“Spit.”

He turns to look at you, a little taken aback for some reason, but he obliges and spews his saliva onto your hand. You slide your fingers across his mouth, collecting every drop. His tongue wets his lips.

You bring your hand to your own mouth and do the same. You’re both looking into the mirror as you wrap your fingers around his base. Dragging up and down his length. Mixing your spit, warm and slick.

Steve’s jaw went slack. He lets out a moan that connects straight to your walls, leaving you clenching in around nothing.

Moving up his shaft, you swipe your thumb across his slit, spreading the precum that was beading over. 

He closes his eyes and throws his head back.

You let go at an instant.

He snaps his head to look at you over his shoulder, a pout forming on his face.

“Ngh…Baby, why’d you stop??” He whines, looking completely devastated.

“You gotta listen to me, Steve. Eyes on the mirror.”

Letting out a huff, his eyes lock in on you ahead, urging you to keep going.

Your hand wraps back around him and you start stroking him again.

Working him at a steady pace, you trail your eyes over him in the mirror. He’s looking right back at you with his eyebrows pulled tight together. His lips are parted into an ‘o’ shape.

You bring your eyes down to where your hand connects with him. His eyes follow. Your gaze is back on his face, studying his expressions, wanting to burn them in your memory. 

While he’s watching your hand glide up and down, you start twisting at the tip. Fingers finding the sensitive spot on the underside of his head. He lets out loud, breathy moans. Whimpering and groaning like his life depends on it, since being vocal is the only thing he’s allowed to do.

You nuzzle your face into his neck while your hand keeps its motion.

“So loud for me tonight, you make the prettiest sounds…” you mumble into his skin.

Your mouth finds the vein jutting out from his neck and you press several kisses against it, feeling his pulse point thump against your lips. His heartbeat is frantic. 

He grunts out a couple of soft gasps now that you’re pressed close against him. You move your mouth up and bite his ear. He loses his mind. With your touching and teasing, Steve’s as needy as ever.

He bucks his hips up into your fist. Tsk Tsk. You let go again.

“Shit, ‘m sorry…feels s’good. Please, I-I’ll stay still.” He’s out of breath and eager.

“I told you-”

“I know, baby. I know. I’ll be better.”

There’s a hint of agony in his voice. Dipping down between his words. He wants this so bad. You’ve got him all hot and bothered to the point of no return.

You notice how his gaze never deviated away from the mirror. He’s learning.

“Are you sure?” you decide to tease him about it for a moment, leaning back enough to watch his profile.

“Yes. I promise,” his throat bobbing in a dry swallow, “Please?”

You smile at the sound of his begging.

“Try not to ruin the best part.”

Steve shakes his head, “I won’t. I won’t.” He whispers the last part, almost like he’s talking to himself. Seeing him so strung up is feeding something within you.

Taking his length back in your hand, he twitches at the contact. A proper wince leaves his lips. He’s so incredibly sensitive now. His tip growing a deep red. You pump him a few times, rolling your wrist as you twist around his head again.

You hear him mumble under his breath as he keeps his eyes straight ahead, just like he’s been told. 

You see his eyes take in everything before him. Now he’s actually watching.

Watching you jerk him off. Following your hand. Up and down. His breath hitches as he feels the mirror start to make sense to him. It’s starting to click, why you were so insistent about keeping his eyes glued to it.

You see his eyes move their way up his body and to his face. He stares at himself for a while and it makes your stomach flip.

You place your chin on his shoulder as you both now study his face. You squeeze your grip around his dick, feeling the veins along his shaft against your touch. 

His face contorts as he hisses through gritted teeth.

“Now you see?”

His eyes shift over on your face next to his.

“See how needy and desperate you are?”

Your hand slows its speed, but drags harder against him, squeezing his cock with purpose. It drives him crazy. Moans becoming loud and whiney again as he watches his dick twitch in your hold.

“How easily you come undone for me? Hmm?”

Steve’s hands are pale as he grips the edge of the bed with all he’s got. He feels you stop your motion for a second, but you don’t let go yet. You’re waiting for a response. His eyes jump to your face at an instant.

“Yes. Oh my go-od, yes,” his voice wavers out of pure panic that you’ll let go again.

The sound you make in response makes his face burn hot. You continue your calculated strokes and bury your face in his shoulder. Kissing along his skin while your other hand snakes into his hair and tugs. Whimpers leaving his throat.

You lean over and drop a glob of spit directly on his tip. You both watch it drip down his shaft and pool at your fist before you spread it around.

“Fuuuckk,” he groans, almost cocking his head back, but stopping himself before he breaks contact with the frame.

You can tell he’s close by the way he’s starting to flex his tummy. Muscles contorting as you work him up to his approach. He starts mumbling in flustered whispers.

“Steve?” you press a kiss to his temple, coaxing the words out of him.

“Faster. Mmmnhm. Go faster,” he urges.

His hips twitch briefly before you pick up the pace, stroking him faster. The warmth of your spit feeling heavenly against his dick. His jaw hangs open and moans start rolling out.

Both of your eyes dancing in the mirror. Watching everything all at once. The sight of him losing composure makes you feel feral. You can feel yourself soaking through your panties. 

“Haa. Honey- fuck ‘mso so close,” he hisses weakly. 

A whimper of your own escapes your lips and goes right through Steve. He looks worn out.

“Hmm yeah? Go ahead, make a mess-” you encourage him, feeling a tingle burst through your chest at the sound of his voice.

Steve starts tensing beneath your touch with broken whimpers. As he approaches his climax, he brings his arm up and his hand takes hold of the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. Itching to grasp onto something. You time it perfectly so that when he finishes, you control his aim towards his stomach.

He covers his tummy with his own cum. Warm white ropes cling to his skin.

You keep pumping him until he’s shaking and convulsing. The moans that fill the air are like music to your ears.

You let go and kneel in front of him, wedging yourself in between his legs.

He drops his head down to watch you, chest heaving from his high.

You lean in and lick the mess he just spilled over himself, swallowing his salty release. A guttural moan leaves his throat. He’s finally able to roll his eyes back comfortably. Lucky him.

The patch of hairs lining his stomach cling to the sticky substance. You hover your mouth over his happy trail, sucking and licking until every last drop is gone.

Steve grabs your arm and pulls you up to the bed with him. He takes your face and kisses you with a hungry passion. Tongues brushing against each other eagerly. You’re sure he can taste traces of himself, sending a warm feeling to your core.

“Definitely forgiven,” he pulls back just enough to watch the smile on your face.

[ananthologyofblurbs]

House Visit ‪‪❤︎₊ ⊹

synopsis: Gator likes upsetting your good-for-nothing boyfriend. words: 1.9k

---

Another bright, sunny afternoon blurred into another round of drinks and yet another argument between your partner and his friends. Your relationship had long since settled into something dysfunctional enough that scenes like this had become familiar, an unfortunate routine.

It always started the same way, a few sharp words, half jokes that turned sour, blooming quickly into open threats once the alcohol and tempers took hold. Before long, most of his friends had drifted off, leaving only a couple lingering and his attention, sharp and unkind, had turned toward you.

You tried to calm him, to keep your own frustration in check and not escalate things further. But it didn’t last. Soon enough, you were trading back your own comments, small digs, more from exhaustion than anger.

Eventually, you gave up altogether, retreating into the small kitchen you both shared. Outside, he carried on as if nothing had happened at all.

You flicked through your phone, anger and hurt settling into something heavier. The familiar ache of it all. You hadn’t been scrolling long when a message lit up your screen.

G. – Everything alright? Had a call come in for your place? Something about a domestic?

Gator knew, kind of. He knew your relationship wasn’t violent or dangerous, but that it often tipped into something heated and messy. It was something you’d talked about with him more than once.

He was intrigued by you. Fascinated, even. Like he wanted to pull you out of whatever you were stuck in and keep you for himself. He’d learned to keep his distance, though. The one time he’d tried to kiss you, you’d ignored him for weeks after. Not forever, but enough to make him careful.

And still, that wasn’t enough to make him stop hovering at the edges of your life. As long as he got to see you, often in quiet, undisclosed places, he stayed close. Those moments were always the same, charged silences, gut wrenching eye contact, fleeting touches that lingered like sparks, conversations that felt like they could stretch on endlessly if neither of you ever pulled away.

You – Yeah, just a silly argument. Wasn’t aimed at me until it was.

G. – Doesn’t realise how good he’s got it.

You – If only. I’m sure he’ll forget about it soon enough.

G. – Maybe someone needs to remind him.

You left it there.

That was typical of Gator, always pushing, always testing the edges of what you’d let him say. Sometimes you wondered what you were even waiting for. But you weren’t ready to walk away from everything you’d built, even if Gator was standing on the other side of that decision.

You’d settled into the newest Netflix documentary, drink in one hand and a blanket pulled up over your knees, when the sound of heavy tyres grinding over gravel cut through the quiet.

Your stomach dropped. A cruiser rolled into view, STARK COUNTY emblazoned across the side.

And then, a very familiar figure stepped out. Before Gator could take more than a few steps, you were already moving, crossing the yard to meet him halfway.

Your expression was calm. But the look in your eyes said something entirely different as you stopped in front of him.

“Can I help you, officer?” you asked sweetly, voice dripping with politeness and pleasantries.

“Hi, darlin’,” he replied. His eyes passed over you. You were thanking yourself that you'd make an effort earlier. Hair curled, favourite dress. You could tell he appreciated it.

His voice carried easily through the air, drawn out in that deliberate, slow cadence that always did something irritatingly effective to your nerves.

You didn’t need to look around to know what it looked like from the outside. Every pair of eyes in that yard was on the two of you. Your partner, his friends, even the people passing by slowing their steps just a little too long.

It felt like a performance now. Like you were both aware of the stage and refusing to step off it. And you knew, whatever came next, you had to deliver.

Gator leaned one arm against the open cruiser door, completely unhurried despite the way every set of eyes in the yard had fixed onto him. His gaze stayed on you the entire time.

“Got a call about a disturbance,” he said casually. “Figured I’d come check it out myself.”

You folded your arms. “And here I thought you were just bored.”

A crooked smile pulled at his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled, “that too. Pretty face like yours makes my day better." Every word was followed with his intense way of looking at you. The kind that lit a fire right through you.

Behind you, someone shifted in their chair. Your boyfriend muttered something under his breath, low enough that Gator ignored it entirely.

“Everything alright out here?” Gator asked, finally glancing past you toward the group. His tone was official enough, but there was something taunting underneath it. “Nobody put their hands on anybody?”

“No,” you answered quickly. Gator’s eyes slid back to yours.

“You sure about that, darlin’?” he asked softly. “Wouldn’t be the first time somebody tried to downplay things for me.”

Your stomach flipped at the tone alone.

“Small disagreement, all sorted,” you said. “That’s all.”

“Mhm.” He nodded slowly, unconvinced in a way that felt deliberate. “And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He stepped a little closer then, enough that you caught the scent of cigarette smoke and aftershave beneath the evening air.

“Don’t look fine,” he murmured. He reached out, his fingertips barely nudging your elbow in an attempt to encourage a few more words to fall from your lips.

Your boyfriend finally stood from his chair. “Officer, we already said everything’s handled.”

Gator looked at him for the first time since arriving. His face unimpressed and slightly disappointed. That was who you were choosing over him?

“Didn’t ask you,” he replied flatly. Silence cracked across the yard. Then, just as quickly, he smiled again. Easy, charming, dangerous.

“Part of the job,” he said lightly. “Gotta make sure everybody here feels safe.”

His attention returned to you instantly. “She feels safe with you?” he asked, voice deceptively casual.

Your boyfriend bristled. “Course she does.” Gator tilted his head slightly, studying you instead of him.

“That true?” The question hung there. Heavy. Personal.

Your pulse hammered so loudly you were convinced everyone could hear it. “I said we’re fine,” you answered carefully.

Gator hummed under his breath like he knew better. Your boyfriend stared at Gator for another tense second, jaw working like he was trying to decide whether punching a sheriff’s deputy was worth the trouble.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered eventually, throwing his hands up. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey,” Gator called after him mildly, “don’t leave yet. I still got questions.”

“Ask somebody who cares,” your partner snapped, already stalking back toward the house. The screen door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame behind him.

Silence settled over the yard again, thick and awkward. A couple of his friends suddenly seemed very interested in their drinks. One quietly excused himself altogether.

Gator looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“You enjoy causing problems?” you asked under your breath.

He stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Close enough now that nobody else could reasonably hear him unless they were trying. “Only when they’re already there,” he said.

You shook your head, trying not to smile despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mhm.” His eyes dragged over you slowly, shamelessly. “You're a pretty little thing, y’know that?”

Your breath caught embarrassingly fast. “Deputy.”

“No, I mean it.” His voice softened then, lower, rougher around the edges. “Been standing there trying to do my job while you’re looking at me like that. Damn near distracting.” Heat rose through you. His friends were definitely listening once again now.

“You are not doing your job.”

He grinned. “Little bit.” You rolled your eyes, but he noticed the way your shoulders loosened around him, the way your anger had started dissolving into nervous warmth.

That smug look settled onto his face immediately.

“There she is,” he murmured. “Knew I could get you smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Sure, darlin’.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the house before returning to you.

“You know,” he said casually, “you could do a hell of a lot better than this.”

You crossed your arms tighter around yourself. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough that it felt private. “Sweet girl like you in that kitchen alone while he drinks and picks fights outside?”

His eyes searched yours for a second too long. “That don’t sit right with me.”

Your pulse fluttered hard in your throat.

“Gator…”

“What?” he asked quietly. “You think I like hearing your name come over dispatch connected to some domestic call?”

You looked away first. That seemed to encourage him.

“If you were mine,” he continued, almost conversationally, “you wouldn’t be wondering whether somebody was gonna turn mean after a few drinks.”

“You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” His smile turned softer this time, less cocky, more dangerous somehow. “They’re true.”

You swallowed hard as he stepped even closer, the toe of his boot nearly touching yours now.

“Well,” he said at last, all lazy charm again, “if that’s everything, little miss, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

The title should’ve sounded patronising. Somehow, coming from him, it only made heat crawl higher up your neck.

“But,” he continued, reaching into his shirt pocket, “if anything changes…”

He pulled out a card and held it toward you between two fingers.

“Don’t be afraid to call me.”

Your eyes flicked down to it. Not the station number. His number. Gator’s mouth twitched when he realised you’d noticed. Showboating. Something that would get left on the kitchen counter to piss off that boyfriend of yours even more. He didn't need to give you this, you already had it. But to Gator this was a game, and that was his winning move.

“That’ll get you through to me directly,” he said smoothly. “Real quick, too, if you need anything.” His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long. “And I mean anything.”

Your fingertips burned when they brushed his taking the card from him. Behind you, somebody shifted awkwardly in their chair. Another muttered a quiet Jesus Christ under their breath.

Gator didn’t care. He was still looking at you like the two of you were alone out there.

“See you around, darlin’,” he said softly. You hated how easily your voice caught.

“Yeah,” you managed. “See you around.” His eyes dragged slowly over your face one last time, shameless and lingering enough to make your pulse stumble all over again.

Then he stepped back toward the cruiser. Just before climbing inside, he glanced at you through the open door and lifted two fingers to the side of his head in a lazy little call me gesture.

The wink that followed nearly finished you off entirely. A second later, the engine roared back to life, gravel crunching beneath the tyres as he pulled away.

And somehow, with your boyfriend angry inside the house and half the neighbourhood likely talking already, all you could think about was the when you would get to see Gator again.

[sweetlikenonsense]

Through the Rearview Mirror

 ♡ You hold it in your eyes until you can hold each other

Warnings: 18+ / MDNI! • Established but secret relationship, semi-public sex (car), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, soft dom!Steve, praise

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Henderson!reader

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: It starts in the rearview mirror. In stolen glances, almosts, and everything you don't let the others see.

You and Steve are good at keeping things quiet, careful, hidden in plain sight. Right up until you’re finally alone...

Author’s note: Inspired by this post

The WSQK van—Steve’s latest ride—isn’t exactly a babe magnet.

There’s always something on the floor that shouldn’t be there—crushed candy wrappers, a stray cassette case, the kind of mystery debris no one ever claims or throws away. 

The seats are worn from too many bodies piling in and out, the air permanently carrying a mix of sugar, soda, and, unfortunately, BO. And there’s almost always at least one of the kids hovering somewhere nearby, like the van itself has become less of a vehicle and more of a moving meeting point Steve can’t escape.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s never just his.

But lucky for Steve—he doesn’t need it to be.

Because he has you. And God, does he love you.

It shows in ways no one else seems to notice. In the way his eyes find the rearview mirror more often than they need to, in the split-second pauses where his attention lingers just a fraction too long when you’re talking or laughing or simply being before snapping back to the road. 

In the small, quiet adjustments: turning the music down when you start talking, remembering things you said hours ago when no one else was listening, asking if you’re okay like it’s second nature.

No one else sees it—or if they do, they don’t understand it.

To them, it’s just Steve—driving, talking, half-laughing at whatever chaos fills the van, slipping easily into the caretaker role he’s known for so well.

To you—

it’s something else entirely.

Because you see it from the only place that matters.

The rearview mirror.

You've just endured yet another failed crawl, another round of your brother and Steve at each other’s throats over something stupid, another stretch of hours spent pretending—carefully, convincingly—that there’s nothing between you.

Like you don’t go home to him.

Like you don’t spend your nights tangled up in each other. 

You’re not really part of the conversation anymore. Not fully.

You watch the mirror.

It’s an easy thing to do, subtle enough to pass as nothing. Everyone looks forward when they talk, glances toward the driver without thinking. It doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t.

Steve’s eyes flick up as he checks the road, quick, automatic. They pass over everything like they always do—windshield, side mirror—rearview.

You.

It’s nothing. Over as soon as it happens, his attention already back where it should be—hands steady on the wheel, one thumb tapping lightly to the music. 

You look away anyway.

The van lurches slightly as he makes a sharp left, and Eddie groans from somewhere behind you about reckless endangerment, immediately followed by Dustin arguing that he could drive better, which is objectively untrue and loudly proven so. The noise fills the space easily, naturally, giving you something to hide inside.

When you glance back up, it’s just the mirror again.

Just Steve, driving.

Just the road behind you.

It stays like that for a while. Nothing sticks. His eyes flick up every so often, brief, functional, never lingering long enough to call attention to it.

Except once.

It’s small. Easy to miss if you’re not already looking.

And this time, when his gaze catches yours in the mirror, it holds for a fraction longer than it should. Just long enough for something in your chest to tighten before you can stop it.

You drop your gaze.

“Oi, you even listening?” Dustin nudges your shoulder from beside you, halfway through some explanation you definitely missed.

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s easier than asking him to repeat it and having to hear him complain about you not listening the first time. He accepts it immediately, because why wouldn’t he? You're his sister you wouldn’t lie to him… would you? 

You don’t look at the mirror again for a few minutes after that. You tell yourself you won’t, that it doesn’t matter. It would be easier if you could believe that.

When you do look again, it’s not by accident. The van idles at a red light, everything briefly stilled.

His eyes are already there. Not waiting, he’s not that obvious, but not surprised either. Like he expected it, like he knew you would eventually look back.

Something settles between you—quiet, thin, sharp as a pulled thread.

It’s not accidental anymore.

The moment stretches, too long, too quiet before Steve blinks and glances back at the road after the light turns green. His fingers flex around the wheel, knuckles whitening just slightly before relaxing again. 

The next few times, you feel it before you see it—the way his posture shifts, the almost-imperceptible pause before his gaze lifts. You start catching it as it happens, like you’ve both fallen into the same rhythm. 

Eddie leans forward between the front seats, oblivious as always, cutting off your line of sight. “Okay, but if we’re dropping off Dustin first, does that mean we’re swinging back toward the video store after? Because I told Gareth I’d—”

Steve cuts him off with a sharp click of his tongue. "No, we are not swinging back toward the video store. Drop-off order is Henderson, then Robin, then you—" His fingers tighten on the wheel again, briefly. "Then home." 

Dustin groans, flopping back against the seat hard enough to make a loud thud. "That’s literally the opposite of efficient," he mutters, but Eddie just laughs, kicking his feet up onto the centre console. 

You turn your head toward the window, watching the streetlights smear past in long, soft streaks.

The third time your eyes catch in the mirror, it’s different. There’s not an inch of pretence left—just the raw, aching want that’s been building for days, simmering beneath every careful glance and casual touch. 

Steve’s grip tightens on the wheel, his jaw ticking. You bite your lip, pressing your thighs together under Eddie’s discarded jacket. The van suddenly feels too small. The air thick with something unspoken.

The way the last week has stretched too long, crowded out by work and obligations and too many people in too many rooms—every almost-moment cut short.

Not just in the quiet, passing way but in the kind that sits low and constant, a dull ache that flares sharp every time he looks at you like this.

When you glance up and catch him already looking at you, his expression softening in a way that makes you blush, you know he’s thinking the same thing you are—God, I miss you. 

But it has to stay like this. Contained to stolen glances and half-seconds no one else notices.

Not now—not when Hawkins is closed off to the outside world, when Max lies in a hospital bed with machines doing the breathing she can’t, not when your brother and Steve can barely be in the same room without something snapping tight between them.

And still—you look anyway.

Robin’s voice cuts through your inner spiral. “Uh, hello? Earth to Steve?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, and he jerks his attention back to the road with a muttered curse.

“You just missed Henderson’s street,” she points out, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, what’s with you tonight?”

Steve exhales through his nose before flashing Robin a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Sorry, Buckley. Too busy admiring you." 

Robin groans, kicking the back of his seat. "Gross. Try that line on someone who hasn’t seen you eat an entire bag of Cheetos in one go.”

Your eyes flick up before you can stop them, catching his in the mirror. There’s the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth, something quieter, softer than the grin he just gave her.

Because you have.

And it still worked.

And it would again. Without a doubt and without shame. 

Dustin makes a show of gathering his backpack, deliberately slow, like he’s hoping someone will argue for him to stay.

The van idles outside your house, the engine a low, impatient rumble beneath Steve’s tapping fingers. "You know," Dustin starts, shifting in his seat to face Steve, "if you just—" 

"Nope," Steve cuts him off, popping the p with a finality that brooks no argument. "Out."

Dustin squints at him, then suspiciously glances over at you. “Wait—aren’t you getting out?”

You don’t hesitate. “No. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s tonight.”

“Oooh,” Robin leans forward immediately, interest sparked. “The mystery boyfriend.”

“Still haven’t met this guy,” Eddie adds, dragging the words out, grinning. “Starting to think he’s made up.”

Dustin looks at you, completely clueless. “Yeah, seriously. Who even is—”

Your eyes flick up automatically—to the mirror.

Steve’s hand drags across his mouth like he’s trying to hide it— but it doesn’t quite work. The hint of a smirk still there, still tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shoot him a quick glare.

He clears his throat, the smirk disappearing just as quickly as it came, his expression snapping back into something neutral— a little too neutral—but luckily Eddie and Robin are too busy arguing and Dustin is too busy sulking.

“Door, Henderson.” He jerks his head toward it, already reaching to unlock it, tone a little too sharp to be casual.

Dustin huffs but climbs out anyway, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Fine, fine, but—” he mutters, but the door shuts in his face.

Not even half a second later—

Steve’s pulling away.

Dustin’s muttering fades behind you, swallowed up by the hum of the engine and the quiet stretch of road ahead. For a second, no one fills it.

Then—

“Okay,” Robin says, twisting in her seat to look at you properly now, eyes narrowing with interest. “We’re circling back to that. You can’t keep just casually dropping boyfriend like that and expect me to let it go.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m with Buckley on this one. You’ve been holding out on us.”

You shrug, aiming for nonchalant, even as your gaze flicks—just briefly—to the mirror again. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Steve doesn’t look up this time. His fingers tap once against the wheel. Then again—restless, giving him away if either of them bothered to look.

But they don’t.

They’re too busy dissecting you; every micro-expression under a microscope.

“Maybe he’s shy,” Eddie offers, to which Robin hums deep in thought. “Or imaginary. I’m still leaning imaginary.”

You huff out something that might pass for a laugh, shaking your head. “You guys are so dramatic.”

“Name,” Robin presses. “At least give me a name.”

There’s a pause.

You could say anything. Instead, you glance up again.

This time, Steve’s already looking.

It’s quick, barely there, but it lands all the same, something sharp and knowing passing between you before he looks back to the road like nothing happened, though you can tell by his fingers tapping against the wheel that he’s nervous.

Your stomach flips.

“Not happening,” you say, a little too quickly.

Robin groans, dropping back into her seat. “You’re the worst.”

“Agreed,” Eddie adds easily. “Absolutely no respect for your audience.”

The van slows as you turn onto Robin’s street, the familiar line of houses coming into view. Steve pulls up to the curb, shifting the van into park, but leaves the engine running.

Robin unbuckles, still eyeing you. “This isn’t over,” she points, narrowing her eyes like she means it. “I will find out.”

You smile, all innocence. “Good luck.”

She huffs, grabbing her bag and sliding the door open. “Night, losers.”

“Night, Buckley,” Steve calls, easy again, matching her salute.  

The door shuts and Steve doesn’t wait a second. The van lurches forward as he pulls away, a little too quick, tires crunching against the curb before he straightens out onto the road.

Eddie leans forward immediately, filling the space she leaves behind. “Alright, so...new theory. Secret boyfriend is either—”

“Munson,” Steve cuts in, sharper this time, not looking back. “You’re next.”

Eddie pauses, then grins slowly. “Touchy tonight, Harrington.”

Steve’s jaw tenses; just a fraction, barely noticeable unless you’ve spent months memorising his face. Which you have. 

Eddie catches it too, because of course he does. His gaze slides from Steve to you, eyebrows lifting in a slow, exaggerated arc that screams get a load of this guy.

You press your lips together, forcing a small, careful smile—just enough to play along. Eddie just grins wider, completely oblivious to the tightness in your smile, like he’s won something.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror before you can stop yourself—just in time to catch Steve’s gaze already fixed there, his expression tight with something halfway between frustration and exhaustion. You press your lips together in a silent apology, tilting your head slightly.

The effect is immediate: his shoulders drop an inch, the tension around his eyes softening as he exhales through his nose. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—small, private, just for you—and you bite your cheek to keep from grinning back like an idiot. 

“—which, by the way,” Eddie cuts back in, louder, still oblivious, “if he is imaginary, that raises a much bigger question... where the hell are you going every night?”

He leans forward further, fully invested now. “Because I’m thinking... option one, you’ve got some secret hideout. Like, full spy setup. Code names. Rendezvous points.”

“Option two,” he continues, ticking it off on his fingers, “you’re actually sneaking off to join some underground fight club we don’t know about.”

“Option three—” he squints at you, grin widening, while holding up four fingers instead of three, “you’re a vampire. Which, honestly, would explain the mystery, the nighttime disappearances—”

“Fight club,” Steve cuts in casually, like he’s barely listening, eyes fixed on the road. “That one tracks.”

You blink. “What?”

Eddie lights up. “See! Thank you!”

You turn toward Steve fully now, incredulous. “You think I’m sneaking off to fight people?”

Steve glances up, catching your eye in the mirror. There’s a hint of a smirk there, soft around the edges, his gaze warmer than anything he’s letting on out loud.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t rule it out.”

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

That only makes it worse. The smirk lingers, quieter now, softer—something just for you. Something that makes heat curl low in your stomach.

Eddie groans dramatically, flopping backwards. “Oh my god, you two are the worst. I’m trying to solve a mystery here.”

Steve shifts gears, turning onto Eddie’s street. The van slows, rolling to a stop outside the familiar trailer. Eddie doesn’t move.

Steve sighs, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Munson.”

Eddie huffs. “Fine, fine but this conversation isn’t over.” He grabs his bag, swinging the door open, pointing at you just like Robin did earlier. “I will crack this case.”

“Uh huh,” Steve deadpans. “Good luck with that.”

The door shuts, finally, and Eddie’s silhouette disappears into the dim porch light. The van idles for a second longer, the hum of the engine the only sound left in the sudden quiet.

Steve pulls away, quick, turning the corner before slowing again. Just out of sight.

Then—he stops. 

Steve exhales like he’s been holding it in all night, before reaching forward and turning the key. The engine cuts off abruptly, plunging you into silence.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then—he turns.

Not to the mirror. 

Fully.

His hand comes out first, finding your waist like it’s instinct, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. His voice is lower, stripped of everything he’s been holding in.

“Come here.”

You don’t hesitate. You never do—not with him.

You scramble over the centre console, your elbow hitting the horn with a sharp honk. Steve swears under his breath and grabs your waist, hauling you fully into his lap.

His hands press into your sides and squeeze. You exhale shakily, forehead dropping to his, fingers twisting into his shirt.

“Missed you,” his words rough against your lips, barely audible.

You huff a soft laugh, breath catching. "You've been with me all day."

Steve exhales against your neck, the warmth sending a shiver down your spine, his lips brushing just below your ear—not quite a kiss, just the ghost of one—before he murmurs, “not like this,” and you smile, fingers curling tighter in his hair.

"Haven’t been able to hold you. Kiss you." His thumb brushes the bare strip of skin where your shirt’s ridden up. 

You sigh, letting the week settle between you. His hair is soft between your fingers, longer than he usually keeps it, falling just past his ears in messy waves. You push it back gently, curling a few strands behind his ear, your thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly before flickering back open, dark and intent. 

“Missed you too,” you murmur, a small, soft smile pulling at your mouth.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough. "Every time I looked in that damn mirror—"

He exhales, shaking his head once. “—couldn’t think about anything else.”

His mouth crashes into yours. Your breath catches as your fingers tighten in his hair and he pulls you closer. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you part for him instinctively, letting him deepen the kiss until you’re breathless, until the world narrows to the heat of his mouth and the scrape of his faint stubble against your chin.

“Wanted to just stop the car—jump over the damn console,” Steve murmurs against your lips, hands dragging down to grip your thighs. 

"Don’t think Dustin would’ve appreciated that,” you murmur, struggling not to smile against Steve’s lips, breathless, fingers still tangled in his hair.

Steve huffs—a sharp, impatient sound—and pulls back just enough to fix you with a look. Equal parts exasperation and fondness.

"Don’t talk about Henderson when—" He drags you forward until you’re straddling him properly, and you chuckle, arching into him as his lips find the curve of your neck.

"Say more," you murmur, tipping your head back to give him better access, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. "Tell me what you would’ve done, baby." 

Steve exhales against your pulse; he loves baby, or really any nickname as long as it's from you. "Would’ve pushed you into the backseat where no one could fucking see—" His grip tightens. "Told you to keep quiet while I got my mouth on you."

You pull in a sharp breath when his palm presses firm between your legs, the friction sudden through the thin fabric of your jeans. His grin is wicked against your throat, all sharp edges and barely contained frustration.

"Wouldn’t have been gentle," he adds, nipping at your jaw. "Not after all of this time of you making me wait.”

Heat curls low in your stomach as his hand presses harder, fingers just enough to make your breath hitch and then he’s kissing you again, deep and messy, his teeth catching your lower lip when you gasp.

His other hand fists in the back of your shirt, dragging you closer, until you’re grinding down against him, the friction unbearable and perfect all at once. 

"What’s stopping you?" you murmur against his jaw, pulling back just enough to smirk at him: a challenge, a dare, the kind that’s been simmering between you for days. 

One he takes immediately. You barely have time to blink before he’s moving you off his lap, one arm looping around your waist to steady you as you scramble to move over the centre console.

Your knee catches the gearshift and he swears under his breath—not at you, never at you—just frustration as he steadies you.

The van’s rear bench creaks as Steve guides you back onto it, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

The mirror rattles faintly with the movement, still angled from before; no longer catching your eyes, just the shape of you, close enough to blur together. 

You laugh—a breathless, giddy sound—as he follows you, pulling you with him until you're on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, his back pressed into the seat. The impact knocks the air from his lungs in a quiet huff, but he doesn't let go, fingers digging into your waist like he's afraid you'll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second.

"Watch the—ah, shit—" Steve grunts when your elbow jabs into his ribs, but he's grinning, all sharp teeth and boyish delight. His laugh is warm against your neck as you shift your weight, grinding down just to feel his hips jerk under you.

"Christ—"

His hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he pulls you into another kiss, slower this time. You feel his tongue drag against yours, unhurried, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs—pulling a soft whimper from you, your back arching into him.

Something digs into your calf and you break away with a grimace, twisting to glare at the culprit: a half-crushed soda can wedged between the seat cushions. Steve follows your gaze, blinking dazedly for a second before snorting.

"Classy," he mutters, swiping it up one-handed and chucking it toward the front without looking. His attention snaps back to you, hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you flush against him.

The space is too cramped, but that doesn't matter when he finds the curve of your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue smooths it over.

“Time to swap places, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, hands already guiding you back—not asking, just moving you.

You go willingly, letting him shift you down onto your back against the bench, his body following until he’s settled between your legs, braced over you.

His hands don’t stop. Fingers quick at your jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You arch off the seat when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down your hips along with your panties in one smooth motion. The fabric catches at your ankles, and Steve huffs out a frustrated sound before kicking them aside.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze dragging over you before he leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.

“Missed this,” he adds, voice low, before dipping his head again.

When his kisses move higher, your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging lightly in warning. Steve chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through you, but he slows instead. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh; his breath hot, his stubble scraping just enough to make you bite your lip.

Steve notices anyway. His grip tightens on your hips, pinning you in place as he finally presses a kiss where you need him most. 

You pull in a sharp breath, arching off the seat but he holds you down, his tongue flicking against you once, twice—before settling into a rhythm that has your toes curling.

His fingers dig into your hips as he works, keeping you right where he wants you. His free hand slides up your waist, fingers spreading over your ribs before moving higher, thumb brushing over your chest in a slow pass.

The next stroke pulls a sharp breath from you, your fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to make him groan. “Jesus—” The word punches out, half-broken. 

The moment his hands slide under your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it’s personally offended him, you know this isn’t going to be slow.

His fingers skim the bare skin of your waist, sending a shiver up your spine, and then he’s pushing the material up, up, until you have to lift your arms to let him peel it off completely. 

The van’s windows are fogged, the street outside quiet, but the risk—the possibility of being heard, of someone passing by—only sharpens everything, coiling tighter in your stomach.

Steve’s grip tightens, pressing into your skin as he drags his tongue over you again, slower, savoring it. You feel his smirk when your hips jerk.

“Like that?” he murmurs, breath hot, voice rough with satisfaction. 

You don’t get a chance to answer before he’s back on you. Your thighs tremble around him, heels digging into the seat as you try, and fail, to keep still. Steve hums low, as his fingers slide down and press inside, curling oh so right.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing with every word. His free hand slides up your stomach, skimming over your ribs to palm your breast, thumb brushing your nipple in slow, lazy circles.

The moment you feel it building—that coiled, inevitable pressure low in your stomach—you know he knows. His tongue flattens against you, dragging over your clit before circling it with just the right amount of pressure. 

Your breath snaps in, your back arching off the seat, fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to make him groan but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he presses harder, lips sealing around you as his fingers curl just right inside you. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, heels digging into the seat as you tip over the edge with a muffled cry, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve doesn’t let up, working you through it with steady strokes of his tongue until you’re squirming, breathless.

You drag him up by his hair—gentle but insistent—his lips parting against yours before he’s even fully pulled away from your thighs. He goes willingly, letting you guide him, his mouth warm and slick as it meets yours, the taste of yourself faint on his tongue.

His hands slide up your sides, steadying himself against the wobble of the van’s bench seat, but you don’t let him linger there. You catch his wrists, pushing them down as you lean up to nip at his lower lip. 

Steve exhales sharply through his nose, letting you manhandle him, his pulse jumping under your fingers as you trail them down his arms. His shirt is wrinkled from the drive, the fabric sticking to his skin in places where the summer heat clung to him all day.

You hook a finger into the collar, dragging him closer as your other hand finds the hem, pushing it up over his stomach—slow, teasing, your nails scraping lightly along his skin.

Steve shivers when you tug the fabric over his head, breath catching as you toss it aside. You lean back just enough to smirk at him, watching his throat bob. 

"Still overdressed," you murmur, fingers skating down his chest to the button of his jeans.

Steve exhales sharply when your fingers finally undo his jeans, the button popping open. His breath hitches when you drag the zipper down slowly, the sound unbearably loud in the quiet of the van. He leans in, chasing your mouth again, but you tilt your head back—denying him with a grin.

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers pressing into skin still humming from his touch, and you finally take pity on him. Leaning up to catch his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly before soothing it with a slow kiss.

The moment Steve presses you back against the seat, his weight settling between your thighs, something shifts. The frenetic energy between you softening into something deeper.

His hips slot against yours with a familiarity that steals your breath, skin warm and damp where your chests press together as he braces on one forearm, the other hand sliding up to cradle your jaw—thumb brushing your cheekbone, soft against the force of his kiss.

"You ready, honey?" Steve murmurs against your temple, his voice ragged with restraint as his fingers trace idle patterns down your bare thigh. 

You nod. The van's bench seat creaks under your shifting weight, the leather warm against your back. Steve hesitates, his palm hovering over your hip, giving you one last chance to change your mind. One you’d never take.

You arch up into his touch, your fingers finding the familiar notch at the base of his spine, pulling him down until there's no space left between you. 

The first slow press of his hips draws a ragged exhale from both of you. Steve's forehead dropping to yours with a quiet thump, his breath hitching when you tilt your hips up to meet him. 

"Christ," he breathes, voice wrecked already, fingers tightening on your waist as he sinks deeper.

The stretch burns in the best way, familiar and perfect, and you dig your heels into the backs of his thighs, urging him closer. Steve groans in your ear, his hips stuttering forward instinctively before he catches himself, forcing himself to slow back down.

His lips find yours again—softer this time, lingering—as he begins to move in earnest, each rolling thrust punctuated by the quiet catch of his breath against your mouth.

You can feel every shift of muscle beneath his skin, every tremor he tries to suppress when your nails scrape down his back. The rhythm builds between you, steady and sure, until the only sounds left are the creak of the seat and your breaths catching between kisses.

"Sweetheart," he breathes against your mouth, the endearment frayed at the edges, his hips rolling in a slow, maddening rhythm that has your fingers digging into his shoulders. "You feel that? How good you take me?"

His voice drops to something lower, rougher, as he drags his lips along your jaw. "How fucking perfect you are?" 

You drag your nails down his back, arching into him and that’s all it takes for his restraint to snap. His pace turning frantic as his hands slide up to cradle your face, kissing you messy and uncoordinated. 

"Love you," he whispers between kisses, the words muffled but unmistakable, each syllable pressed into your skin like a prayer. 

"Love you so mu—" His hips jerk forward once, twice, his whole body shuddering as he comes with a quiet, broken sound against your lips.

You follow him over the edge not even a second later: his thumb brushing your clit just right, his hips still rolling against yours in slow, uneven circles as he draws it out. The pleasure crests sharp and sudden, stealing your breath, your fingers twisting in his hair as you bury your face against his shoulder to muffle the cry that punches out of you.

Steve stays there for a second, his forehead pressed to your shoulder—your fingers still tangled in his hair, softer now, absent-minded, grounding instead of grasping. The van is quiet again.

No voices. No chaos. 

Just the two of you.

Steve exhales before finally shifting, easing himself out of you like even that feels like too much distance. His hand slides up your side, thumb brushing idly against your skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

You hum in response, eyes still half-lidded, not quite ready to move.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder—then your collarbone, your chin, your nose—soft, lingering, one after the other until a quiet laugh slips out of you. 

And for a second—

he just looks at you.

And you at him—eyes free now, unhurried, able to take each other in without interruption, without your noisy friends, without your too-smart-for-his-own-good brother hovering somewhere between you. Just this—clear, open, yours. 

Your hand drifts from his hair to his cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his jaw. “You okay?” you murmur.

A quiet huff of a laugh leaves him, softer than usual. “Yeah,” he says. Then, quieter—“I’m okay, Honey. You?”

You smile, nodding once and he mirrors it without thinking.

Neither of you rush to move.

Eventually, Steve shifts again, easing off you so he can reach blindly toward the front seat, fumbling for something—his jacket, a discarded shirt, anything within reach.

He comes back with his jacket a second later, draping it over you without a word. Then he settles beside you, close—so close he barely leaves any space at all.

You follow without thinking, tucking into his chest, your hand slipping to idly play with the soft hair there.

He huffs out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh, his chin tipping down toward you, something warm and easy settling into his expression.

“So…” he starts, a little smug. “Round two?”

You glance up at him, catching the look on his face—all cheeky, self-satisfied, like he already knows the answer and just wants to hear you say it anyway.

You flick his chin lightly.

“Shut up.”

In the same breath you add—“I love you.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you in properly this time, his cheek brushing against your hair as you settle into him. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, softer now. You nod against his chest. 

And then, after a beat, like he couldn’t possibly not say it back—

“I love you too.”

You settle into him, his arm wrapped warm around you. Conversation drift—slow, easy, about nothing at all—your fingers tracing absent patterns as his thumb moves idly against your arm.

Your gaze lifts without thinking, catching on the rearview mirror where it’s still angled from before.

For a second, you don’t even realise you’re looking at it—just the shape of the van behind you, the dim blur of the street—

and the two of you in it, the glass faintly fogged with heat, softening the edges, close enough to read as one shape instead of two. His arm around you, your head tucked into him.

You don’t say anything.

You just let your eyes drop again, your hand sliding back across his chest as he pulls you a little closer, his fingers sweeping through your hair, his mouth lingering at your forehead like there’s nowhere else he wants to be but right here—with you, in the back of this van.

P.S. Hi 👋🏼... okay bye 👋🏼

P.P.S. Just kidding hehe. How are we? Trying to get out of this writer's block one oneshot at a time 🫶🏼

[lofi-fics]

THE HAT

STAYS

ON

[keeryonfilm]

gator and that damn vape

[keer-y]

thinking about Gators thick fingers sob

oh you mean how him just curling even one into you feels like a lot so he backtracks a little

how he’d press the tips against your mouth to get you to open up and suck on them and you’d choke around them when he’s not even doing all that much

how he’d push them down your throat on purpose then, so you gag around them and both of you revel in how sick it is, how he likes the way you sound and you like the way it makes you feel

how he pulls them out of your mouth and spits on them himself, too, just to make sure they’re wet enough to slide into your tight heat

how he’d throw one of your legs up and over his shoulder to give himself the room he needs to ease them both into you

how your stomach would clench up at the intrusion

how he’d twitch them upward to tease you, make you think he’s gonna look for your spot but no, not yet

how he’d fuck you with them slow, until the backs of his other fingers were pressed up against you too, framing where he’s entering you, and how he’d scissor them apart as he drew them back out

how even with three fingers pounding away in you it’s still not enough to really prepare you for how big his cock is

how he’d leave you gaping and loose when he lifted his hand from between your legs and licked his fingers clean, before offering them back to you and you’d suck them off, tasting yourself and him on them too

yeah ok i see the vision

[bmydruidess]

Rotten to the Core.

[kingofscoops]

Joe Keery as Travis “Teacake” Meacham COLD STORAGE (2026)

[frankenkyle19]

djolings and giving them road head (i feel like keys would say it’s too unsafe lmao)

🌼Steve: This would quickly turn into one of Steve’s favorite activities to the point where if you’re alone in the car with him on a longer drive, he starts shifting around, adjusting himself in his pants until you get the message. He’s a very good driver so luckily you don’t really have to worry about crashing unless his orgasm is really intense, and even then you just helped steer the wheel for a moment until he comes back down to earth. The first time it happened you had teasingly brought the idea up to him and he was almost instantly hard in his pants.

“Do you think you’d be able to focus on the road while I sucked your dick?”

He nearly choked on air. “W-What? Why’re you asking that? That’s- Crazy. We can’t do that.”

But he doesn’t stop you when your hands fall to his belt and begin to undo it, palming him through his pants. He lets out a throaty little sigh, head falling back against the headrest of the seat as he grips the wheel a little tighter.

When you pull him out of his pants, lean over the console and wrap your lips around his tip you’re sure he’s going to come right on the spot. The two of you have had plenty of sex in his beamer, mostly in the backseat with you riding him, but this is new and apparently very exciting for Steve who bites his bottom lip between his teeth and swallows back a moan.

As you work your mouth down onto his cock the car jerks just a little bit, his foot pushing down harder on the gas pedal before easing up with a shy look. He wants to prove he can control himself, and doesn't want to embarrass himself.

The closer he gets to release the squirmier he gets. He’s trying to focus on the road in front of him as his hips jerk up against your mouth, forcing you down further onto his cock.

When he does come it’s a lot and you work to swallow it all down so he doesn’t have a mess in his pants. He does have to end up pulling over the first time the two of you do it but after that he’s usually able to stay relaxed enough that it’s safe to drive.

———

🍬Gator: He doesn’t care if it’s dangerous, he wants you to do it all of the time. Also doesn’t care if anyone looks through the car windows and sees, finds nothing wrong with it. Likes to grab your hair with one hand, making a fist and tugging at it while he steers with the other, or maybe he steers with one of his knees if he’s cruising and not going too fast.

Holds your mouth down over him, cock hitting the back of your throat and you gag, trying to pull back.

“Nah, stay like that baby, breathe through it, ya got it. My good girl’s got it, yeah?” He hums, easing up his grip on your hair for a moment to allow you to breath before he’s easing your mouth back down over his length. Does end up swerving a bit, especially when he’s close, but he’ll pull himself together enough to not crash.

Loves when you give him head in his cruiser, especially considering you’re not supposed to be in there with him, especially when he’s working. He likes the thrill and it makes up for how boring the job can be sometimes, long hours dragging on into eternity.

I think he always wants his cock to be touching some part of you, in your hand, in your mouth, or in your pussy so road head is perfect.

“Keepin’ my cock all nice n’warm for me? Yeah that’s it.” Slow, deep rolls of his hips have you nearly choking on his fat length but you steel yourself, breathing through your nose, tears welling in your eyes.

“Keep suckin’ mama, just like that yeahhh f-fuck.”

———

🍭Kurt: I think Kurt would be insanely into this but it’s really dangerous because he will get so into it that he will nearly crash. Pick a non-busy long stretch of road if you can find one and then go to town. He finds it so hot and he keeps begging you to let him stream.

“They won’t even be able to see anything other than the top of your head!” He huffed. “Please?”

“They’d get the implication, Kurt. You can’t post that kind of stuff online like that, do you want to get banned?”

He just groans in annoyance.

Maybe for his birthday you finally agree and he sets up his phone on his dash, positioning it just right so that his viewers will be able to see some of the top of your head and the bobbing action you’re doing over his cock, but they can’t see anything explicit.

“H-hey guys! We-Welcome to Kurt’s world! I-I’m Kurt!” He’s barely able to get through a sentence without a broken whine falling from his lips that he poorly tries to muffle with a cough. No one buys it.

“I’m just out r-riding around today, nothing special!”

He probably hits a pothole on accident and nearly chokes you on his dick to the point where you have to pull away to collect yourself.

“Oh my god… Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” He’s asking all nervously, hard cock still bobbing between his legs, smearing pre-cum against the steering wheel as he shifts a bit to get comfortable again before he eyes the camera, hoping that his viewers didn’t get a view of his dick just then.

“This city needs to fix those- those fucking holes in the road! God!” He’d complain, shaking his head, but once you get back to work he shuts up again, trying not to close his eyes at the pleasure, cheeks turning red, sweat beading on his forehead

———

🧁Travis: He’d be shy about it at first but he loves any ideas that you have and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t rock hard at the mere idea. Don’t do it with him very often because he truly cannot focus on the road, words flying out of his mouth at a million miles a minute, his hands straying from the steering wheel sometimes in favor of grabbing your hair. You always pull off of him and glare up at him until his hands go back to the steering wheel.

“Oh god- yeah that- Your mouth is so fucking good, like it’s crazy how good it is- it’s insane..” He blabbers, shaking his head as he groans, fighting to keep his eyes open and focused on the road which is like an impossible task for him.

The car jerks with each bob of your head, his foot pressing down harder onto the gas pedal each time his tip brushes the back of your throat. You’re drooling all over him and his pants are just ruined at this point, soaked in spit and pre-cum.

“I’m gonna- Shit I’m so close, I’m so close you- can I please cum?” He’s asking, really trying to hold on until you tell him its okay.

When he comes it’s with a shout, biting his bottom lip between his teeth as the car jerks forward, the engine revving as his hips jerk up against your mouth, choking you a bit.

He’s all shy and fucked out afterwards, cheeks flushed and embarrassed.

“That was… So dirty. I want to do it all the time.”

———

🍪Keys: Instantly says its a bad idea if you bring it up to him, says its too dangerous because he just knows he wouldn’t be able to focus very well.

You guys are on a road trip and Keys is getting frustrated because the GPS has you guys in the middle of nowhere. There’s nobody else on the road, hasn’t been for miles and that idea pops into your head again.

You reach over, beginning to work on his belt and Keys tenses, furrowing his brows as he looks over at you.

“Wooah- woah! What are you doing sweetheart?” He asks, his frustration towards the GPS dying down quick as his cock twitches with interest in his pants.

“Helping you relax, grumpy.” He doesn’t stop you when you pull his length out of his boxers, stroking him for a minute before leaning over the console, shifting yourself until your lips meet his tip, tongue licking up the pre-cum that seeped from his tip.

“Oh god… Baby…” He keeps his eyes focused on the road but he wished he could look down at you as you work your mouth over him.

One hand goes down to your hair, gently running his fingers through your hair, his other hand on the steering wheel, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping it.

“This is- so, so… Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this..” He chuckles, glasses falling down his face until he fixes them on his nose, sweat forming on his brow.

Lets just say he’s not as grumpy trying to deal with the GPS after he comes down your throat and you tuck his softening cock back into his pants, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

[frankenkyle19]

love your headcanon posts and I have so many thoughts😭

what do you think the djolings reactions would be to you ruining their orgasm ?!

🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️yes yes yes I love this. For the sake of these let’s say they’re all being sucked off or jerked off just to make ruining their orgasm a little easier to ruin hehe18+ mdni

🌼Steve: Steve’s sprawled out on the bed on his back, chest rising and falling heavily as you stroke over his throbbing cock. You’ve been working him up for a while now and he’s so eager to come, so eager for you to make him feel so, so good. “I’m right there, fuck I’m right there…” He’s whining, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. You just hum, continuing to stroke him. The second he starts coming, you pull your hand away and he lets out a broken whine “no! No, no fuck please! No…” he’s so sad about it, pouting his bottom lip as his cock twitches, his ruined release only half of what it would have been had you stroked him through it. “Why’d you do that?” He’s asking, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” He just couldn’t understand why you’d punish him like this. You just shrug, cupping his cheek. “Just wanted to see.” He groans, leaning his face into your cheek, even if you’re the reason his orgasm was ruined.

🌼Gator: He’d be pissedddd. You’re sucking him off and he’s basically fucking your face at this point. He’s so close, right on the edge and then right as he starts to come you pull away completely and watch his cock twitch as he spurts cum onto your face. “The hell did ya do that for?” He’s grumbling, irritation evident in his tone and his face. He would definitely get payback for it and would either edge you over and over again or overstimulate you for sooo long. Don’t tease or mess with him because he will get you back ten times worse

🌼Travis: He need to come so bad that when you pull away right as he’s on the edge he lets out the saddest most pathetic moan you’ve heard in your entire life. “No no no- no baby please- please I really needed that.. oh fuck.” He’s trembling, watching you with confusion and also curiosity because it’s not like you to ruin one of his orgasms, you usually love them. You’d end up feeling too bad and you’d work him up to a second one. He’s a bit cautious but you’d stroke him through it and he’d fall apart under your touch, this release ten times more extreme because of his previous one. In the end it’s worth it for him.

🌼Kurt: I can imagine Kurt would cry. I think he cries a lot during sex anyways, he’s an emotional boy. Treat him with love 😭 I’d feel bad ruining one of his orgasms because he gets so into it and so eager to come and then when he’s right there you pull away. “W-why’d you do that?” He’s whining, hips jerking and searching for the touch you aren’t granting him. He’s got teary eyes and he’s reaching out for you, pouting. You kiss the pout away and suddenly everything’s all better for him. Later that night he’d bring it up again with a bigger pout than before. “Why’d you do that?” He huffs as you shrug. “Too mean. You’re not supposed to be mean to me.” His arms are crossed over his chest as he turns his back to you. Some cuddles will get him right back to normal.

🌼Keys: I think he might actually be into it. Maybe a little tiny bit, but there’s a big part of him that also hates it. He’d probably never ask for it but he’d let you do it and wouldn’t stop you if you did. he would arch his hips up and whine right when you pull away and it takes him a moment to collect himself afterwards. “You’re evil.” He’d mumble, and then he’d flip you around and do the exact same thing to you. Whatever you dish out to him you need to be ready to take back, it becomes a sort of challenge with him. He’s a bit competitive so he lives for it.

[solarismoons]

Feelin' You

Pairing: Travis "Teacake" Meachum x fem!reader

Summary: It's your first day on the job when you and your new coworker stumble upon something that's not for your eyes to see.

Warnings: 18+, filthy smut, oral (fem!receiving), overstimulation, praise, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda (?) public sex.

W.C: 9k+

a/n: took a break from stancy fics cuz I just couldn't stop thinking about this man.

୨♡୧

A part of you is dreading it. This new job.  

When you were a little girl, you definitely never dreamed of working in some dusty, run-down storage facility. You sure as hell never imagined you’d be working for your uncle of all people. Really, you wanted to be a nurse. But life didn’t go to plan, nothing ever really does for you-

“Hey!” 

A bang on the window causes your spine to straighten, your heart to pound against your ribs. With a gasp, you clutch your chest, breathing heavily. You whip your head to the source of the sound, huffing once you see him.

“Jesus, fuck, you scared me,” you murmur, unbuckling and stepping out of the car.

“Better watch that mouth of yours, little lady,” Griffin grunts, lifting his can of beer to his lips.

“Nice to see you, too,” you say with a grumble, shutting the car door behind you.

He smells like beer and B.O, and you scrunch your nose up in distaste when he burps. “You know what to do? Don’t gotta walk your ass around and teach ya?”

With a roll of your eyes, you huff. “I’m not a moron. Make sure all the storage rooms are locked, make sure no one's sneaking around. Whatever.”

“Alright, Missy. Less attitude. You’re lucky I even hired your sorry ass. Your old man's persistent."

“That’s one word for it.” He crumples his beer in his hand, the aluminum crinkling. “You better not fuck this up, honey. One mistake and you’re canned.”

You just swallow and nod in response, not wanting to piss him off even more. He’s already slightly unruly; he gets like this when he’s drunk. Which is very often. With one more breath out, you turn on your heel, ready to walk into the building.

“Hey! Just wanna warn you bout’ your coworker. Guy’s a real butthead. Sneaky ass motherfucker, too. Don’t let him get too close,” he calls after you.

“I can handle myself, Uncle Griff, thanks,” you say over your shoulder, not really giving a shit in the first place. 

In response, Griffin just grumbles something under his breath and straddles his motorcycle, revving the engine. You don’t even bother to turn around and watch him leave, hearing the wheels crunch aluminum against the pavement. 

You push open the two glass doors, stepping into your new workplace. It’s strangely cold, the air conditioning biting through your uniform. With a wince, you look down at yourself, the bright orange clashing with your skin. Leave it to Uncle Griffin to force his employees into the ugliest, most uncomfortable outfits possible.

Slowly, you walk around, taking in your surroundings. It’s a pretty boring-looking office space, with some clutter on the desk and a large elevator on the far side of it. You assume that's where the storage rooms are, deep underground somewhere. 

You walk around the desk, picking up a book. It looks like some kind of self-help book, the cover crumpled, pages a little bent. It looks cared for. A scoff leaves your lips, and you can just imagine the kind of dude your coworker is. Can imagine what he must look like.

Greasy long hair and pimples covering the length of his face. Fogged glasses lenses, crooked teeth. A ripped up old band-tee, way too tight jeans. A sort of stench following him that you know is gonna make your eyes water, your stomach clench. B.O. Beer. Same as Griffin.

To you, that’s the kinda guy who reads a book like this—some kind of incel, grasping at straws, trying not to die a virgin. 

“You ever read it?” A deep voice from behind you.

With a gasp, you turn around quickly, fingers tightening around the spine of the book in your hand. What’s with people and scaring you today?

“It’s good, I guess. Kinda boring. Wouldn’t recommend it to be honest, but there's some good advice. No, okay advice, really. Kinda outdated shit. You’re…” he pauses, tilting his head slightly, like he’s searching for something deep in his mind. “Sorry. Griffin told me I’d have a new coworker, but he never mentioned a name.”

You stand there awkwardly, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, you offer your name.

Mystery guy repeats it, like he’s tasting the syllables for the first time. Trying it out. “Cool. Teacake,” he says, pointing a thumb at himself.

What?

“Your- Teacake?” You say, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Yeah. Problem?” He questions, crossing his arms across his chest. You can’t help but notice the way the muscles in his biceps bulge with the motion.

“No- Just, uh. You’re my coworker?” 

“Looks like it. You expectin’ someone else?”

Yeah, kinda.

Despite your thoughts, you shake your head, taking in the man in front of you. His hair is bleached, parted in the middle, the ends of it brushing his cheekbones. It looks soft. His orange uniform is tied around his waist, a tight gray shirt covering his torso. It hugs the softness of his tummy in a way that wouldn’t normally make your mouth dry, but it does. Letters are tattooed down his neck, and two hoops are pierced into his earlobe. 

Moles dot his face, his neck, the muscles in his biceps and forearms. Like someone took a paintbrush and splattered acrylic all over his tanned skin. You catch yourself glancing down at his lips, the fullness of them. 

He’s… Attractive. No doubt about it. 

And he smells, really, really fucking good. The smell of his cologne seems to fill the space around you. Soft vanilla threaded through cedar. A sort of warm musk, like sun on cotton. Underneath, you get a hint of aftershave.

It’s only been about a few seconds of you blatantly checking him out before he speaks up again. “Somethin’ on my face?”

Before you reply, you swear his eyes flick downwards.

Quickly, you snap out of it. Probably just a trick of the light. “No, sorry. I was just expecting someone a little… Greasier.”

His nose scrunches up. “Greasier? The hell does that mean?”

He watches you shrug and push past him, exploring more of the office space. “I dunno. Just what comes to mind when I see a man reading a self-help book.” “What’s wrong with self-help books? Didya expect someone like Griffin? Cus’ that guy is like, the opposite of someone who reads stuff like this. He’s a real asshole, you know. Why’d you even want this job? Haven’t you heard the rumors bout’ this place?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Wow, you talk a lot.”

Really, you don’t mind. His voice is nice. Like silk.

“I get that a lot.”

“Griff's my uncle. Needed a job, and he obliged.” He lets out a sharp breath. “Oh- Shit, uh. Sorry, dude. He’s… Nice?”

In response, you laugh. “Don’t worry, Teacake. I know how he is.” “Oh, good. Sorry, it’s hard to say one nice word bout’ him. Kinda shocked he was nice enough to hire you. But you don’t really look like you belong here, still. In this rundown dump.”

“Neither do you.”

Teacake huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. Once he lifts his arm, you see the lines of ink stretching up the skin of his forearm. A snake. The lines are kind of blurred into his skin, some of them jagged. 

“Stick n’ poke,” you point out.

He straightens up. Is that… Blush? Your question is confirmed when he looks down at the floor and leans against the desk.

“Parole agreement, huh?”

Teacake nods. “Yep,” he murmurs, popping the ‘p’. “If a guy ever asks you to sit in the driver's seat while he goes inside a convenience store to ‘get something,’ tell him you’ve got somethin’ else to do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Only a second of silence passes before he’s talking again. He really doesn’t let silence sit for long, does he?

“So, what’s your story? How’d you end up asking Griff for a job?”

You consider the question for a second. Sure, he seems nice enough. Doesn’t seem as sneaky as your uncle warned you he was. But, he’s still a stranger.

“Nursing didn’t work out for me. Didn’t wanna end up having to move back in with my Dad. So, here I am.” “Here you are,” he repeats. 

Before he can speak again, the doors open. An old woman walks through, limping on a cane. She has an angry look on her face, a soft grunt leaving her lips once Teacake straightens up.

“Ms. Rooney! How are you today? Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the grandson? Still doin’ good up at NYU?” The woman ignores him, grumbling under her breath as she makes her way to the elevator. “I need the key to garage 1221. Now,” she says, stopping in the middle of the room.

“Right, yes, of course,” he says, rushing around the counter and riffling through the key ring. He finds it quickly, placing it in the woman's papery palm.

She doesn’t offer a thank you or any sort of acknowledgement, really. Teacake chases after her, holding out his arms like he’s worried she’s about to topple over.

“Oh, let me get the elevator for you,” he mutters, rushing forward to press the button. “What about Luke? How’s he likin’ Indiana? Heard it’s nice down there. Bet he likes the quiet. I certainly do. One of the perks of this job, really.”

“For someone who likes quiet, you talk a hell of a lot, boy,” Ms. Rooney grumbles. 

“Weird, right?” You yell from the front, chuckling when he shoots you a look over his shoulder.

Ignoring you both, Teacake runs a hand through his hair. “You need help findin’ it? It’s a maze down there. You know, I get lost sometimes, and I work here.”

“No,” she grumbles, quick and to the point. 

“You sure? Y’know, it’s my coworker’s first night. She probably needs someone to show her around, show her how things work around here,” he rushes out once the elevator doors open.

You open your mouth to argue, to claim you’re not an idiot, but Ms. Rooney grunts and waves you over, tired of hearing him talk. “Fine.”

Teacake holds the elevator doors open, waiting for you to make your way over to him with a soft huff.

The entire elevator ride down, he doesn’t shut up. Words tumble out of his mouth at a mile a minute, most of it straight bullshit. Asking question after question, most of them directed at the moody old woman next to him. She grumbles out half-hearted answers, her anger increasing with each second that passes.

You just watch with a soft smile on your face, despite how annoying the man is being.

Once the elevator doors open, Ms. Rooney turns to you both. “I can find my own way now,” she grunts out. “Show this nice girl around, boy. And shut up, for both our sakes.”

Before he can open his mouth again, the old woman is limping off, turning left down the hall. 

“What’s wrong with her?” “I dunno. Always somethin’ up that woman's ass.”

“Probably your annoying ass voice,” you tease, no venom inside your words.

Teacake chuckles, the sound low and warm. Something flutters in your stomach.

Ignoring it, you step out of the elevator, getting a look around. It's even colder down here, artificial lighting above straining your eyes. You begin down the hallway, looking over your shoulder. “You coming?”

He nods, jogging after you. As you walk down the hall, he bends down to check each lock, rattling the metal doors. “So, what’s old Griff like? He always been this grumpy, or did he use to take you to parks, push you on the swings?”

“Ha,” you chuckle, beginning to check the doors on the other side of the hall, copying his motions. “Nah. Always been this way, probably always will.” “Makes sense. Guys like that never change. Y’know, I knew a guy like him, back in the slammer. Real dickhead, always pushed everyone around. Also, he never showered and refused to brush his teeth. Nasty ass dude.” You ignore almost everything he says, too focused on his voice. He has a weird accent you can’t place. Like, some sort of twang?

“Where are you from?” You suddenly ask.

He stops mid-motion, straightening back up. “Uh, here. Why?” You wrinkle your nose. That can’t be right.

“Then why do you talk like that?” “Like what?” “Like you’re from the hood. It’s weird.”

Teacake tilts his head, quirking up an eyebrow. “Everyone I know talks like this.”

“Not me,” you shrug.

“Okay, still. It’s a jail thing. Every guy with a pulse in there talks like this. I wouldn’t expect you to know that, you don’t seem like the jailbird type. Well, I never was either. Until last year, I guess,”

His words slip in and out of your head when you notice something weird at the end of the hall. One of the storage rooms, a larger one, is partly open. Something seems to be jammed in between the garage door and the floor. 

“Teacake?” You murmur, pointing to the partly open door and the object squished under it.

He snaps out of it, following your line of vision down the hall. “Huh. Weird.”

You start down towards it, keeping your eyes trained on the object. It’s a weird tan color, something that looks like a suction cup on the base. Slowly, you bend down, hooking your fingers under the garage. Too focused on the object, you don’t notice the eyes that are trained on the curve of your ass.

Metal clashing fills the hall as you lift the garage. Before you can glance up, you hear him suck in a harsh breath.

“Holy shit.”

Finally, you pick your eyes up.

“Oh my god…”

The space is larger than any of the other storage rooms, from what you can tell. Lining the white brick walls are large metal shelves, each one cluttered with the type of shit you’d only hear about online. Dildos, whips, chains, plastic boxes stocked full of god knows what. There are full shelves lining the middle of the room, blocking the back part of it. It looks like someone emptied the back of Spencer's into one room.

“Did you know this was here?” You ask suddenly, eyes widening as they bounce around the room.

“No! I- This is fucked up,” he murmurs.

You bend over, picking up the mystery object. Not a mystery anymore. “Must’ve fallen off the shelf,” you murmur, waving the silicone around. It’s tanned, with prominent veins carved into it. The base is fairly detailed, to the point where it makes the man next to you squirm.

“Dude, don’t touch that… You don’t know where it’s been!”

With a chuckle, you wave it in his face. “I have some ideas.”

Teacake flinches back, a harsh red color crawling up his neck and stopping at the tips of his ears. “I’m serious! We shouldn’t be in here. Just- Put it back and let's dip.”

“Come on, you don’t wanna explore a bit? Could be interesting stuff in there,” you say, turning towards him with a tilt of your head. Gently, you bat your eyelashes, hoping your usual tricks work on him.

He looks down at you, eyes flickering with something you can’t place. For a few moments, he just stares, keeping his eyes locked onto yours. Just as you start to squirm, he huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck- Fine.”

With a giggle, you turn around and walk further into the room, staring in awe at the various items around you. You hear the loud bang of the garage door closing behind you.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, turning around just in time to see him close the door and flick on the lights.

“I’m not gettin’ caught peeking around a customer's… Sex dungeon! You know, if Griffin catches us down here, I’m done. There’s no talkin’ my way out of it. And I can’t lose this job.” “Yeah, yeah. I get it. But he’s long gone, probably drunk in an alleyway with his goons.”

Teacake just huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His face is pulled tight, discomfort obvious in the crease between his brow. In the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

As you look around, you hear him grumbling.

“God, this is my issue. The second a girl looks at me with her nice eyes, I’m giving in and doin’ somethin' stupid. This is exactly how I ended up at this shitty ass job in the first place! Someone asks me to do something, and I just jump in, no second thoughts.” At his words, butterfly wings gently brush the lining of your stomach. Maybe it’s the environment you’ve found yourself in, or maybe it really is his accidental compliment, but you suddenly get an urge you haven’t felt in a while. Still, you ignore it, opting to tease him. “You think my eyes are nice?” You ask with a tilt of your head and a soft smile.

“I- Uh-” Teacake stutters, looking anywhere but your face. “Uhm- Yeah. Actually. I do. They are.”

You return the smile and laugh softly. “So are yours. They’re pretty.”

And you mean it. You’ve never really seen a guy with eyes like his. A light hazel, thick and warm like honey. Flicks of gold line his irises, followed by swirls of deep greens. 

At your compliment, his cheeks pinken even further, if it’s possible, and his lips part. “Thanks,” he grumbles out, suddenly uncharacteristically quiet.

You cross the room, placing the dildo in your hand back in the empty spot it must’ve called home. Your eyes catch on a bright, sparkly one right next to it. It’s much larger, much thicker. With a giggle, you wrap your fingers around it. “Jesus, I’ve never seen one this big. Must hurt like a bitch,” you laugh out, finger tips just touching.

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowed at the thing, avoiding your gaze. “It’s not anything crazy?”

With a scoff, you look at him like he just grew five heads. “Uh, yeah, it is. Look!” You hold it up to your face, showing the size difference.

“Okay- Put it down, please,” he rushes out, averting his eyes away from your face. 

“Why? You’re acting as if you’ve never seen a dildo before.”

“No- I have I just-” “You ever use one?”

His eyes snap up to your face, his jaw hanging open. “What?! No! Why would I-” “Hey, no shame in it, Teacake.”

The man clears his throat, running a hand through the blonde strands on his head. A nervous habit, you’ve realized. “Have… You?” He cringes the second the words leave his mouth.

Eyebrows raise at his question. Matching his own face, you can feel heat radiating under your skin. You hope he can’t see it under the artificial lighting above. Still, you swallow down those feelings and consider the question. “Yeah. My exes weren’t really givers. Had to get off somehow.”

This piques his interest. “Wait, they never made you…” He trails off with a clear of his throat.

“Cum? No.”

“Jesus,” he breathes out. “Not a single one of them?” You laugh, placing down the toy, fingers trailing along the dusty shelf. “I mean, maybe once or twice. But it’s kinda hard to be into it when they’re jamming like, three fingers in you without caring. And don’t even get me started on trying to get a guy to go down on me.”

“Hold on, no one's ever eaten you out? You’re joking, right?”

You turn to face him, and the look on his face almost makes you burst out laughing. It’s pure confusion, like he can’t even begin to believe that. “A few times, but it was, like, really terrible. Most guys said it was gross, though.”

“Gross? What the fuck kinda assholes have you been datin’? That’s like, the best part of sex!” 

“So, I take it you’re a giver, then?” You giggle, rolling your eyes, not really believing him. It’s a foreign concept to you that any guy could be into that, let alone good at it.

“Uh, yeah. I like it,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

“Right.”

He pauses. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You think I don’t know how to make a girl cum?”

In response, you just shrug. Not bothering to turn towards him, you walk deeper into the room. Your eyes widen once you make it around the other side of the shelf dividing the room.

“Fuck you, then. I’ve never had any complaints,” he grumbles, his words lacking venom. Ignoring him, you run a nervous hand through your hair. “This is insane.” “What?” He grunts out, stopping right behind you. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

On the floor lies a thick mattress with bright red sheets strewn across it. A few pillows sit on the edge of it, all of them clashing completely with the scarlet red. Next to it, hanging from the ceiling is some sort of swing. Some strange contraption with wrist ties and ankle ties. You can only imagine what the hell it’s used for.

“Is this- Do you think-” He stutters out.

“This is like, actually someone's sex dungeon,” you laugh disbelievingly, wrinkling your nose at the thought. 

“Ew! Someone's been havin’ sex right beneath me, in this dirty ass room? What kinda freak is turned on by this shit?”

“Hey, don’t yuck someone else's yum,” you tease, turning towards him.

Sputtering, he shakes his head, taken aback by your pre-school reprimand. “Don’t- What the hell does that even mean?”

“Don’t kinkshame, T. I get the appeal,” you say with a shrug. 

“Of fuckin’ in a dingy ass storage-room-turned-sex-dungeon?”

At that, you laugh and shake your head. “No! The environment. The danger. Anyone passing by could hear you; anyone could catch you. It’s kinda hot.”

His pink lips part, his eyes widening at your words. He’s at a loss for words, his fingers clenching at his sides. “You think it’s hot?”

“Yeah. You don’t? Not even a little?”

Silence fills the room, his eyes locked onto yours. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows thickly, your eyes tracking the movement. “I mean… Maybe, I guess.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing? You’re really squirmy for some sex god.”

He huffs, leaning against the wall across from you. Copying him, you press your back into the shelf behind you.

“I never said I’m a ‘sex god.’ I just know how to make a girl feel good.”

Still a little confused by his shy behavior not matching his words, you push him a little more. “You don’t need a diagram to find the clit?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m sure there’s one around here,” you murmur, making a show of looking around the room.

Heavy footsteps thud on the concrete beneath your feet. You glance up, your eyes meeting his. “Trust me, honey. I’m not as lost as the assholes you’re used to,” he says, voice getting huskier.

A familiar feeling pools deep in your stomach, and you try not to press your thighs together. You can’t help it, though, especially when he leans in further, his hand gripping the shelf next to your head, effectively caging you in.

He glances down, noticing how tight you’re pressing your soft flesh together. Teacake lets out a soft chuckle, his hand cupping your jaw. The pad of his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, his lips pulled into a smirk.

Gone is the stuttering, blushing coworker you thought him to be.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” You whisper out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. 

“Could show you. Make the most of this room,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours as he leans in.

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the mint from his soft breath fan across your face. His cologne wraps around your head, invading your senses so harshly it’s dizzying. Fingers tilt your chin up, giving him a better view of your parted lips.

“You want that?” He whispers, eyelashes already fluttering shut.

“Mhm,” you murmur, sliding your hands up his arms.

Slowly, you meet each other in the middle, his lips gently pressing against yours. They’re softer than you expected. After a few moments of just warm pressure, he parts his mouth gently, moving his lips against yours. You follow his motions, just getting used to the feeling. 

He lets out a soft sigh, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It urges you on more, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. In response, he trails a hand up your neck, cupping the back of your head. The other one stays on your jaw, his thumb pressing into the soft skin on your cheek.

All your thoughts disappear, and you melt against him, chest pressing against his. As he kisses you, deep and slow, you realize how long it’s been. Since someone's held you like this, since someone's mouth has been against your own. It’s nice, really nice. 

Once you’ve both settled into a steady rhythm, he presses you further against the shelves, the metal digging into your lower back. He picks up the pace, pressing your lips into his harder. His tongue sweeps out, dragging across the plushness of your bottom lip, asking for entry. In response, you shudder against him, obliging easily. 

Without wasting another moment, he slips his tongue past his lips, sliding it so expertly against yours, you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows and press against him. He lets out a groan and presses his palm against your lower back, pushing his body flush against yours. His belt buckle presses coolly against the little sliver of revealed skin at your stomach. The feeling alone almost causes your knees to give out from under you.

Large, calloused hands get bolder, trailing down the curve of your body. Finger tips dig into the soft skin at your hips, a low groan sounding from the back of his throat once you slide your hands into his hair, tugging at the strands. It’s soft, just like you expected.

Between kisses, you pull back, panting softly. “What’s your real name?” you whisper, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Teacake pulls back, his eyebrows quirking. “Travis. Why?”

Slowly, your fingers drag down his chest, feeling the thudding of his heart through the fabric of his shirt. “So I know what to moan.”

At your words, his pupils blow black, desire flashing so quickly in his gaze it knocks the breath out of you. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, smashing his lips back against yours.

This time, he’s not gentle.

It’s frantic, a sort of kiss you haven’t shared with anyone… Ever, really. Tongues dart out, teeth catch accidentally, ragged breaths come fast and uneven. A groan rumbles somewhere low in the back of his throat, vibrating through your veins like electricity.

His lips drag down your cheek, nose nudging the underside of your jaw. Knowing what he’s asking, you tilt your head to the side, exposing more skin to his hungry gaze. His breath fans across your skin in heavy pants.

“Trav,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Teeth drag across your pulse point, tongue sliding across the fluttering skin. A gasp leaves your lips once he sucks heavily on the spot beneath your ear, definitely leaving a mark. 

“Can’t wait to taste you, baby,” he huffs out, grinding his hips against yours as he soothes your purpling skin with soft kisses. “Show you how it feels to be taken care of, yeah?”

You can’t help but let out a soft whimper at his words. Those little whimpers escalate once you feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against the seam of yours. From where you’re standing, you can just about feel how big he is.

Travis slides his hands down your body, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass. You let out a moan when he hikes you up like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his hips, ankles crossing behind his back. 

He pulls away for a second, glancing around. On the other side of the room is a table, covered with various toys. Pressing his lips back against yours, he walks over to it, placing you on top in the middle of all the clutter. He steps between your legs, palms settling on your thighs.

“Not interested in the bed?” You whisper, hands sliding down his chest.

“I’m not makin’ you go in those dirty ass sheets. I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck.

You can’t help but let out a laugh at his words. Surely a gentleman wouldn’t let his hands trail down the body of a girl he just met a couple of hours ago. 

As if reading your mind, he pulls back, eyes hooded, lips kiss-swollen. “I don’t usually do this, y’know.”

“What? Hook up with girls you just met hours ago?”

“Mhm,” he hums, pushing you back down on the table. He hovers over you, holding himself up on his forearms. 

“Why me, then?” you whisper, tilting your head.

Travis looks down at you, his face telling you that he’s genuinely considering the question. “Well, first of all, you’re beautiful.”

Despite his weight pressing on top of you, despite the purpling bruises painting your collarbone and neck, you flush under his gaze. His eyes are almost filled with awe. As if he sees a marble sculpture in the curve of your lips, a painting in the swirls of your irises.

At your pinkening cheeks, he smirks, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. “And you’ve been givin’ me those… eyes all night. The second you turned around up there, you started checkin’ me out. You’re not as slick as you think, baby.”

“I- I was not,” you huff out, crossing your arms the best you can in this position.

His eyes flick downwards quickly, tracing the curve of your breasts, now spilling out the top of your shirt. “No harm in it. I couldn’t stop lookin’ at you either. At these fuckin’ tits,” he whispers, large palm cupping your breast through the fabric of your uniform.

“Shit- I knew it,” you gasp out when he kneads the skin, giving a testing roll of his hips. “Pervert.”

In response, he chuckles darkly, finger tips digging into your plush skin. “‘Says the girl who’s been givin’ me ‘fuck me’ eyes since the second she saw me,” he mutters against your skin, lips dragging across the sharp line of your jaw.

“Can I take this off?” He murmurs, fingers toying with the buttons on your too-bright uniform.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. For some reason, his question just turns you on even more. Usually, no guy you’ve been with has asked. Just assumed you’d be okay with it.

Slowly, his fingers trail down your chest, undoing each button with careful precision. He presses his lips together in concentration, eyebrows marrying in the middle as he reveals more skin. Gently, once he releases all the fabric, he pushes it off your shoulders. 

You feel slightly embarrassed at your choice of bra; you definitely never expected your night to go this way. It’s just lilac cotton, no push-up or frilly pieces. Still, Travis’s pupils blow. Lips parting, his tongue swipes across them, leaving behind a shine. All your insecurities vanish at the low, strangled groan he lets out, punctuated by another slow roll of his hips. 

Hands reach out, gripping his biceps once the seam of his jeans presses so perfectly against your clit. 

Hooking his fingers under the straps of your bra, he pauses for a second, only continuing once you nod. It takes him only a few seconds to reach behind your back and pop your clasp. Effortless, smooth. The fabric is thrown somewhere over his shoulder, revealing you to the cool air of the room.

Immediately, your nipples pebble, goosebumps rising on your newly revealed skin. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, lips trailing downwards. His teeth catch on your collarbone, leaving even more blotches of purpled skin behind. 

You let out a low whine when his head dips lower, fingers teasing your nipple. Testingly, he pinches it, rolling it between his fingers. A smirk spreads on his face at your reaction. It doesn’t disappear, even as his mouth closes around your other peak, his tongue swirling around it.

“Oh, shit,” you moan breathily, fingers sliding through his hair as you hold him against you.

While he tugs on one with his teeth, his hand is still teasing the other. Despite how many hands have touched you before, you’ve never felt something like this. The sensitivity, the desire for more spiking through your body.

He pulls back, not before giving a little flick to your nipple, making your back arch. At your reaction, he chuckles, continuing his descent downwards. His lips press against each rib, taking their time to make you feel appreciated. Then he’s kissing your hips, nipping softly at the skin.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he sinks to his knees in front of you, shoulders spreading your thighs open for him. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Or you still don’t believe I know what I’m doin’?” 

His fingers dig into the denim stretching over your thighs, mouth inching closer to the seam. 

“Please, Travis,” you whisper, tugging at his hair.

Travis lets out a soft noise, eyes burning into yours. “Please, what?”

You tug a little harder, getting more frustrated as mere seconds tick by without his mouth on you. “Make me feel good. Show me you can, please,” you whine, dignity thrown out the window. 

“Good girl,” he praises your pleading, popping the buttons of your jeans.

Lifting your hips, you help him tug them downwards, pulling off your shoes with them. They also end up somewhere on the floor, a problem for later. In a moment, he’s back between your legs, eyes zeroed in on the damp spot already soaked into your panties. 

“Jesus, I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already soaked for me,” he whispers lowly, tugging your body down the table, closer to him.

He hooks your knees over his shoulders, not giving you time to process before his nose is pressed into your heat. His eyes just about roll back as he inhales your scent, finger tips pressing into the soft skin of your thighs. 

Not breaking eye contact, his fingers hook into the damp fabric, pulling it to the side. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes now focusing on your most private spot. “So beautiful, baby.”

At his praise, you flush, squirming slightly. You’ve definitely never had a guy call your pussy pretty before.

Seeing your reaction, he just chuckles and shakes his head in adoration. Despite how eager you know he is, his head turns to the side, lips pressing against the inside of your thigh. As if he didn’t mark you enough already, teeth sink into the plush skin there. 

“Trav,” you whimper, trying to turn your hips towards him. 

He continues to drag his teeth and lips everywhere but where you need him, chuckling at your escalating whines.

“Please, stop teasing,” you huff out, hands lying flat on the table, not sure what to do with them.

“Patience,” he warns, tutting when you attempt to turn your hips again.

Once he’s painted more than enough marks into your skin, he pulls back and admires his work. Then, his thumbs drag upwards, spreading you open to him. You can’t help but jerk your hips when his breath ghosts over your clit in a soft puff. 

“Please,” you whine, voice pathetic and small.

With one more smirk, he’s leaning in, tongue licking a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. As soon as he presses it flat against your clit, your eyes widen, and a breathy moan leaves your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. 

Without wasting another moment, he’s lapping at your folds, groaning as your arousal coats his tongue. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

His pace is relentless, tongue swiping through you with such precision you can’t help but reach down and grip his hair, needing something to ground you. As he devours you like a starved man, he listens closely to each hitch of your breath, each moan that slips past your lips.

And, god, is he good at listening.

Somewhere back in his mind, he notes down each of your body's cues on where to press harder, where exactly to place his tongue, and he doesn’t relent until you’re tugging at his hair and grinding up into his mouth.

Travis pulls back, lips pulling into a smug smirk as he circles the tip of his tongue around your clit, laser-focused on holding eye contact. Leaning in again, he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it into the heat of his mouth. Pleasure immediately radiates through your body, leaving you babbling.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, thighs trembling.

Your eyes begin to roll back in your head when you feel the tip of his finger prod at your entrance. It slides against your walls so easily, coated with your arousal as he sinks knuckle deep inside you. He prods around, searching for that spongy spot inside of you.

Travis finds it easily, confirming it once your thighs tighten around his head. “Right there,” you whimper out. He doesn’t need to be told twice. The pad of his finger presses against it, curling inside you with each thrust of his wrist. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight,” he murmurs against your heat, voice vibrating against your clit.

Pressing even harder, his movements pick up pace, making your back arch off the cold wood of the table. You just about lose it when you feel him slide another thick digit in you, stretching your walls so perfectly. 

Pleasure builds so quickly, the breath is knocked out of you. You can feel that coil within you tightening and tightening, your release building rapidly.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he grumbles, curling his fingers even harder within you.

A deep smirk crawls onto his face when your walls clench around his fingers, pulling him deeper within you. You’re clamping so hard around him that he can’t help but let out a groan, already imagining how good it’s going to feel to sheathe himself deep in you.

Before you can warn him, he beats you to it, already knowing how close he’s gotten you. “You gonna cum for me, baby, hm?”

Reduced to nothing but a moaning mess, you nod, grinding your hips up against his face, his nose catching your clit. Your thighs begin to tremble violently, his name leaving your lips like a prayer when he wraps his lips around you even tighter. “Cum on my face, give it to me,” he mumbles.

As soon as the words sear into your skin, you’re gone.

Pure euphoria tears through your skin, your mouth opened in a silent scream, back arched so high you’re off the table. Stars explode behind your closed eyes, every part of your body erupting with heat.

“Fuck!” You yell suddenly, body trembling so hard the table groans.

Travis doesn’t let up, though, his free hand pinning your hips down, fingers still working against that spot. He doesn’t stop until you’re crying out with stimulation, pushing at his forehead. Slowly, his licks turn kitten-like, gentle, and soothing.

Each one causes your hips to jerk up, your nails that aren’t in his hair digging deep into his bicep.

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls back. You pick yourself up on your elbows, glaring down at him with shock etched deep into your face. His chin and lips are glistening with your release, his hair a mess atop his head. 

“Good?” He teases, tilting his head to the side, tongue swiping out across his lips, tasting you again.

“You’re joking, right?” You almost laugh out, your voice wrecked from how loud he had you moaning.

Travis just shrugs, standing up and crawling back on top of you. “I thought I needed a diagram to find your clit?” He whispers, fingers snaking down and circling it, just to prove his point further.

Your hips jerk away from him, a loud gasp tearing from your throat. His body pins you down, not letting you squirm away.

“Apologize.”

Eyes widen, your lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“Apologize,” Travis repeats, eyes boring into yours. “Apologize, and I’ll give you a second to breathe.”

“Travis,” you huff through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the muscles rippling in his shoulders. 

“Apologize for doubtin’ me,” he stands firm, pressing even harder against your sensitive bud.

“Shit, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please,” you whine, tears pricking in your eyes at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming every sense. “I was wrong, please.”

With a chuckle, he pulls his hand away slowly, elbows pressing against the table on either side of your head. He dips his head down, pressing his lips against yours.

At the sweet pressure, you sigh, reaching up with shaking hands to wrap your arms around his neck. You can taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and heady. His mouth moves slowly against yours, contrasting his earlier roughness. 

It gives you a second to catch your breath, for the buzzing between your legs to become dull throbbing. After a few minutes, he pulls back, lips puffy and still glistening. “You good?” He whispers, wiping some spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb.

You nod with a shaky smile, your fingers dragging down his chest. “You gonna fuck me now?”

Travis’s eyes widen at your boldness, his pink lips pulling into a smirk. “Sure you can handle it? Just about had you passin’ out on my tongue, sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me beg again,” you whine, not caring how annoying you must sound.

Chuckling, he dips his head down to kiss you, before his spine straightens and he stands between your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching with a tilted head as he tugs his shirt over his head. Heat spreads over your body at the sight before you.

Dark, coarse hair is spattered across his chest, a trail of it starting at his navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. The soft pudge of his stomach makes you press your thighs together, a low breath coming out sharp through your nose.

Starting at his ribs, a long tattoo twists and turns, lines resembling lightning strikes. It disappears beneath his waistband, leaving you to wonder how far it goes. You reach out and drag your fingers along the faded lines, the muscles beneath twitching. Travis can’t help but shudder beneath your touch.

Another tattoo stretches above one of his pecs, small birds flying out towards his shoulder.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper without meaning to.

Travis lets out a soft breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I really like these,” you breathe out, fingers dragging across the strikes lining his ribs.

“You’ll like the rest of it more,” he says with a wink, the clinking of his belt filling the empty room.

Holding your breath, you watch as he pulls his jeans past his hips, revealing tight black briefs, the imprint of his erection straining against the fabric. Your eyebrows raise towards your hairline, lips parting as he tugs them down.

His length springs up, hitting his stomach softly.

Fuck.

He’s big. Huge compared to anyone else you’ve been with. Just about as girthy as that toy you were holding earlier. A long vein runs along the side, his tip flushed a pretty pink. A dot of pre-cum beads at it, already dripping down the underside of him. 

A trimmed patch of hair sits at the base of his shaft, the lightning strikes disappearing beneath it, twisting lines stopping right at the base. Just as he said, you really do like the rest of it.

“See somethin’ you like?” He teases, his ego swelling at the absolute awe on your face.

Not able to tear your eyes away, realization dawns on you. “That’s why you were acting like that when I picked up that dildo,” you murmur, voice shaking.

“Told you it wasn’t anything crazy.”

In response, you just huff out a disbelieving laugh.

Anything crazy?

His eyes bounce around the room, scanning the shelves. “They’ve gotta have condoms in here somewhere.”

You stretch your legs out, hooking your ankles behind his back, tugging him towards you. “You’re clean, right?” “Yeah- What?” He mutters, eyes widening when you tug him even closer.

“I have an IUD.” Travis just stares down at you, his jaw going slack, lips parting. “You…” he trails off, eyebrows raised towards his hairline.

“You know what that is, don’t you?” He nods his head with a sharp breath out, hands landing on either side of you as he bends over your body. “You’re askin’ me to fuck you raw?”

You nod quickly, pulling him flush against you, gasping when you feel him slide against your soaked heat.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans your name, his voice deep and rumbling.

He emphasizes his point by rutting his hips against you, coating himself in your arousal. Travis groans, gripping your waist and pulling you harder against him. You whimper when his tip catches your clit with each roll of his hips.

“Fuck me, please,” you whine out, voice breathy and high-pitched.

Travis doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips himself, giving a slow pump from base to tip. A shuddering breath leaves his mouth, his fingers digging into your thigh as he spreads you wider. Slowly, he presses his tip against your entrance, eyes flicking up to your face.

“Ready, baby? We’ll go slow, take good care of you.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, breath quickening in eager anticipation.

At your confirmation, he slowly pushes forward, holding his breath as his tip stretches your walls around him. Despite him barely entering you, you can already feel that sweet burn, your eyes widening. You can’t help but dig crescents into the muscles in his biceps.

“Fuck, you’re doin’ so good for me. Takin’ me so well,” he coos, thumbs rubbing circles in your skin as he pushes deeper.

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling, just trying to get used to it. Travis lets out a soft groan, feeling your walls fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper within you. His eyes stay on yours, holding eye contact until he’s halfway pushed in. 

“You okay?” He checks in, his own voice strained. “Think you can take more?”

With a whine, you nod, pulling him downwards and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Slowly, he sheathes himself fully inside, hips bumping against yours. With a shaky breath, he presses his lips against yours, murmuring praises into your mouth. 

You’ve never felt this full, this sensitive. He’s not even moving, and you can already feel the way his fat tip is pressing against that sweet spot deep within you. No one’s ever reached it before, and the feeling is absolutely dizzying. Intoxicating.

Pressing your nose into his neck, you breathe him in, whining softly when he gives a testing roll of his hips. 

“Shit,” he grunts out, digging his fingers into the plush skin of your hips, surely bruising the skin. His breath comes in a soft pant against your neck.

Slowly, he pulls back, leaving just his tip in. Giving you a second to breathe, he snaps his hips forward, knocking the breath completely from your lungs. Your heels dig into his lower back as he does it again and again, his pace relentless. 

“Fuck, Travis!” You cry out, vision whitening with each kiss of his tip to that spot. Forehead presses against his shoulder, nails dragging down the expanse of his back.

Back arches so prettily off the table, your bare chest pressing against his, mewling when you feel his chest hair scraping against your overly sensitive nipples. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he grunts out, repositioning and hitting even deeper within you. 

Lewd noises echo off the walls, squelching, and the sound of skin slapping skin rings in your ears. You can’t help but look down and watch where your bodies connect, the sight causing you to clench around him. Travis moans, lips parting in concentration. 

In response, he pistons into you even harder, making your vision white out around the edges. Suddenly, he hikes your thighs higher around his hips, snapping forward so hard the table groans beneath you. Each time he presses forward, his pubic hair catches on your clit, sending a pleasure so intense rippling through you that you can’t help but scream his name.

With each snap forward, you can feel that sweet pressure building, climbing much quicker and more intensely than you expected. Travis looks down, breath quickening at the sight before him. “Fuck, look at that,” he moans.

Eyes trailing downwards, you gasp. With each thrust, you can see your stomach bulging slightly, the sight so erotic it’s the type of thing you thought only happened in porn. Every part of your body jolts when he presses his palm against your skin, forcing you to feel every ridge of him.

“So, so good for me, fucccckk,” he drags out, words slurring together as he loses himself in the intense pleasure. “Take it, baby.”

At his lewd words, your hips jerk up, matching his harsh thrusts. His palm presses firmer against your stomach, his other yanking you down against him harder. 

Not slowing his pace, his fingers leave your hip to press against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. He focuses on the right side, somehow already memorizing how to make you scream. Before you even have time to think, to breathe, your stomach twists and knots, 

“I’m- Fuck, Travis, I’m gonna-” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, heels digging deeper into his ass, pulling him harder into you.

“Gonna cum for me?” He murmurs, sweat shining on his body, his jaw clenching, and his own moans escalating. “Let go, honey, cum all over this cock. Come on, give it to me,” he doubles over and grunts into your ear, breath coming in harsh pants.

He sends you hurtling over the edge so fucking quick that your breath is stolen from your lungs, your vision going black. Your whole body shakes with pure pleasure, and you sink your teeth into the meat of his bicep, trying not to tear your vocal cords to shreds.

If it hurts, Travis doesn’t say anything, continuing to moan against the fluttering skin of your neck. He only begins to chase his own release once he’s sure you’ve finished. You can hear his muffled words against your sweat-slick skin, none of them making sense.

With a few more thrusts, his hips stutter, fully sheathing himself inside of you. Hot spurts of his release paint your walls, squelching loudly. His breath fans out across your skin, chest heaving as he twitches inside you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whimpers out, pressing his fingers into your sides, holding you against him.

With trembling fingers, you reach up and run your hands through his sweaty hair, hearing him whine when your nails scrape soothingly against his scalp. You both hold each other like that for a while, trying to catch your breath and calm down.

After a little, Travis pries his fingers from your hips and presses his lips against your forehead. Slowly, he straightens his spine, sliding himself out of you. Every ridge of him catches your sensitive walls, making you wince. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across your jaw.

He lets out a shaky breath when he sees his release drip out of you. You watch as he twitches and physically tears his eyes away from you with a low moan.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, glancing around the room. He finds wipes, carefully sliding one against the mess of both your releases between your legs. When your hips jump, he swallows thickly, eyes flicking up to you. “Sorry, honey.”

“‘S okay,” you murmur.

Once he’s done, he finds your clothes, helping you step back into them before fixing his own. As soon as you’re both dressed, he sits down at the table next to you, pressing his lips against your temple.

“Well, I was… completely wrong,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a shy smile.

Travis laughs, the sound making butterfly wings brush the lining of your stomach. “Glad I could prove that I’m a ‘sex god,’” he chuckles again, referring to your earlier words.

You blush, eyelashes fluttering as you look at the floor, a soft smile crawling onto your face. 

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers tilting your chin up towards him. Softly, he presses his lips against yours, holding them there for a few moments. He pulls back, brushing strands of sweat-slick hair from your forehead. “That was… amazing. You’re amazing.”

“You, too,” you whisper.

Travis presses his lips together, eyes tracing each of your features. He slowly lifts his hand to the back of his neck, looking around awkwardly. “You can, uh, totally say no, but I was just… Wonderin’ if you wanted to maybe go out sometime?” Your eyebrows raise slowly. You didn’t expect that. “Are you asking me on a date, Travis?”

A cute pink dusts over his cheeks, his teeth nibbling at the inside of his lip. “Yeah… I would love to get to know you more.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, and it’s not lust or desire. “Me too.”

“Really?” He whispers, the look of surprise on his face almost making you burst out laughing.

“Yes, really. You just came inside of me, yet you really think I wouldn’t wanna go out with you?”

He lets out a loud laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So, Saturday?”

You consider it for a moment, brushing your knuckles against the sharp line of his jaw. Not a single part of you wants to wait that long. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is,” he nods. “I can’t wait,” he says, the look on his face so endearing you can’t help but kiss him, lips pulling into a smile against his.

“Me neither.”