vani ‹𝟑

all you had to do was stay (forever)

[notreallythatlost]

𝒱. wannabe author. fanfic reader. djo lover.

find my writing on @whispersoflost ♡

𝓭𝓳𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

joe keery ⋆ steve harrington ⋆ gator tillman ⋆ travis meacham ⋆ kurt kunkle ⋆ keys mckey ⋆ baron lamram ⋆ sean lockwood

𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼

bucky barnes ⋆ sauron ⋆ ed warren

𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓼

[frootybb]

Smudged Berry

Stepbrother!Gator Tillman x Reader

Summary: At a tense Tillman family dinner, you finally kill your old lipliner. Your pervert stepbrother Gator notices immediately and offers you a fancy new one right there at the table. What starts as a “helpful” touch-up quickly turns into something much filthier in the bathroom, his truck, and his bed. Gator’s always been a little too attentive to your mouth…

Word count: 5.8K

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, oral sex (m/receiving), unprotected p/v sex, step siblings incest, dubious consent/power imbalance, crude language & dirty talk, slight exhibitionism risk, Gator’s canon typical daddy issues & insecurity mixed with heavy perv behavior, no plot just horny

A/N: going back to my stepbro!gator roots with this one lol. Hope I still got it!

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The fluorescent lights in the Tillman kitchen buzzed like angry hornets overhead, casting a harsh glow over the chipped Formica table and the mismatched plates piled with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans swimming in canned mushroom soup. It was another one of those mandatory family dinners, Roy Tillman’s way of pretending the household wasn’t a pressure cooker of resentment and old scars. You sat squeezed between the edge of the table and Gator’s broad shoulder, your stepbrother’s knee occasionally brushing yours under the tablecloth like it was an accident. It never was.

You were the outsider who’d somehow become family when your mom married Roy a couple years back. Not blood, thank God, but close enough that Roy treated you like another extension of his empire: quiet, obedient, useful. Gator, though? Gator treated you like something he wanted to poke at until it squirmed.

Dinner had dragged on with Roy droning about some case, his voice all gravel and authority, while Gator slouched in his deputy uniform, vape pen tucked behind his ear like a trophy. He’d been watching you the whole meal, those restless hazel eyes flicking from your face to your hands and back again. You tried to ignore it, focusing on scraping the last bit of color from your lips with the cheap drugstore lipliner you’d been nursing for weeks.

The tube was ancient, the product worn down to a nub. You twisted it up one final time, angling the mirror of your compact under the table so no one would notice, and swiped it across your lower lip with a quick, practiced motion. The color came out patchy, more habit than pigment at this point. You pressed your lips together, blending, then capped it with a soft click that somehow cut through the low hum of conversation.

Gator’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. His lips twitched into that crooked, shit-eating grin he wore like armor. “Well, shit,” he drawled, loud enough for the table to hear but casual enough that Roy just grunted in annoyance. “You finally killed it, huh? That poor little pencil’s been hangin’ on by a thread for months.”

Heat crept up your neck. Everyone glanced over, Roy with his perpetual scowl, your mom offering a polite but tired smile, even the distant cousin who’d shown up uninvited. You shoved the empty tube into your pocket, muttering, “It’s fine. I’ll get a new one tomorrow.”

Gator leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He was built like someone who spent more time lifting weights in the station gym than actually doing paperwork: tall, broad-shouldered, with that messy dark hair he kept pushing back like he was in a damn cologne ad. “Nah, don’t bother with that cheap crap. I got somethin’ better.”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his tactical vest, because of course he wore the damn thing to dinner and pulled out a sleek black tube. It looked expensive, the kind of brand you’d see in those glossy makeup ads with models pouting in infinity pools. Gator twirled it between his fingers like a cigarette, his eyes never leaving your mouth.

“New lipliner,” he said, voice dropping just a notch, that pervert edge slipping in like smoke. “Saw you finishin’ the old one right here in front of God and everybody. Figured you might need a refill. This one’s the good shit—long-wear, won’t smear when you’re… y’know. Eatin’. Or whatever.”

The “whatever” hung there, heavy and suggestive. Your mom cleared her throat, but Roy just chuckled low, like his son’s weird little gifts were normal bonding. Gator’s knee pressed firmer against yours now, deliberate. You could feel the heat through his jeans.

“Thanks,” you said flatly, reaching for it.

He pulled it back just out of reach, grinning wider. “Hold up. Lemme see if it matches first. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, Gator scooted his chair closer, the legs scraping loud against the linoleum. His free hand cupped your chin, fingers rough from years of gripping steering wheels and guns, but surprisingly gentle as he tilted your face toward the light. The table went quiet again. Roy muttered something about “kids these days,” but didn’t stop him. Gator’s thumb brushed just below your lower lip, wiping away a nonexistent smudge.

“Open up a little,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear the pervert lilt in it. His breath smelled like the mint vape he’d been hitting earlier mixed with the faint tang of the beer he’d snuck despite Roy’s rules. “Gotta make sure it don’t look like clown paint on you.”

Your heart hammered. This was classic Gator, pushing boundaries in front of everyone because he knew no one would call him on it. Not really. He was Roy’s boy, the deputy who could flash a badge and make problems disappear. You parted your lips slightly, more out of shock than obedience, and he uncapped the liner with his teeth, the plastic clicking softly.

He leaned in closer than necessary, his face inches from yours. Those eyes, dark and hungry locked on your mouth like it was the only thing in the room. The tip of the pencil touched your cupid’s bow first, cool and waxy, gliding with a precision that surprised you. Gator’s hand was steady, but his breathing wasn’t. You could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the faint flush creeping under his stubble.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he whispered, the word dripping with that fake-sweet tone he used when he wanted something. “Wouldn’t want to mess it up. Though… bet it’d look pretty smeared anyway.”

Your stomach twisted, half embarrassment, half something warmer and more dangerous. The rest of the family was pretending to eat, forks clinking awkwardly, but you felt their eyes. Gator didn’t care. He traced the liner along your upper lip with agonizing slowness, then the lower, his thumb still anchoring your chin. When he finished, he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip, “blending” it, pressing just hard enough to feel the give of soft skin.

“Perfect,” he said, voice husky. “Matches your pretty little mouth just right. Bet it tastes good too.”

“Gator,” your mom started, half-scolding, but Roy waved her off with a grunt.

“Boy’s just bein’ helpful. Ain’t that right, son?”

Gator finally leaned back, but not before his fingers lingered a second too long, brushing your jaw. He capped the liner and tossed it into your lap under the table, where it landed warm from his pocket. “Keep it. I got more where that came from. Figured you’d run out eventually, the way you’re always playin’ with your lips at the table.”

You clutched the tube, cheeks burning. Dinner resumed in strained silence, but Gator’s gaze stayed glued to you. Every time you licked your lips, testing the new color, the smooth glide, he smirked like he’d won some private game.

Later, after the plates were cleared and Roy had retreated to his study with a cigar, you escaped to the upstairs bathroom to wash up. The house was old, creaky, full of shadows and the faint smell of gun oil and leather. You stared at your reflection: the lipliner looked expensive on you, a deep berry shade that made your mouth look fuller, poutier. It suited you too well.

The door clicked open without a knock. Gator slipped in, locking it behind him with a soft snick. He filled the small space immediately, tall frame, broad chest in that tight black tee under the unbuttoned deputy shirt, jeans slung low on his hips.

“Couldn’t wait to see how it looked up close,” he said, leaning against the sink beside you. His voice had dropped the dinner-table casualness; now it was all raw, needy edge. “Fuck, it does look good. Real good.”

You tried to step back, but the wall was right there. “Gator, what the hell? Dinner was bad enough.”

He chuckled, low and rough, crowding you without quite touching. “Aw, c’mon. You know I was just lookin’ out for my little stepsis. That old liner was pathetic. This one…” His eyes dipped to your mouth again, dark and heavy-lidded. “This one won’t budge even if you’re on your knees suckin’ cock or somethin’.”

The words hit like a slap, crude and deliberate. Heat pooled low in your belly despite yourself. Gator had always been like this: pervy comments wrapped in “brotherly” concern, lingering stares when you changed clothes, “accidental” brushes in the hallway. He was insecure as hell underneath the swagger, desperate for any scrap of attention that wasn’t Roy’s disappointed glare. And right now, that desperation was aimed square at you.

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your voice lacked bite.

He grinned, stepping closer until his boots bracketed yours. One hand came up to trace the liner on your lip with his thumb again, pressing in until your mouth parted. “Make me. Or better yet… lemme see if it smears.”

Before you could protest, Gator dipped his head and kissed you, hard, hungry, nothing like a stepbrother should. His mouth was hot, insistent, the faint taste of mint and meatloaf mixing with the waxy berry of the liner. He groaned into it, one hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you in place while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging in possessively.

You gasped, and he took the opening, tongue sliding in to taste you properly. The kiss turned filthy fast, wet, open-mouthed, his teeth nipping at your lower lip like he’d been thinking about it all through dinner. When he pulled back, the liner was slightly smudged at the edges, but mostly intact.

“See?” he panted, forehead against yours. “Told you it’s good shit. Stays put even when I’m fuckin’ your mouth with my tongue.”

“Gator…” Your hands were on his chest, not pushing him away as much as you should’ve.

He smirked, that crooked charm cracking open to show the pervert underneath. “What? You gonna tell Dad I’m bein’ inappropriate with his new daughter? Go ahead. He’ll probably just tell me to ‘handle it like a man.’” His hand slid lower, cupping your ass through your jeans and squeezing. “Or maybe you like it. Bet you do. Always catchin’ you starin’ when I’m out in the yard liftin’ or comin’ back from a shift all sweaty.”

You swallowed, the new liner making your lips feel slick and sensitive. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole stepbrother.” He kissed you again, slower this time, grinding his hips forward so you could feel the growing hardness in his jeans pressing against your thigh. “Been watchin’ that mouth all night. The way you licked the fork, finished that liner like it was nothin’. Got me thinkin’ about other things you could finish with those pretty lips.”

His free hand wandered up under your shirt, calloused palm skimming your stomach, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. Gator wasn’t smooth, he was eager, a little clumsy in his desperation, like he needed this validation more than air. Roy never gave him enough, so he took it wherever he could. Right now, that was you.

“Gator, someone could hear,” you whispered, even as your body arched into his touch.

He laughed softly against your neck, nipping the skin there. “Let ’em. Whole damn family knows I’m a fuck-up anyway. Might as well be a pervert too.” His fingers found the button of your jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme show you what else this liner can handle. On your knees for me? Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”

The bathroom felt too small, too hot. You should’ve shoved him out, told him no, reminded him of the thousand reasons this was messed up. But Gator’s eyes were wide and hungry, that insecure boy peeking through the cocky deputy mask. He wanted you to want him. Needed it.

You sank down slowly, the tile cold through your knees. Gator’s breath hitched, hands fumbling with his belt like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Fuck yeah. Good girl. Knew you’d look perfect down there.”

He freed himself, thick and already leaking, and guided your head forward with a gentleness that contrasted the filth coming out of his mouth. “Open up. Let me see that new color wrapped around me. Bet it’ll look even better smeared all over my cock.”

You took him in, the taste of salt and skin mixing with the berry wax. Gator groaned loud enough that you worried about the walls, his hips jerking shallowly as he tried not to thrust too hard. “Shit… just like that. Your mouth’s so fuckin’ warm. Been jerkin’ off thinkin’ about this for weeks. Ever since I saw you puttin’ on lip gloss in the hallway mirror, all innocent-like.”

He talked the whole time. Pervy ramblings mixed with praise, his hand gentle in your hair even as his words turned nasty. “Swirl your tongue—yeah, fuck. You’re a natural. My perfect little stepsis slut. Roy’d kill me if he knew, but goddamn, it’s worth it.”

The liner held surprisingly well at first, but as he got closer, it started to smudge at the corners of your mouth, glossy and messy. Gator’s eyes were glued to it, pupils blown wide. “Look at that… perfect. Just how I imagined.”

He came with a choked groan, hips stuttering, spilling hot across your tongue and a little on your lips. You pulled back, breathing hard, the berry color now artfully wrecked: smeared at the edges, mixed with spit and him.

Gator hauled you up immediately, kissing you messy and grateful, tasting himself on you without a care. “Fuck, you’re amazin’. Knew that liner was a good pick.” His hand slipped back into your open jeans, fingers finding you wet and sliding through slick heat. “Now it’s your turn. Gotta return the favor, right? Can’t have my girl unsatisfied.”

You didn’t correct the “my girl.” Not yet.

He fingered you right there against the sink, two thick digits curling just right while his thumb rubbed your clit in messy circles. His mouth stayed on yours, or on your neck, whispering more filth: how pretty you looked with his cum on your lips, how he’d buy you a whole set of makeup just to ruin it all over again, how no one else got to see you like this.

You came hard, biting his shoulder to muffle the sound, body shaking against his solid frame. Gator held you through it, murmuring soft praises now that the edge was off. “That’s it, baby. So good for me. My secret little thing.”

After, he helped clean you up with a warm washcloth, surprisingly tender. The liner was a lost cause, smeared beyond repair but he just grinned and pulled out another tube from his pocket, same brand.

“See? Told you I got more. Keep this one in your room. I’ll check on it tomorrow night. Make sure you’re usin’ it right.”

You rolled your eyes, but took it. “You’re such a pervert, Gator.”

He winked, adjusting his uniform like nothing happened. “Only for you, stepsis. Only for you.”

As he slipped out the door, checking the hallway first, you stared at your reflection again. Lips still tingling, new liner clutched in your hand like a dirty secret. Downstairs, Roy’s voice boomed something about patrol schedules. The house felt heavier now, charged with whatever this was becoming.

Gator wasn’t done. You knew that much. He’d find excuses, another “gift” at breakfast, a late-night knock on your door after Roy passed out from whiskey, more pervy comments disguised as brotherly advice. And part of you, the part that craved the attention in this cold, fucked-up house just as badly as he did, was already wondering what color he’d pick next.

The days blurred after that. Gator made it his mission to “help” with your makeup routine. Mornings, he’d corner you in the kitchen while your mom was out and Roy was at the station, pressing you against the counter to “test” the new liner by kissing it off. Afternoons, when he came home from a shift, he’d drag you into his truck in the driveway, tinted windows hiding the way he’d pull you into his lap and grind against you until you were both breathless, his hands under your shirt, mouth on your neck leaving marks he’d cover with more “helpful” suggestions.

One night, after a particularly tense dinner where Roy had chewed Gator out for botching a simple traffic stop, Gator showed up in your room at 2 a.m., eyes wild and needy. “Dad’s asleep. C’mere. Need you.”

He was gentler that night, the insecurity raw after Roy’s words. Instead of the usual rush, he laid you out on your bed and took his time kissing down your body, murmuring how soft you were, how no one else made him feel like this. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, hips rolling steady. “Tight little pussy clenchin’ around me like you were made for this. My stepsis… shit, we’re so fucked up, but I don’t care. You’re mine.”

You came together, his hand over your mouth to keep quiet, bodies slick and tangled in the dark. Afterward, he didn’t leave right away. He stayed curled around you, tracing patterns on your skin with those rough fingers, the empty lipliner tube from dinner sitting on your nightstand like a trophy.

“You know I ain’t good at this shit,” he admitted quietly, the tough-guy mask slipping. “Roy says I’m a disappointment every damn day. But with you… feels like I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”

It was messed up. Deeply, undeniably. Step-siblings in a house ruled by a corrupt sheriff who’d probably lose his mind if he found out. But in the quiet moments, Gator wasn’t just the pervert deputy with the ego and the daddy issues. He was the guy who noticed when your old makeup ran out, who bought something nice because he paid attention. Who craved touch and validation so badly he’d risk everything for it.

And you? You kept using the liners. Kept letting him “test” them. Kept falling a little deeper into whatever this toxic, heated thing was.

Weeks turned into a secret routine. Gator would text you from the station crude photos of new makeup hauls he’d “confiscated” (stolen from some evidence locker, probably), followed by promises of what he’d do when he got home. At family barbecues, he’d sit beside you, hand on your thigh under the table, whispering how he couldn’t wait to smear that pretty color all over his dick again.

One evening, Roy was out of town for some law enforcement conference, leaving the house empty except for the two of you and your mom, who’d gone to bed early with a migraine. Gator wasted no time.

He found you in the living room, flipping through channels, and hauled you upstairs to his room without a word. It was messier than yours. Posters of bands he barely listened to, empty vape cartridges, his deputy gear slung over a chair. He pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grin.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he said, stripping off his shirt to reveal the lean muscle underneath. “You in that little sundress at dinner, lips all shiny with my gift. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

He didn’t bother with slow this time. Clothes came off in a frenzy, your dress hiked up, panties shoved aside, his jeans barely pushed down his thighs. He thrust into you hard, the bed creaking under you both, his mouth latching onto yours in a bruising kiss that destroyed the fresh layer of lipliner you’d put on just to tease him.

“Gator—ah—slow down,” you gasped, but your legs wrapped around his waist anyway.

“Can’t,” he panted, hips snapping relentlessly. “Too good. Too fuckin’ tight. Gonna fill you up, make you walk around tomorrow with me still leakin’ out. Bet you’d like that, huh? My dirty little secret.”

His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing over the pulse point as he fucked you deeper. The pervert in him loved the control, the risk. But underneath, there was that desperate edge: the way he buried his face in your neck afterward, whispering “Don’t leave me, okay? Everyone else does.”

You held him close, fingers in his hair, the smeared berry color staining his lips now too. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t love. Not the clean kind, anyway. It was need and rebellion and the twisted comfort of two broken people finding solace in the one place they shouldn’t. Gator kept buying more lipliners: different shades, different brands, leach one an excuse to watch your mouth, to ruin it, to claim it as his.

And every time, at dinner or in the truck or in the dead of night, he’d lean in with that crooked smile and say, “Open up, sweetheart. Let’s see how this one holds up.”

The Tillman house kept its secrets, just like it always had. But yours and Gator’s? They were written in smudged berry and desperate moans, in the quiet aftershocks where a pervert stepbrother became something dangerously close to yours.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

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[notreallythatlost]

[frootybb]

Hi, first req on here hehe:

Neighbour!Keys who offers to walk your dog whilst you're away at work, since he mostly works from home... And how it becomes a familiar routine with your dog constantly running upto Keys whenever y'all run into each other in the hallway, which eventually translates into Keys coming over to your house for dinner, to watch TV shows, etc... and both of you start liking each other, but Keys is too scared to cross the line coz he doesn't want to lose reader and reader getting tired of months of skirting around each other, decides to something about it, even involving her doggo in her plan

Basically something fluffy with just a smidge of tension, because u write both of those really well - have a nice day !

Keys to the Hallway

Neighbor!Walter “Keys” McKey x Reader

Summary: Keys lives next door, works from home, and somehow ends up walking your dog every day. What starts as a practical favour turns into texts, dinners, shared couches, and a quiet domesticity neither of you is naming. Keys is soft, awkward, and terrified of ruining the best human connection he has. You’re tired of the almosts. The dog, as always, has opinions.

Word count: 3.9K

Warnings: soft slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, dog as matchmaker, Keys is bad at feelings but good with dogs

A/N: anon thank you so much for this request, I love writing for Keys!

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You moved into the building on a Tuesday in early spring, the kind of grey afternoon that made the fluorescent lights in the hallway look colder than they were. Your apartment was 4B. His was 4A. You learned that the first time you struggled with the sticky lock while balancing a box of kitchen stuff and a leash, and the door next to yours opened just enough for a quiet, “Need a hand?”

Walter McKey “Keys”, he said, because everyone called him that, stood there in a faded black hoodie, glasses slightly crooked, dark hair a little too long and curling at the ends like he’d forgotten to cut it. He had the softest voice you’d ever heard from someone who looked like he spent most of his time under blue screen light. He took the box without waiting for an answer, set it inside your doorway, and then crouched immediately when Buddy lunged forward, tail a blur.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, and the dog, your slightly chaotic, eternally optimistic mutt tried to climb into his lap like they’d known each other for years.

That was the first time you saw Keys smile. Small. Almost private. Like the dog had told him a joke only the two of them understood.

You didn’t think much of it at the time. New neighbour. Nice guy. Probably worked from home, given the way he was still in socks at four in the afternoon and the faint sound of mechanical keyboards that sometimes leaked through the shared wall.

You were gone a lot. Long hours. Early mornings. The kind of job that left Buddy staring at the door for stretches that felt unfair. You’d come home to a sad, wiggling greeting and a note of guilt that sat heavy in your chest.

It was a Thursday three weeks later when Keys knocked.

You’d just gotten home, keys still in the lock, when his door opened and he leaned against the frame, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, one hand holding a half-empty energy drink like it was an apology.

“Hey,” he said. “I, uh… I’ve been hearing him sometimes. When you’re gone late. He does this little… howl? Not loud. Just… lonely.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but your face. “I work from home mostly. Coding. Game stuff. I’m around. If you ever want—I could walk him? Or hang out with him for a bit. No pressure. Just… he seems like a good dog. And I’m right here.”

You stared at him for a second too long. Buddy was already pressed against the crack of the door, nose working overtime, tail thumping the wall.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Keys said, and the soft smile was back, smaller this time. “But I don’t mind. Really. It’d be… nice. To have a reason to leave the desk.”

You handed him the spare key the next morning.

-

It started practical.

You texted him the schedule. He texted back a simple “Got it” and a photo an hour later of Buddy sitting obediently at the crosswalk, leash held loosely in Keys’ hand, both of them looking mildly surprised by the camera.

Keys: He tried to eat a cigarette butt. I redirected. We’re learning.

You: You’re a hero.

Keys: He’s very persuasive. I’m weak.

The photos became a habit.

Buddy in the park, tongue out, Keys’ sneakers visible at the edge of the frame.

Buddy mid-zoom across the grass.

Buddy sitting on Keys’ feet while Keys sat on a bench, laptop open but clearly ignored.

One afternoon: Buddy curled against Keys’ side on a bench, both of them dozing in the weak spring sun. Keys had sent it with no caption. You stared at it for a long time before replying with a simple heart.

The dog learned his schedule faster than you did.

By the end of the first month, Buddy would lift his head the second he heard Keys’ door open across the hall. By the second month, he was at your door the moment Keys’ footsteps hit the hallway, nails clicking, whole body vibrating with the pure, uncomplicated joy of him.

You came home early one day and watched it happen through the peephole like a creep.

Keys stepped out of 4A in his usual hoodie, headphones around his neck, phone in one hand. Buddy heard the soft click of the lock and launched himself at your door with a single, desperate woof. Keys froze for half a second, then smiled, the real one, the one that made the corners of his eyes crease, and crossed the hall.

“I know, I know,” he murmured as he unlocked your door. “I’m late. Traffic was terrible. There were… stairs.”

Buddy exploded out of the apartment like he’d been shot from a cannon, all four paws off the ground for a second, and Keys laughed under his breath as he caught the leash and let the dog climb him.

You closed the peephole and leaned your forehead against the wood, smiling so hard your face hurt.

-

The first time he stayed for dinner it was raining.

Hard, the kind of spring storm that turned the streets into rivers and made the hallway smell like wet concrete. Keys brought Buddy back soaked and apologetic, both of them dripping on your doormat.

“I tried the towel,” Keys said, holding up a soggy microfiber like evidence. “He shook. Twice. I’m… partially responsible for the state of your entryway.”

You handed him a dry towel and told him to stay. He hesitated in that particular Keys way: shoulders a little too high, eyes flicking to the door like he was calculating the social math of overstaying.

“I’ve got leftover takeout,” you said. “And the dog clearly isn’t done with you.”

Buddy had already claimed Keys’ left shoe and was attempting to drag it toward the couch.

Keys stayed.

You ate on the couch because the table felt too formal. Buddy sprawled across both your feet like a furry bridge. Keys talked about the game he was debugging, something about pathfinding AI that kept getting stuck on invisible walls and you watched the way his hands moved when he got excited, long fingers sketching invisible code in the air. He kept glancing at you like he was checking whether he was allowed to keep talking.

You told him about the ridiculous email chain from work. He laughed with his whole body, quiet but real, and when Buddy shifted and shoved his head into Keys’ lap, Keys’ hand settled into the fur like it had always belonged there.

At some point the conversation slowed. The rain kept going. The only light came from the kitchen and the soft glow of the muted television you’d turned on for background noise.

Keys’ knee was touching yours.

Neither of you moved.

When he finally stood to leave, Buddy made a sound of pure betrayal. Keys crouched, pressed his face briefly into the dog’s neck, and murmured something too quiet for you to catch. Then he looked up at you from the floor, glasses a little fogged, hair damp from the earlier rain, and said, “Same time tomorrow?”

You nodded.

He lingered in the doorway for three full seconds longer than necessary.

It became a rhythm neither of you named.

Keys walked Buddy every day you were gone. Some days you came home to find them already back, Keys sitting on your couch with his laptop open and Buddy draped over his legs like a living weighted blanket. He’d look up, startled, and say, “I was just—finishing this function. He refused to let me leave.”

You started leaving dinner in the fridge with a note.

Eat something that isn’t caffeine.

He started bringing over takeout on the nights you both got home late.

Thai. Then pizza. Then the good ramen place three blocks over that required a twenty-minute wait he claimed was “for the dog’s enrichment.”

You watched shows together. Keys had strong opinions about world-building and weaker opinions about his own comfort; he always sat a careful half-cushion away until Buddy inevitably climbed between you and forced the issue. Then Keys’ shoulder would brush yours, warm even through the hoodie, and he’d go very still, like any sudden movement might break whatever temporary truce the dog had negotiated.

He fixed your Wi-Fi when it started dropping every evening at seven.

He replaced the battery in the smoke detector that had been chirping for three days while you pretended it wasn’t happening.

He taught Buddy a new trick: spin, and then looked so quietly proud when the dog performed it for you that you had to leave the room for a glass of water before you did something stupid like kiss him in the middle of your kitchen.

The touches accumulated like dust in sunlight. Hard to notice until the room was full of them.

His fingers brushing yours when he handed over the leash.

The way he’d reach past you for a mug and pause, breath held, when your backs almost touched.

The afternoon he helped you hang a shelf and his chest pressed briefly against your shoulder as he steadied the level. He stepped back so fast he nearly dropped the drill.

“Sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I—sorry.”

You wanted to say don’t be. You said, “It’s fine,” instead, and watched him retreat into his hoodie like it could protect him from whatever was happening in the quiet spaces between you.

-

Spring turned into early summer.

The days got longer. The hallway got warmer. Buddy’s enthusiasm for Keys reached critical levels.

You came home one evening to find the door to 4A open and your dog sprawled across Keys’ gaming chair like he paid rent. Keys was cross-legged on the floor with two laptops open, headphones on, completely absorbed until Buddy let out a happy boof at the sight of you.

Keys pulled the headphones down, cheeks pink. “He, uh. Let himself in. I think. Or I left the door unlocked. We’re still investigating.”

You leaned against the doorframe. “He has a key now?”

“Emotionally,” Keys said, and then looked horrified at his own honesty. “I mean—he’s persuasive. I told you I’m weak.”

You stayed for dinner that night in his apartment instead. His place was exactly what you expected: neat in the way of someone who lived mostly in his head, monitors everywhere, a half-built mechanical keyboard on the coffee table, a single plant that was somehow still alive. Buddy made himself at home immediately, claiming the exact center of the couch.

Keys cooked actual food, stir-fry, simple but good, and kept glancing at you like he couldn’t believe you were real in his space. When you reached for the same spatula at the same time, your fingers tangled. He didn’t pull away immediately. His thumb brushed the side of your hand, once, deliberate enough that it couldn’t be an accident, soft enough that it still might have been.

Then he cleared his throat, stepped back, and started talking about frame rates like the universe depended on it.

You let him.

You were learning the shape of his fear. It lived in the spaces where things got too easy, too warm, too much like something that could be lost. He had the dog. He had the routine. He had the quiet companionship of someone who didn’t need him to be louder or cooler or less himself. Crossing the line risked all of it.

So he kept the line carefully drawn, even as everything else blurred.

The almosts got heavier.

One night in late June you fell asleep on his couch during a movie neither of you were watching. You woke to the feeling of fingers in your hair, gentle, absent, like he’d forgotten he was doing it, and the solid warmth of Keys’ thigh under your cheek. Buddy was a dead weight across both your legs.

Keys was staring at the paused screen with the expression of someone trying very hard not to breathe too loud.

You stayed still for a long time, cataloguing the moment. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The way his other hand rested on Buddy’s back. The faint scent of his laundry detergent and the coffee he’d made earlier.

When you finally shifted, his hand froze, then retreated like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “You—you looked uncomfortable. I was just…”

“It’s okay,” you said, and meant please don’t stop.

He walked you and Buddy back across the hall at midnight. Stood in your doorway with his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, voice careful.

You nodded.

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Buddy sat between you, looking from one face to the other like he was waiting for the adults to figure it out already.

Keys exhaled, soft and defeated, and took a step back. “Night.”

You closed the door and leaned against it, heart doing something complicated and hopeful and frustrated all at once.

By July the tension had a texture. You could feel it in the air whenever you were in the same room. Lingering looks that lasted a second too long. Conversations that drifted into comfortable silence and then into something charged. The way Keys would start to say something, something real, and then swallow it, redirecting to safer ground: the dog’s latest crime, a bug in his code, the new coffee place that had opened down the block.

You were tired of safer ground.

You were tired of the careful almosts and the way he looked at you sometimes like you were the only real thing in a world made of pixels and late-night commits.

So you made a plan.

It was, by design, a little chaotic. Gentle. Dog-assisted.

You waited until a Friday when you both had the evening free. You texted him mid-afternoon.

You: Buddy’s being weird. Keep looking at your door and making this sad little sound. Think he needs a longer walk? Or company? I don’t know. You’re the expert.

Keys: On my way.

He arrived in under four minutes, which would have been impressive if you weren’t already braced for it. Buddy performed his usual ecstatic greeting, then on cue, because you’d been practicing this with high-value treats for three days, bolted past Keys into the hallway and sat pointedly in front of 4A, staring at the door like it had personally offended him.

Keys laughed, soft and helpless. “Okay, message received.”

You followed them into his apartment. Buddy immediately claimed the couch. Keys dropped his keys on the counter and turned to you, already reaching for the leash.

“Longer route today?” he asked. “We can do the park and then the long way by the river. He likes the ducks, even though he’s not allowed to—”

“Keys.”

He stopped.

You closed the door behind you. Not locked. Just closed. The soft click felt louder than it should have.

Buddy, the traitor and the genius, hopped down from the couch, walked over to Keys, and sat on his feet. Then he looked at you with the smug expression of a dog who knew exactly what he was doing.

Keys looked down at the dog, then up at you, and something cautious flickered across his face.

“What’s going on?”

You took a breath. Your hands were steady. Your heart was not.

“I’ve been trying to wait,” you said. “For you to be ready. Or for it to stop feeling like this. But it’s been months, and you keep looking at me like that, and then pulling back, and I—” You gestured helplessly at the space between you, at the dog, at the entire ridiculous soft domestic life you’d accidentally built. “I’m done waiting. So I’m just going to say it.”

Keys had gone very still. The only movement was his hand, which had settled automatically on Buddy’s head.

“I like you,” you said. Simple. Clear. No room for the kind of gentle misdirection he was so good at. “I like coming home to you already here. I like the texts. I like the way you talk about code like it’s poetry. I like that Buddy chose you immediately and never looked back. I like you. And I think you like me too, but you’re scared it’s going to ruin this.”

Silence.

Keys opened his mouth. Closed it. His ears were pink. His eyes, behind the glasses, were wide and carefully guarded.

“I am,” he admitted, voice low. “Scared. This is… the best thing I have outside of work. You. Him.” He glanced down at Buddy, who was leaning against his legs with the serene confidence of a creature who had never once doubted the outcome of this conversation. “If I mess it up—if I want too much and you don’t—then I lose the easy thing. The daily thing. And I’m not… I’m not good at risk. Not with people. Code breaks and you fix it. People are harder.”

“I’m not asking you to gamble everything,” you said. You took one step closer. Buddy shifted to make room, the absolute wingman. “I’m asking you to stop pretending we’re still just neighbours who share a dog. We’re not. We haven’t been for a long time.”

Keys’ breath hitched.

You reached out, slow enough that he could step back if he needed to, and took his free hand. His fingers were warm. A little calloused from years of keyboards and controllers. They curled around yours almost immediately, like his body had decided before his brain could catch up.

“I already feel like I live with you half the time,” you said, quieter now. “I already look for you when I get home. I already miss you on the days our schedules miss each other. The only thing left is the part where we stop being careful.”

Keys stared at your joined hands. Then at Buddy. Then at you.

The smile that spread across his face was slow and disbelieving and so soft it made your chest ache.

“You’re really doing this,” he said. “With the dog as backup.”

“He was very invested in the plan.”

“I can see that.” Keys huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, twice. “I’ve wanted to… for months. Every time I almost said something I talked myself out of it. Told myself the friendship was enough. That having this—” he gestured vaguely at the apartment, the dog, the two of you standing too close in his living room—“was already more than I usually get. I didn’t want to be greedy.”

“You’re allowed to be greedy,” you said. “With me, at least.”

He made a small, wounded sound and stepped into your space. Buddy, sensing the shift, finally moved out of the way and flopped onto the rug with a dramatic sigh, as if the emotional labour of the evening had exhausted him.

Keys’ free hand came up to your face, hesitant, then surer when you leaned into it. His palm was warm against your cheek. His eyes searched yours like he was still looking for the exit ramp and slowly realizing he didn’t want one.

“I’m going to be bad at this,” he warned, soft. “I’ve never… I don’t know how to do the soft stuff out loud. I just know how to show up. And stay. And fix the Wi-Fi. And walk the dog. And think about you when I should be debugging.”

“That’s enough,” you said. “That’s more than enough.”

He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for every single one of those months.

Careful at first, testing, asking, then deeper when you made a small sound against his mouth and fisted your hand in the front of his hoodie. He tasted like the coffee he’d been drinking earlier and something sweeter underneath. His glasses bumped your cheekbone; he laughed under his breath without pulling away, then reached up to take them off one-handed and set them somewhere behind you without looking.

When you finally broke apart, both of you a little breathless, Keys rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

Buddy chose that moment to shove his nose between you, insistent, and Keys laughed, real, unguarded, the best sound you’d heard in months, and dropped to his knees to give the dog the attention he was so clearly owed.

“Yes, okay, you were right,” he told Buddy, voice fond and a little wrecked. “You’re very smart. We’re very slow. Thank you for your service.”

You sank down beside them on the floor. Keys’ shoulder pressed against yours, solid and warm. His hand found yours again without looking, fingers slotting together like they’d been practicing in secret.

Outside, the summer evening was still bright. Inside, the apartment felt quieter somehow. Softer. Like something that had been holding its breath for a long time had finally exhaled.

Keys turned his head and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your mouth, like he was still making sure he was allowed.

“Stay,” he said. Not a question. “For dinner. And after. I’ve got that show you like queued up. And… I don’t want you to go back across the hall yet.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Okay.”

Buddy climbed into both your laps at once, a warm, heavy bridge, and sighed the deep, contented sigh of a dog whose work here was done.

Keys looked at you over the top of the dog’s head, glasses still abandoned somewhere on the counter, hair a mess from your hands, soft smile pulling at his mouth like he couldn’t quite believe the shape of the evening.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, and this time the words carried everything he’d been too scared to say before.

You leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sure, while Buddy grumbled happily between you.

“Every day,” you said against his mouth. “For as long as you’ll have us.”

Keys’ answering smile was the brightest thing in the room.

-

The routine didn’t change so much as it deepened.

Keys still walked Buddy every day you were gone. He still sent photos now with occasional captions that made your ears burn in the best way (Missing you. He’s not as good at conversation.). He still fixed things in your apartment and stayed for dinner and fell asleep on your couch with his laptop open and the dog using him as furniture.

But now when you came home he met you at the door with a kiss that tasted like whatever he’d been drinking and the quiet certainty of someone who had finally stopped running the risk assessment on his own heart. Now when Buddy forced you together on the couch, Keys didn’t go still with panic; he simply settled closer, arm along the back of the cushions, fingers playing absently with the ends of your hair while the show played on mute.

Now when the hallway was quiet and the world outside felt far away, he would look at you like you were the best line of code he’d ever written, something that compiled clean on the first try, against all odds, and say, soft and a little awed, “I’m really glad you moved in next door.”

And you, with Buddy snoring between you and Keys’ heartbeat steady under your ear, would answer the only way that made sense anymore.

“Me too.”

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @harringtondarling

[notreallythatlost]

[whispersoflost]

the rings of power season three trailer dropped. i am utterly and completely ruined.

[frootybb]

Hi queen you’re genuinely one of my fav writers ever. I was wondering if you could do a bsf!steve x reader where reader is a lot different from other people because she has audhd (autism + adhd) and she has her quirks and interests but struggles connecting with people and Steve is there to help her through it and he never questions who she is or why she is the way she is :) I’ve been struggling with friendships kind of my whole life so I’d love to see how this would go

Echoes and Earplugs

bsf!Steve Harrington x audhd!Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been good at showing up. When the world gets too loud and your AuDHD brain won’t slow down, he’s the one who brings earplugs, fidget toys, and zero judgment.

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: none really, pure hurt/comfort and fluff, brief mentions of sensory overload, social exhaustion, and past friendship struggles, very gentle and supportive Steve, mention of autism and adhd

A/N: Hope this hits the spot, anon. You’re not too much. Your brain is just wired beautifully, and the right people will celebrate that. Sending you so much love and solidarity with the friendship struggles, you’ve got this xx Thanks to @tellcherhesgone for proofreading this one, as always you’re the best ily

———————————· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·———————————-

———————————· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·———————————-

You were halfway through explaining the intricate lore of your latest hyperfixation: the migratory patterns of a specific moth species that only appeared in one obscure documentary from 1978, when you caught yourself. Your hands were flapping at your sides again, that happy little stim you usually tried to curb around other people. But Steve wasn’t other people.

He was leaning against the counter in his kitchen, hair still messy from the pool earlier, sipping a Coke like he had all the time in the world. No sigh. No glazed look. No “can we talk about something normal?”

“Keep going,” he said, nudging the bowl of pretzels closer to you. He knew you liked the crunch when your brain got loud. “The part about the antenna thing. That’s wild.”

You blinked, the words tumbling out faster now that the permission was there. No filtering. No shrinking yourself down to fit the version of you that made friendships easier. Steve just listened, nodding at the right parts, asking actual questions that proved he was following. Sometimes he repeated things back in his own words just to make sure he got it right, and something warm and safe settled in your chest every single time.

It hadn’t always been like this.

You’d spent most of your life watching people slowly drift away. The “too much” comments. The missed social cues. The way your special interests made you “weird.” The shutdowns after parties where everything: lights, noise, eye contact, felt like sandpaper on your soul. Making and keeping friends was exhausting. You’d gotten really good at being alone.

Then Steve Harrington happened.

It was a bad night. Robin’s group hangout at the quarry had spiraled into something louder than you could handle. You’d slipped away with your headphones on, sitting on a flat rock, rocking gently as the world pressed in too hard. The music helped, but not enough.

Footsteps. You didn’t look up.

A soft rustle, and then something small and squishy landed in your lap, one of those good memory foam earplugs.

“No big deal,” Steve had shrugged when you finally pulled one headphone off and stared at him. “My head gets loud too sometimes. After everything with the… y’know.” He gestured vaguely, the Upside Down still a shadow they didn’t talk about much anymore. “Figured you might want backup.”

He didn’t ask why you were out there alone. He didn’t try to fix you or tell you to “just push through it.” He just sat a respectful distance away, skipping stones across the water in a steady rhythm that matched your rocking.

That night turned into late-night drives. Then shared tapes. Then him showing up at your door with snacks when he knew your executive dysfunction had won the battle against doing dishes or eating real food. Steve learned your patterns without you having to explain everything in painful detail. He started carrying earplugs in his jacket. He kept a specific blanket in his car because weighted pressure helped when you were overstimulated. He never made it feel like charity, it was just what best friends did.

-

Tonight was one of the harder nights. Robin had invited a bunch of people over for what was supposed to be a low-key movie night. It turned into a very not-low-key gathering. Too many voices overlapping. Too much laughter bouncing off the walls. The string lights Robin had insisted on felt like spotlights. Your social script had run out after twenty minutes, and you’d retreated to the kitchen, heart racing, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt until the fabric threatened to tear.

Steve found you within five minutes. He always did.

“Hey,” he said softly, closing the door behind him so the noise dulled to a manageable hum. “You good?”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the floor. Words were hard right now, that familiar shutdown creeping in. He didn’t push. Just grabbed your favorite mug (the one with the tiny stars he’d bought you after you mentioned it reminded you of a constellation you’d hyperfixated on last summer), filled it with cold water, and set it near you. Then he pulled out the little balancing bird toys fidget he kept in the junk drawer specifically for you. The rhythmic clicking helped your nervous system settle almost immediately.

You took it gratefully, shoulders dropping a fraction.

“I hate that I’m like this,” you muttered eventually, voice small. “Everyone else can just… handle it. Make friends. Be normal. I feel like I’m always one wrong comment away from scaring people off. Like I’m broken wiring or something.”

Steve leaned on the counter again, close but not crowding, he’d learned exactly how much proximity felt safe. “You’re not ‘like this.’ You’re you. And I like you. A lot. More than a lot, honestly.”

Your hands stilled on the fidget for a second. That was new. The “more than a lot” part.

He noticed your pause and rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “I don’t have to understand every part of how your brain works to know you’re awesome. The way you light up when you talk about moths or that one band with the weird album art? Or how you’ll reorganize my tapes better than I ever could because the colors bother you otherwise? That’s not weird. That’s you. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ve seen the Upside Down, okay? Your brain is way less scary than that.”

A tiny laugh escaped you despite everything. Steve’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

“Besides,” he added, voice lighter now, “who else is gonna explain why that one song slaps so hard at 3 a.m. when my brain won’t shut up? Or remind me to eat actual food instead of just leftover pizza? Or help me pick out new sunglasses because the old ones give you a headache when we drive? We’re a team.”

You huffed another laugh, the tension cracking further. “You’re such a sap, Harrington.”

“Only for my favorite person.” He bumped your shoulder gently, careful not to startle you. “Wanna bail? We can go sit in my car, windows down, listen to that tape you made me last week. Or if you’re up for it, we can drive out and look for those moths. I’ll hold the flashlight. No pressure either way.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you like cool water. No guilt trip. No “but everyone’s having fun.” Just Steve, ready to accommodate without making it a production. He grabbed a couple of your favorite snacks from the pantry (he’d started stocking them after the third time you’d mentioned them) and followed you out the back door.

As you slipped outside together, his pinky brushed yours , never full hand-holding unless you initiated. He’d learned that boundary early on too. The night air felt softer already.

The car ride was quiet at first, just the tape playing low. Steve kept one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly on his thigh in a rhythm he knew you found soothing. Eventually you started talking again, about the moths, about how the documentary had sparked this weeks-long research spiral, about the frustration of not being able to share it with most people without them tuning out.

He listened the whole time, pulling over at one point so he could face you properly when you got really animated.

“You know,” he said when you finally paused for breath, “I used to think I had to be this perfect King Steve version of myself to be worth anything. Popular. Good at sports. All that crap. You showed me it’s okay to just… be. Messy brain and all. So yeah. I’m here for every hyperfixation, every shutdown, every time you need to info-dump at two in the morning. All of it.”

Your chest felt tight again, but in the best way. You reached over and linked your pinky with his this time. He smiled, that soft, real Steve smile that made your stomach do flips you were still trying to understand.

“Can we… maybe try holding hands for a little bit?” you asked quietly. “If that’s okay.”

His fingers slid between yours immediately, warm and steady. “More than okay.”

You stayed like that for a while, parked under the stars, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his own rough days, the nightmares that still lingered, the way he sometimes felt like he was failing everyone. You listened just as patiently as he did for you, offering the same acceptance he gave so freely.

By the time you got back to your place (the party long over), the knot in your chest had fully loosened. Friendship, real, deep friendship, had always felt impossible. But with Steve, it felt like finally being handed the right instruction manual for your own brain. One that said you didn’t have to change the wiring. You just needed someone willing to learn the language.

And Steve Harrington was fluent.

He walked you to the door, still holding your hand. “Same time tomorrow? We can reorganize the rest of my tapes. Or do nothing. Whatever your brain needs.”

You smiled up at him, feeling seen in a way you’d never been before. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As he drove off, you realized something: maybe “favorite person” was starting to mean something even bigger than best friend. And for once, that didn’t scare you. It felt right.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @harringtondarling

[bells-bookshelf]

the kind i’d like to meet

are you lonely just like me? | chapter one

summary: your first full shift at the goldfinch somehow turns into a meet cute and pseudo first date with the handsome stranger who’s drinking alone

cw: age gap (reader is 25, Steve is 30) all future chapters will be MDNI

a/n: it’s tiiiiiimeeee!!!! welcome to chapter one of my summer sleepover fic for @moonstoneandmoonlight and @graywrenhart’s event!! this series is inspired by Pretty Woman and will have several callbacks to the movie but the storyline is unique to itself! we will dive into a lotttt in the coming chapters but I hope you all enjoy their first meeting and learning more about the reader. this series takes place in the canon stranger things universe, after season five (in the 90s)

taglist: @snoopyharrington (comment or message me to be added!)

-

Clinks of glasses getting re-racked and the occasional rush of a water tap spraying fill the locker room as you change into your uniform for your first shift at The Goldfinch. Black leggings, block heeled booties, a low-cut halter top with a gold pin on your chest that had your name in the center of a bird, and your server’s apron that you had to fold several times over to make it appear like a mini skirt across your thighs. You sigh as you fix your makeup in the mirror, tucking your note pad and several colors of gel pens into your pockets before shutting the locker door and walking out to the bar where your best friend, Becca, was waiting for you.

She smiles when she sees you and lets out a whistle. “Look at you, babe!” You roll your eyes back at her playfully. “Yeah, yeah far removed from a school-approved outfit,” you say.

She pats your shoulder. “You look great, hon. Okay! You had your training session two days ago right? Do you have any questions?”

You lace your hands together in front of you surveying the bar. The Goldfinch is one of Chicago’s prime evening entertainment locations, quickly gaining popularity for its ability to strike a balance between the smooth luxury of a cigar club and the breeziness of a patio bar. Bottle service without the tacky sparklers or signage; just an employee there to chat with, keep the drinks flowing, and celebrate events with class. People came by for all sorts of things: birthday parties, work promotions, bachelorettes, and just casual time-pass.

You drew in a breath. “So, I’m a bottle girl… but not a bottle girl? I guess I just don’t know how this whole thing works.”

Becca chuckles at that as she grabs a rack of whiskey glasses and starts polishing them one at a time. “Think of it like, a full-time room reader and sales lady. Your whole goal is to get people to order just one more round of drinks or food that they normally wouldn’t have. If you see a birthday party, send over a glass of champagne for the birthday girl only. The rest of the guests will order a bottle. If you have a couple, send over a free dessert and they’ll order an extra drink. If someone’s drinking on their own, go see if they want someone to chat with. Flirt a little, get ‘em interested, and they might turn one drink after work into dinner.”

You nodded slowly. “But I’m not supposed to go home with anyone,” you say it as a statement. Becca’s eyes widen as she finishes the last whiskey glass and sets it down.

“Absolutely not, that’s actually like, the one no-no of working here. If a guy asks you to leave with him, you have to make it abundantly clear that you’re going out with him as yourself, after your shift is over, and you can’t accept any tips from him for the night. And absolutely no being seen outside of here with a man in your uniform. Boss is super particular; he doesn’t want people thinking this is a… like, sex house, or whatever.”

You nodded again, slowly. “Okay. I think i got it. And Becs?” She cocks her head, green eyes sparkling. “Thanks for getting me this job. Seriously.”

She smiles, pulling you in for a hug. “You’re gonna do great, hon.”

-

The first hour and a half of your shift go by fairly smoothly. You convince a bachelorette party to splurge on a bottle of dom instead of the house champagne, gushing over the bride-to-be’s ring and complimenting her friends’ outfits. You get a group of middle aged men to order black label after fawning over their company “going public,” whatever that means.

You settle into a rhythm, collecting tips and feeling slightly less out of your depth. You get a small break in between patrons and sit at the bar where Becca makes you a Moscow Mule. You sigh in relief when you take a sip, sharp and tangy notes of ginger and lime hitting your tongue. “Got another for ya,” Becca says, nodding towards one of the high tops in the corner, overlooking the busy city streets below. You follow her gaze to find a man, maybe a few years older than you, sitting by himself in a brown suit. He’s nursing a miller lite, surveying the city. You can tell he’s around the same age as you, maybe a little older as you slowly make your way towards him, taking in his perfectly imperfect brown hair, the small sun spots dotting the exposed skin on his neck.

“Hi,” you say, softly. He turns and looks at you, eyebrows raised slightly and a smile already crossing his features.

“Hello,” he says, expectant.

You sigh, gesturing towards his drink. “I just, uh, noticed you’re drinking maybe the safest option on our menu, and wanted to see if you’d be interested in trying a Chicago handshake? On the house.”

He breaks out into a full grin, eyes still reserved. His shoulders shrug up a little in surrender. “I’d say yes but I wouldn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

“Oh! Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were local. It’s a shot of Malort and a tall can of Old Style. I’d do the shot with you, nobody should try malort for the first time on their own,” you giggle, which draws a small laugh out of him, too. He lifts his hand slightly.

“You know what, sure, when in Rome, right?”

You throw a wink his way as you write “Chi shake - OTH” in pink glitter on your notepad and turn away to the bar to get him his order.

You walk back with it a few moments later and set the shot glasses and beer in front of him, asking if it’s okay for you to take the empty chair across from him, which he offers up in a heartbeat.

You sit and cheers him, taking the shot and feeling the familiar allspice burn down your throat. You chase it with a sip of your mule, which you’re all too grateful to Becca for at the moment.

You watch as Steve tries his best to cover up how unpleasant he finds the liquor, his large gulps of old style giving him away and making you let out a quiet laugh. “I-I thought you were supposed to get me to order more stuff from the menu,” he says between small coughs and laughter.

You raise your hand in mock surrender. “You got me there. It’s my first night, actually.”

“Ah,” he says. “Well I’m probably a good first customer. I’m here for a work conference—advertising stuff. I live in Indianapolis.”

You lean in a little. “Really? Do they have you on the greatest hits tour this weekend? the bean, the riverwalk, all of that?”

Steve chuckles. “You’ve lived here a while haven’t you?”

You nod. “Since college. Moving here uh… moving here kinda saved my life.” You’re not sure why you’re offering up such a deep part of you to this stranger a few minutes after meeting him. You decide to chalk it up to the alcohol and maybe the way his eyes feel scarily like home. You shake your head microscopically. Definitely the alcohol. For a horrible moment you felt like you’ve said too much.

But instead of recoiling at the vulnerability, Steve just smiles again, corners of his eyes crinkling. “You sound like all my friends. We’re all from a little town in Indiana. They all moved to the east coast after, uh, after high school. I-I don’t know, I guess I just found it harder to leave. Indy’s as far as my head let me go, I guess.” He sips his beer.

You reach over and place a gentle hand on his forearm. The sun is almost fully set outside of the window, golden hues of streetlights mingling with the red of car brakes. He looks down at the touch, and leans into it ever so slightly. “I get that,” your voice is quiet. “Honestly… as much as I’ve loved living here, there’s not much keeping me anymore. My uh… ex dumped me like two months ago, and then I lost my job almost immediately after. So, I’m uh, staying with Becs,” you nod towards her at the bar, “until I can get back on my feet.”

Steve nods, “Yeah, I’ve got what you’d call an extremely sorrowful dating history, too.”

You smirk at him. “What; no wife or girlfriend waiting for you in Indy?” You’re not really sure where the boldness is coming from, but Steve’s arm is warm under your arm and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world, and nobody’s looked at you like that in a long time.

He mirrors your expression. “No, just a lofty apartment that’s too quiet at night. I don’t know, I’ve tried so hard to find the one, you know? But none of it’s worked out. When I was 20 I thought I’d be married and on kid number four by now,” he shrugs, finishing off his beer.

You tighten your grip on his arm a bit at that, nodding sympathetically. “I hear you. I thought I would be getting married this year, too,” your voice drops to a whisper and you have to look away from his intense gaze so you don’t cry.

Steve shifts under you and you go to move your hand off of his arm but he covers it with his much larger one before you can; palm warm against your skin. “Can I ask you a kind of crazy question?”

You tilt your head towards him.

“Do you.. would you wanna get out of here? Go for a drive? You can show me the best sights Chicago has to see by nighttime,” the look on Steve’s face is one of pure hope.

You nod. “Yeah, but… there’s some conditions first.”

Steve agrees to wait until the end of your shift, nursing a beer for the remaining two hours until you finally emerge from behind the bar, dressed in your normal clothes; a pair of denim shorts and a tank top, backpack thrown over a shoulder. He holds his arm out for you to take, tipping his head a bit dramatically as you giggle and loop your hand through the crook of his elbow. You catch Becs’ eye as you’re leaving and expect some type of judgement from her, but she just smirks and winks and mouths be safe like this was her plan all along.

Steve leads you to his car, a maroon BMW in impeccable shape for its year make. He ducks his head when you compliment it and opens the door for you before rounding the hood to the drivers’ side. “So, any specific requests for what you wanna see?” You ask, looking over at him in the dark interior. You feel shy; the intimacy of the car and how it smells like Steve hitting you all at once.

“Where can I get a good view of the skyline?” He asks. You smile. “I know just the place.”

-

On the drive, Steve tells you about his closest friends from high school. “Wait, let me get this straight,” you say, eyes bright and a playful smile on your face. “Your closest friends are your ex-girlfriend, the girl you had a crush on after her that turned out to not swing your way, and the guy who beat you up in an alley, who’s dating your ex girlfriend?”

“I wouldn’t say he beat me up, exactly,” Steve argues.

You laugh, high pitched. “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

Steve raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, you got me. It got… complicated for a bit there but, we’ve just ah- been through a lot together.” His voice softens on that last sentence and your heart swells for him.

You nod. “I get it, Becca’s my best friend but I’d be lying if I said we didn’t have our moments, too.”

He throws you a look of appreciation, for getting it, before focusing back on the road.

“Okay, turn right over here, and then park anywhere in this lot,” you say. Steve follows your directions, expertly parallel parking which you compliment. He blushes again, it reaches the tips of his ears and makes heat bloom low in your belly at the effect you have on him.

You lead him a ways away from the entrance and down the concrete steps, by the lake. You gesture out to the entire Chicago skyline that’s glimmering back at the two of you. “Ta daaa,” you hum a little, which makes him chuckle and put an arm around you, squeezing gently. You still for a brief moment and he pulls away, shoving his hands into his pockets as the two of you walk a little closer to the concrete edge. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“No!” You interrupted, grimacing at your voice being louder than you wanted. “I mean, I didn’t take it as inappropriate or anything just um, I guess I’m a little out of practice, being down on my luck and all,” you shrugged, trying to play it off. Steve didn’t laugh with you or make a joke. He just looked at you with soft eyes that you could make out in the dim light of the trail, leaned closer and wrapped his arm back around you, allowing you to sink into his touch as you both looked out to the skyline.

“Hmm, which one’s your favorite?” He asked. You could feel the vibration of his voice through your body.

“My favorite building?”

“Mhm”

“Oh, it’s the one from adventures in babysitting,” you chuckled, pointing to it. “The diamond shaped one. It just draws my eye every time I look at the skyline.”

Steve hums next to you. “I love that movie,” he murmurs.

You turn slightly towards him in his hold. “Yeah?”

He nods, looking at the skyline for a moment before looking back at you. “So, if you had to say, completely objectively. Would this be a good spot to kiss a girl you met over drinks at some swanky bar a few hours ago?” His voice is lilting with the premise of a joke; something he can use as a cop out if he needs to, but his eyes give him away.

Normally, you’d say something snappy and end this right then and there, taking a taxi back to Becca’s and tucking in for the night with a pint of cookies and cream. Normally, you wouldn’t have stayed at Steve’s table that long or done a shot with him. But you’d been doing things normally for years and that had gotten you dumped, single, and out of a job you loved all before you turned 26.

Feeling a rush of confidence, you turn fully towards him, backing him to the edge of the concrete step behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yeah, I’d say it’s perfect, Steve,” you’re sure your smile is a little too eager, but you can’t find it in yourself to care because every one of your senses is filled with Steve as he presses himself closer and captures your lips with his. He tastes like beer and mint and something unique to him entirely. You whimper when he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, which makes him smirk into the kiss. You open for him, letting his tongue meet yours and explore your mouth, drawing out more sweet sounds from you as you move one of your hands from the back of his neck to the inside of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers tighten their grip on your waist to reciprocate, kissing you again and again before he finally pulls away.

You both let out incredulous laughs as you rest your foreheads together, lost in the moment and each other.

“You know, maybe I was wrong,” you whisper.

Steve hums in questioning.

“Maybe my luck’s starting to change.

You feel him smile as he presses another kiss to your mouth, leaving you chasing his lips for more as he pulls away.

“Can I ask you another crazy question?” He says, mirroring his question from earlier in the evening.

You nod, looking into his eyes.

“Will you stay with me this week? I have a suite that’s too big and lonely for me to survive by myself.”

You scoff a little. “Wow, use that on every girl, do you?”

His brows furrow. “What? N-no! I swear. This isn’t some ploy to sleep with you. If I wanted that I would’ve just asked but—look, we’re both a little sad and life’s not being so kind, and we clearly like each other enough to make out with each other and reveal our reasons for heartbreak so… I figured we could do something a little crazy.”

You mull it over in your head before a smirk creeps up your lips. “I think you’re on to something, Harrington. But there’s rules,” you say, quoting your earlier exchange playfully back to him as you peel yourself away from him and grab his hand, leading the way back to his car.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” he hums, falling into step beside you.

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

HARD NOT TO FALL | steve harrington

Steve Harrington can't be casual with you anymore.

pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 1.6k contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) mention of p in v, fingering, oral (female and male receiving), frenemies with benefits to lovers, jealous!steve, steve harrington yearning, fluff, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.

author's note: request by @scoopstroops0704 | this fic is more of a fluff with smut elements to it, it was also meant to be a blurb but went just over 1.5k words. shock! horror! please enjoy 🧡

18+ taglist | masterlist | 3k special masterlist | requests page

Steve Harrington had a problem. A pretty fucking big problem.

The problem being was that he was ninety five per cent sure that he was in love with you.

The other five per cent was convinced that he just really loved fucking you. That he really loved the way he knew your body like the back of his hand—knew that you loved it when he made out with your pussy like it was the best damn thing he had ever tasted (it was), knew you liked it when he lifted your thighs to rest of his shoulders while he fucked you stupid, knew you loved it when he called you pretty girl while two of his thick fingers were buried deep in your cunt, curling once, twice, just so he could listen to your needy whines. Even the thought of those noises were enough to make his cock thicken beneath his jeans.

So, of course Steve loved fucking you. In fact, he loved it so much that he wasn’t fucking anyone else but you.

He told himself that it was because he didn’t have time for anyone else. He told himself that your lips around his cock just felt right, that you just gave him the best head because you knew he liked it when you got messy with him, coating his dick in your saliva and looking up at him with those fucking bedroom eyes of yours.

But none of that explained why his heart beat a little faster when you were near, why he felt so desperately sad when you didn’t stay the night or why when he saw you talking to Ryan Williams at a party he wanted nothing more than to punch the nearest wall (or Ryan, whichever was more satisfying).

He was being stupid—he knew he was. You were technically not even friends. In fact, when you weren’t fucking each—you two were arguing. Not only that but you and Steve were not together and you were able to talk to any guy you wanted.

But it didn’t mean it didn’t kill him a little inside when you laugh at something Ryan had said while Steve watches from across the room.

Fucking Ryan.

Steve was deep in some sort of twisted daydream of socking Ryan in the face when someone taps his shoulder.

He turned around and was met with a pretty brunette who looked vaguely familiar. Amy something, or maybe it was Amanda, some girl who he had gone to high school with. Some girl who was fluttering her lashes at him and giving him every opportunity to be his distraction for the evening. He briefly considered it, knowing it would have certainly made him feel a little better about you and Ryan.

But he didn’t give in. Because despite the fact you annoyed the fuck out of him, he loved you. He knew it now he had seen you with someone else. He really fucking loved you. And he knew fucking someone else wasn’t going to stop that.

And so, instead of going upstairs with Amy or Amanda or whatever her name was, Steve went home. Trying not to think about you going home with Ryan, trying not to think about Ryan kissing you or fucking you or—

The sound of his phone ringing as he grabs a drink of water pulls him out of his thoughts. He didn’t know how but he knew almost instantly that it was you calling. And so, Steve answers. Because of course he does.

“Hi,” was the first thing he says when he answers the phone, trying to keep his voice casual, normal, like his heart wasn't beating out of his chest already. 

“Where—wherey’d you g-go?”

From the sound of your voice, Steve could instantly tell that you had been crying.

He felt his stomach drop instantly,

“Home,” he says, sitting upright instantly and straining to listen to the sounds of the party around you. But there was none. No music, no drunken yelling, no Ryan—

“Baby, where are you?”

The petname slips out before he could stop it. He only ever used it when he was feeling particularly needy—when you were on top of him, tits bouncing in his face and fucking yourself on his cock. When you would slowly roll your hips just as he was about to cum, making him lose his damn mind. That was the only time he called you baby.

Until now, that was.

“I-I left,” you tell him in a small voice. “I sa-saw you g-go and I—”

“Where?” Steve interjects, already standing up and grabbing his car keys that lay nearby. “Where are you? I’ll come and get you and I—”

“—I th-think I love y-you, Stevie.”

Everything stills. Time itself seems to slow down. Steve feels as though he has forgotten how to breathe. Because you felt the same, you felt the same.

But he couldn’t focus on that right now. Not when you were god knows where, sad and probably alone.

“I—I’m sorry I just—I saw you and Amanda and I—I—it felt like my whole world ended and then you were gone and I thought—”

“Tell me where you are,” Steve demands of you somewhat gently, jaw clenched as the words you had just uttered make him feel things he had been trying to ignore for months. “C’mon baby, I—I just need to see you so tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you.”

You’re quiet for a moment before you tell him you were at some payphone right outside of Melvald's and Steve tells you not to move, tells you to stay exactly where you were.

Steve drives to Melvald's, breaks a few traffic laws on the way that he wasn’t proud of but he makes it to the parking lot outside the store in less than five minutes. 

He spots you almost instantly, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with your arms wrapped tightly around your legs as if it could protect you from the cold.

Steve practically stumbles out of his car in his haste to get to you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking off his jacket without even a second thought and dropping it over your shoulders. “What were you thinking? Walking home alone like this, why didn’t you—”

“—be-because I thought you l-left,” you say quietly, your eyes shining as you look back up at him. “A-and I th-thought you left wi-with Amanda and—”

“—no,” Steve says with a shake of his head, dropping down onto the sidewalk beside you so he could cup your face with one hand to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen. “No, I didn’t go home with her. I-I wouldn’t do that.”

You breath hitches, you try not to think too much about the implication of those words but it was impossible not to do that when he was so close to you.

“Why?” You ask him quietly, barely daring to look away from him for even a second. “Why wouldn’t you—”

“—because I—because I love you too.”

Your eyes widen, lips part and Steve looks momentarily terrified that he’s said something insanely stupid, that perhaps maybe he had misheard you over the phone when you had told him you loved him.

But then you’re leaning in, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips firmly against his.

The kiss was anything but romantic—it was desperate, your fingers running through his hair as his hands roam over your body, grabbing at your thighs, your ass, anywhere he could touch, as though he was trying to map it out. It was the sort of kiss that left your core aching, made you want to pull him into his beamer and let him fuck you until sunrise. 

You weren’t sure how long you made out with Steve Harrington on the sidewalk but you knew it was Steve who was the first to pull away. You let out a noise of protest, something between a whine and a whimper as your eyes flicker down to his lips that were swollen from your kiss and covered in a mix of your spit. 

“Why did you—”

Steve presses his finger against your lips, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Because my girl deserves the best,” he tells you simply, the words making something in your gut squirm, the look in his eyes making your cunt clench around nothing.

You feel one of his hands brush along the bare skin of your leg. The subtle touch starts a fire in your gut, your eyelids flutter as he slowly drags his fingers up to your thigh in a tantalising dance that makes your blood hum with need.

“So let me take you home and then—”, he murmurs, fingers disappearing beneath your skirt and pressing his fingertips firmly against the damp patch that had formed in your panties. The moan that leaves your lips as a result should be embarrassing but you found that you didn’t care all that much when Steve’s fingers were circling your clothed clit, when you could see the thick outline of his cock through his jeans, “—then I’ll take care of you. Give my girl what she needs, yeah?”

You couldn’t do anything but nod your head frantically. Because he had called you his girl, his girl, his girl.

Steve wastes no time before he leans to kiss you again—this kiss much softer, gentler, everything you and Steve had never got the chance to be. He can’t help but smile into the kiss because when it came to you? It was hard not to fall but you had been right there to catch him.

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[notreallythatlost]

[djopuppy]

taste my cream

pairing - steve harrington x female reader

summary - you work with steve at scoops ahoy, and after hours, instead of sampling some ice cream, he tastes you instead.

c/w - smut 18+, semi-public sex, oral f receiving, hair pulling, temperature play, choking, creampie, spanking, foodplay (ice cream), fwb/sneaking around, fucking at work, use of ice cream scoop inside v, p in v, unprotected sex, praise, light degradation

it was past nine, and steve was staring. the doors were closed, mall was empty, and his eyes were locked on the way your skirt rode up your thighs when you leaned over the counter to wipe it down. steve was inching closer, as he always did, before his tall frame leaned over you to take the rag away. he nuzzled his nose against the side of your neck.

“cmon. it’s clean, you’ve cleaned it like ten times already.” steve groaned, you could hear the desperation filling in his voice.

“okay.. okay, let’s just go to the back” you said with a small smile, he was irresistible.

“nuh-uh, want you out here this time. right here.”

“what if we get caught…” your head tilted back into him, letting his hands tighten on your hips as he pressed himself into you.

“no one’s coming, baby. malls closed. it’s just us.” steve whispered against your hair as you turned your head to capture his lips with yours.

it started slow and soft, his tongue gently colliding with yours as you made needy noises into eachothers mouths.

his hands were all over your hips, guiding you to bend over the front countertop next to the cash register. your palms were flat, and the position made your skirt ride up on the back of your thighs.

you could feel how hard he was when he’d press into you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine to push your hair to the side and run his hands under your uniform.

steve picked up the metal ice cream scoop that sat beside you, and brought the cold metal to the base of your neck. the temperature made you shiver as it traveled slowly down the line of your spine.

“mm, tell me. tell me what you’re gonna do with it.” you breathed out, pressing your face further into the counter.

“i’m gonna push it in your pussy, nice and slow. i want the cold to wake up every nerve that you have, then i wanna watch you clench on it before i get my mouth on you.”

his fingers hooked into your underwear before slowly pulling them down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor. his hands trailed back up your legs before he pplied a slight pressure against your entrance with the metal, the cold tip of the handle beginning to press into you. the feeling was so unfamiliar, and it had you arching your body up as you gasped for air.

he was watching every single second, mesmerized, and his breath hitching as he watched the way your body was responding for him.

“yeah.. like that.. you’re gonna drip for me, baby. then i’m gonna lick it all up, wanna taste you with the ice cream.”

you could feel your knees buckle as the handle pressed further. he was pulling the handle out, and pushing it in deeper each time. the stretch had you trembling on top of the counter.

“gonna make you cum like this. then i’ll replace it, with something.. warmer.”

your palms dug into the counter as he continued to teasingly thrust the handle in and out of you.

“warmer? yeah? keep talking, harrington.” you loved talking back at him.

steves thumb found your clit and he began rubbing small circles, pressing down hard as he continued to fuck you with the handle of the ice cream scoop.

“yeah, baby. my cock. can’t wait to fill you up, show you how warm and aching it is for you.”

his words sent sparks through you, electrifying every feeling. you and steve had been hooking up for pretty much all of summer, since you started at scoops ahoy at least. something about steves dick made him unforgettable and intensely desirable. he was huge. huge and he knew how to take advantage of it too. steve was easily the best sex you’d ever had, and the fact that it happened in the mall every time made it more thrilling to you.

you could feel your pussy clenching around the cold metal, drenching it as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. you couldn’t help yourself. your hips began moving in desperate circles, fucking yourself on it as steve continued toying with you.

“fuck, you’re so desperate. go on, take what you need.” his eyes were locked on where your hips were moving, your skirt rustling against the counter with every movement and your ass beginning to become exposed.

“come on, gorgeous. cum for me.”

your hips were stuttering and broken sounds were leaving your throat as your entire body shattered against the counter, soaking the handle just like steve had asked you to.

steve let your body ride out every last tremble and aftershock before he removed the scoop handle and left your side to dip his fingers inside of the vanilla ice cream bin.

before you could even process it or catch your breath, he was smearing the ice cream all over the inside of your thighs. the temperature shock made you flinch, pushing yourself further down onto the counter as you shivered.

his tongue followed the path of his fingers immediately, the warmth of it putting goosebumps on your skin as he licked a slow path up the inside of your thigh. he was groaning against your skin, his hands coming up to dig into the flesh of your thighs.

his mouth began to move, lips closing on the sensitive skin of the inside of your thigh. he was sucking, biting down and then soothing it over with his tongue.

“so fucking sweet.” he muttered against your skin. the second the ice cream was cleaned off your thighs he nudged your legs further apart, taking a breath of air before his tongue was fucking deep into your pussy. he was whining and groaning, his tongue moving desperately to clean you up.

you were sensitive, and overstimulated. each nerve screaming as he held you in place. his fingers would tighten on your skin each time you tried to squirm away from the feeling.

you felt your body reach another orgasm, trembling against steve’s face from where he was pressed against you before he stood back up slowly, his fingers still toying around with your wetness.

you could feel how hard he was from where he kept pressing into you to dry hump you, most of the time you could see it too. the blue thin shorts that scoops ahoy offered weren’t very helpful when you’d purposely rub against him in the cooler or bend over to pick something up, knowing he’d be watching the way your panties peek out just slightly.

you watched steve embarrass himself with random girls for approximately two weeks before you took initiative. there was no way someone as pretty as him was going an entire summer without any pussy, especially when you found out how eager he was when it came to eating.

steve’s hand came up to grip your hip, adjusting your body as he freed his hard pulsing cock, and began to nudge it against your entrance. steve had been hard for hours, probably since the start of his shift. he couldn’t help himself when it came to you.

“not gonna last long, baby. you’re too…” he whined as he continued to tease you, his cock throbbing against your skin. “you feel too good” he forced out.

“steve, please. fuck. just fuck me.” you were thrumming with need, your body aching to be filled with him.

he pushed into you slowly, your back arching up when his hips finally pressed against your ass. steve always began a slow rhythm, and it always turned frantic. his thrusts were desperate, full of the days pent up want and behaving.

each thrust jolted your body forward, the sound of his skin smacking against yours echoed in the empty ice cream shop. you could feel every inch of him hitting spots deep inside of you, your legs spreading wider to take him as deep as you could.

“my pretty sailor, bent over the counter you serve sundaes at to take my cock” you could hear the smirk in his tone. he got so cocky when he was using his dick.

steve’s hand moved from your hip to grasp at your hair, his fist wrapping around it and tugging it back.

“you like that, baby? getting fucked stupid when anyone could walk in? you’re so dirty for me.” his hips slammed into yours as he said it, your body jolting as your hands gripped the edge, your elbow bumping into the bell and causing it to ding over and over again.

“shut.. up.. steve” you gritted out in between moans.

“just want you to make me so bad” he whined. steve’s hand tightened in your hair, tugging it to expose more of your throat.

“but you can’t, and you know you can’t.” the next thing you felt was steve’s palm coming down on the skin of your ass that was exposed before he pushed your skirt up to your waist.

the sensation of his thrusts and his palm was making your head spin. steve’s hand rubbed over the skin he spanked, rubbing circles slowly while thrusting deeply inside of you.

“ohhhhmygod, steve.. you feel so good. baby.. you feel so good. ‘m so full.”

you heard him whimper before letting a deep moan out to cover it up, his hand left your ass to slide up your spine and over your neck, grasping onto your throat. his large fingers splayed across the skin as he began pressing into your pulse point.

each time his fingers pressed, you pushed further into him. pleading for more, for less, for everything. you wanted him to give you everything and ruin your body at the same time.

he was still rolling his hips against you, his cock branding you from the inside.

your head felt light, every sense you had focused on the feeling of his hand around your neck and his cock pushing into you and hitting spots you never thought imaginable.

each breath was a conscious effort that steve allowed, and the feeling of your pulse under his fingertips was making his body tremble. his hips were beginning to stutter, his breath quickening, and the muscles in his soft tummy clenching as he tried to hold back.

the force of steve’s release inside of you seemed to trigger your own, intense pleasure flooded through your entire body as your eyes rolled back. the stream of moans that fell from his lips made you smile. you could picture him. his brows furrowed together while his plump pink lips pouted just a bit. steve was always loud during sex, so needy. so eager.

steve’s body slumped on top of yours, his forehead resting on your back as he panted before sitting up to let you adjust. “oh god, that was so…”

you turned back to look at him, and he had the same goofy smile that he always did.

“some shift, huh?” he asked with a grin.

“you’re so annoying, you know that?”

he smiled softer and stepped closer, helping you adjust your skirt and fix your hair while you stood up.

“yeah? maybe you should shut me up again, then.”

“you’d like that. wouldn’t you?”

steve’s eyes got big and soft, he was so pretty when he begged.

“please. you know i would.” he whispered.

“maybe if you’re a not being a good boy tomorrow during our shift. you teased. you couldn’t wait to clock back in.

-

‪♡ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank uu ‪♡

a/n: kinda down to do more for this pair. leave suggestions in inbox if u have any ideas for scoops steve x coworker reader

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[athenas-rose]

Steve overhears you saying you wanna fuck him

⤷ warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, creampie ˎˊ˗

“You really think Steve’s fit?” Nancy asked, giggling behind her hand.

You shrugged, lightly biting your bottom lip. You knew he had a reputation, but it had to have been there for a reason, right? “I mean, he’s the hottest guy in Hawkins. I’d take any chance I could to fuck him.”

At that exact moment, Steve froze in his tracks, just as he was about to turn the corner in the sqwak. His hands clenched at his sides, feeling his blood circulation rush south. He was exasperated to say the least, but there was something else, something hot brewing within him.

Nancy gasped, lifting her brows. “God, you’re insane!” She shook her head.

But you only kept going. “What? Haven’t you seen him wearing that backwards cap the other day? A girl can only hold herself back for so long.” You admitted breathlessly. The accessory made him look manlier, and the sliver of hair that poked through made you unable to take your eyes off of him.

Your words turned him on further, his cock hardening beneath the restraint of his jeans. He would’ve taken you up on that offer long ago if he’d known how horny you felt around him.

“Well, I’m gonna go before you start drooling.” Nancy replied. Steve immediately hid himself behind the wall, he had a plan of confronting you, but wasn’t going to give himself away yet.

As soon as he heard the door shut behind Nancy, he stepped forward revealing himself. He didn’t speak a word, the only sound that alerted you of his presence were his heavy footsteps. You glanced upwards and jumped back immediately, caught off guard.

“Oh, Steve! You haven’t left yet?” You asked, trying to conceal how flustered you felt, having just talked about him in an intimate way.

Silence filled the space between you at first, he simply crossed his arms across his chest, raking his gaze over your body as he slowly unwrapped you with his darkening pupils. Then he titled his head at you, in that very Steve way, the one that usually meant he found something amusing. Though the words that came out were anything but.

“You wanna fuck me?” His voice was thick and syrupy, you instinctively took a step back, eyes widening.

“I—uh…I wasn’t—” you opened your mouth then closed it again, feeling like the room had become ten times more cramped.

Steve raised a brow, his posture stiff as if he was holding himself back from taking you right then. He had to admit, watching you stutter as your face flushed made his cock twitch, but he was going to drag it out as long as possible.

“You weren’t what? Because from what I heard, you were practicing moaning for me.” He scoffed, rolling his tongue into the side of his cheek.

You realized there was no escaping this, eyes flickering everywhere other than him. “Does it, upset you…that I said that?” You asked slowly, voice coming out weak and quiet.

You were shocked when Steve took a step closer, cornering you until you had to physically lift your chin to stare into his eyes. “You wanna fuck me, yeah?” He whispered, and when your gaze strayed lower, you caught sight of just how hard he was. “Then I’m gonna show you just how hard I fuck.”

Your breath hitched, goosebumps rising on your skin. “I…” you couldn’t speak, your mind only focusing on how you clenched around nothing, trying not to squeeze your thighs together in front of him.

“Say it.” He cut you off. “I want to hear you say to my face again how badly you want to fuck me.” Steve wasn’t asking, it was a demand, and who were you not to abide by his orders?

You swallowed heavily, he was staring at you like a wolf. “I want you to fuck me, Steve.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, he surged forward, taking you roughly by the jaw to smash his lips against yours.

His grip on you was bruising, if only you knew how much he’s wanted to fuck you too. Steve groaned into your mouth, biting on your bottom lip to slip his tongue inside. You didn’t even bother pausing for a moment to breathe, his kisses were intoxicating, deepening the desire you had for him.

You gasped when he suddenly pushed you back against a table, harder than you expected. There was no time for being gentle, Steve was seconds away from cumming in his pants every time he replayed your words.

“Bend the fuck over.” Steve rasped, turning you around by the hips to flatten you against the hard wood table.

Excitement racked through you, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, it was as though you manifested it. Steve flipped your skirt upside down, his palm coming down to rub against his own cock at the sight of you wet and waiting.

You shook your ass backwards, every moment where he wasn’t already inside you was torture. “Please, Steve.” You sighed, earning a harsh slap to your bottom.

“I’m going to give you what you deserve, talking so dirty about me while not knowing I was listening the whole time.” He narrated as he unbuckled his belt, taking his bare cock in his hands to slide the head through your slick folds.

You let out a quiet moan, you could already feel how big he was before he was even inside you yet. Your clit pulsated with need, when Steve finally decided to stop teasing you, he entered you with one long painful thrust.

“S-Steve—” you screamed, gripping the edge of the table. He threw his head back from how tight and warm you felt around him, unlike any other pussy he’s tried, fuck, he wouldn’t want a different one after this.

“That’s it.” He panted, staring down at where you were conjoined as he rocked his hips back out, just to force his cock back in deeply. “Taking me so well, baby. Knew this pussy would be made for me.”

You whimpered, jaw hung open as he pulled moans out from you. You struggled to breathe, every gasp of air was only met with another thrust. Steve held you firmer, quickening his pace as his balls smacked against your ass, plap plap plap echoed off the walls, the thick stench of sex surrounding you.

“Mmf—ohh—ahh,” you cried out, your obvious pleasure made him move impossibly faster, dragging the veins of his cock against the spongy spot inside you.

Steve took your hands behind your back, locking them together in his grasp to tug you back against him. “Fuck, mmm—just go dumb on my cock, sweetheart. You can’t even speak,” he laughed condescendingly, continuing to use you as his own fuck toy.

The pleasure inside you was building intensely, you couldn’t stop clenching around him, your hole sucking him back in with desperation. “Don’t—if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m gonna cum.” Steve gritted out. You clenched around him again from the tightness in his voice. “I just said don’t fucking do that.” He brought a hand down onto your ass again, making you jerk forwards.

“Oh god!” you screamed, feeling him lift your right leg up, angling deeper into your pussy. The coil in your stomach was starting to tighten dangerously, you couldn’t help but grind your hips back against his, meeting him with each thrust.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, just like you wanted to.” Steve let you do all the work, until you started shaking and let out a final shout of his name, cumming all over his cock.

“Shit, I’m gonna, fuck—” your spasming hole and the added lubrication of your release sent Steve over the edge, leaning over you to push his sweaty chest against your back, keeping his cock still as he pumped his cum into you.

“Soo fucking good.” Steve sighed, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. You both stayed there for a moment, catching your breaths shakily.

You hadn’t even opened your eyes for a full minute when Steve was already climbing back off of you, starting to rock his hips slowly again.

“Going to have your pussy dripping with me, baby.” Steve spoke roughly, as you kept your body glued against the table, you didn’t regret your words for a single second.

[frootybb]

Too Much to Handle

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: After a casual movie night, you complain about your chest being “too much” while changing into a cute low-cut top in front of your best friend Steve Harrington. What starts as playful teasing quickly turns heated as Steve refuses to look away, leading to flirty confessions, lingering touches, and a blurred line between friendship and something much more intimate.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: NSFW, fluff, smutty vibes, flirting banter, Steve is a respectful perv (affectionate)

A/N: wait but is second puberty in your twenties actually real… tell me why I gained a whole bra cup size without gaining any weight??? Do any other girlies relate or am I suffering alone??

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It had been one of those rare quiet weeks in Hawkins. The nightmares from the Upside Down had finally started to fade into the background, and for once, the group wasn’t dealing with interdimensional threats or government conspiracies. Steve had shown up at your door around 6 PM with a stack of rented VHS tapes under one arm and two large pizzas balanced in the other. “Movie night, no excuses,” he’d announced with that signature grin, hair perfectly tousled even after a long shift at Family Video. “Robin’s working late, Dustin’s grounded, and I’m not watching these alone.”

You’d let him in without hesitation. Steve had become your person over the past couple of years. The one who always had your back, who made you laugh when the world felt too heavy, and who never treated you like you were just another girl from the past. Platonic, mostly. Sure, there were moments: the way his hand would linger on your lower back when guiding you through crowds, the late-night phone calls where his voice got soft, or how he’d stare a beat too long when you wore something that showed skin. But you both played it safe. Friends. Best friends.

The evening unfolded like so many others. You sprawled across the couch, legs tangled casually as the first horror movie played. Steve kept up his running commentary, mocking the bad special effects and dramatically pulling you closer during the jump scares “for protection.” Pizza grease on your fingers, stolen sips from each other’s drinks, laughter echoing through the house. By the second movie, the vibe had shifted into something warmer, lazier.

The final credits rolled across the TV screen as the second movie wrapped up with a ridiculous jump scare that made you both groan and laugh. Steve stretched his long arms overhead, his polo riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach, before shooting you that lazy, warm grin. “Alright, I’m officially wiped. Your couch is great but my back is not built for another horror marathon tonight.” You nodded in agreement, feeling the post-movie haze settle in, and stood up, tugging your shirt down. “Come on, let’s head upstairs to my room. Way more comfortable and I’ve got actual blankets that don’t smell like popcorn.” Steve didn’t hesitate, grabbing the last couple of sodas and following you up the stairs with easy familiarity, the two of you still trading jokes about the movie’s terrible plot as you pushed open the door to your bedroom. The cozy space felt even more inviting in the low lamplight, and Steve flopped onto the edge of your bed like he belonged there.

You slipped into the bathroom attached to your room to change into something more comfortable. The cute little top you’d bought on a whim was calling your name: soft fabric, a hint of stretch, and yeah, it dipped low in the front. You wiggled into it, adjusting the straps, but the way it sat on your chest was… a lot. The cleavage stared back at you in the mirror, full and impossible to ignore.

“Ugh, these things are just too much,” you blurted out loud, half to yourself, half because Steve was right there in the next room and you had zero filter with him anymore. “Taking up so much damn space, it’s annoying as hell while trying to wear something cute.”

The bathroom door was open a crack, your mistake. Or maybe not.

Steve had been lounging on the edge of your bed, flipping through an old magazine, but at your words his head snapped up. You caught his reflection in the mirror as he stood, drawn like a magnet. He pushed the door open a little wider, leaning against the frame with that effortless cool he always wore, even when his brain was short-circuiting.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, eyes widening. He didn’t even try to hide it. His gaze dropped straight to your chest, slow and deliberate, tracing the swell of your breasts pushed up by the top. A long, appreciative look that made heat rush to your face. “You really just said that out loud?”

You turned around, arms half-crossed under your boobs which only made them look even more prominent. “Steve! I thought you wouldn’t hear me. Perv.”

He laughed, that rich, warm sound that always loosened the tension in your shoulders, but there was a husky edge to it tonight. “Hey, I’m just a guy. And you can’t drop a line like that and expect me not to investigate.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, brown and sparkling with mischief, but there was real heat there too. “Too much? Annoying? Sweetheart, you’re standing there looking like every guy’s late-night fantasy and complaining about it?”

He stepped fully into the bathroom doorway now, close enough that you could smell his cologne mixed with the faint scent of popcorn from earlier. Not touching, but definitely invading your space in that friendly-yet-not way he did so well. Steve Harrington had always been a flirt, but with you it stayed mostly harmless, teasing compliments, protective arm around your shoulders during movie nights, the occasional lingering hug. Tonight felt different.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “They get in the way all the time. Clothes don’t fit right, running sucks, and don’t even get me started on trying to sleep on my stomach.”

Steve’s smirk deepened. He leaned in slightly, gaze dipping again without shame. “Yeah? Sounds rough. Real tragedy.” His voice was lower now, teasing but sincere. “Mind if I… form my own opinion? As your very supportive, very platonic friend.”

Before you could protest, not that you wanted to he reached out, gentle fingers brushing a stray strap back into place on your shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent sparks down your skin. His eyes stayed locked on the cleavage, drinking in the soft curves, the way the fabric hugged you. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re perfect. Not annoying at all. Just… a lot to handle. In the best way.” He straightened up, running a hand through his signature hair, but the flush on his cheeks gave him away. Steve was rattled, and he liked it.

You laughed, pushing at his chest lightly. “You’re ridiculous. We’re friends, remember? You’re not supposed to stare like that.”

“Who says?” He caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it against his chest for a second. His heart was beating faster than normal. “Friends can appreciate… assets. Especially when said friend blurts it out like that. C’mon, you had to know I wasn’t gonna let that slide.”

The air felt thicker in the small bathroom. Steve didn’t back off. Instead, he tugged you gently toward the bedroom, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. The radio kept playing softly in the background, some love ballad that felt way too on-the-nose.

“Seriously though,” he said after a beat, his usual cocky grin fading into something softer, more intense. “You’re gorgeous. All of you. If those are causing you trouble, maybe I can help test some solutions. Like… different tops. Or no tops.” He winked, but his hand stayed near yours on the bed, thumb brushing your knuckles.

You shoved him playfully, but stayed close. “Steve Harrington, king of smooth talk even when he’s half-hard from a wardrobe malfunction.”

He didn’t deny it. His laugh was a little strained this time. “Guilty. Can you blame me? You’re in my bedroom—well, your bedroom—looking like that and talking about your boobs being ‘too much.’ I’m only human.”

The conversation stretched from there. Steve kept the vibe light at first, cracking jokes about his own failed attempts at fashion advice back in his King Steve days, how he used to think he knew everything about what girls wanted. But the looks kept coming, quick stolen glances when you shifted, longer ones when you leaned forward to grab a water bottle from the nightstand. Each time his eyes would trace the cleavage, the soft bounce, the way the top clung.

Eventually you ended up lying back on the bed together, shoulders touching, talking about everything and nothing. The movie, the Upside Down scars you both carried, how nice it was to just exist without monsters for once. But the undercurrent was electric. Steve rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand, and let his free hand rest lightly on your waist.

“You know I’d never push, right?” he said quietly, sincerity cutting through the flirtation. “We’re friends. But… damn, if you ever wanted more than looking…” His eyes dropped again, hungry but patient. “I’d be there. Appreciating every inch.”

You turned to face him, the proximity making your pulse race. His breath was warm against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Steve leaned in, pressing a soft, testing kiss to your collarbone, right above the line of the top. Not demanding. Just… tasting the moment.

“See?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough.

The night didn’t end with clothes coming off completely, not yet but it evolved. Steve’s hands stayed respectful even as they explored, tracing the curves he’d been admiring, murmuring compliments between kisses along your neck and shoulder. “Too much space? Baby, they fit perfectly in my hands.” His touch was confident, gentle, the same Steve who’d swung a bat at demodogs now completely focused on making you feel wanted.

Hours blurred. Laughter mixed with heated whispers. He never once let the “just friends” line stop him from looking, touching, teasing. By the time the sun threatened to creep up, you were tangled in sheets, his head pillowed near your chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin.

“Still annoying?” he asked sleepily, that smirk audible even in the dark.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “Maybe not so much anymore.”

Steve chuckled, pressing one last kiss there. “Good. Because I’m gonna need a lot more opportunities to study the situation. Friend’s honor.”

And just like that, the line between friends and something more had blurred, thanks to one blurted complaint and Steve Harrington’s inability to look away from what you were blessed with.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @harringtondarling

[frootybb]

I don't know if you know what the Polaroid challenge is... But! It's where the bridesmaids give the groom pictures of the bride, and they're like sexy pictures or whatever. I think this would be really funny, with either Gator or Steve. You could also do it where reader is at her bridel shower and they take the pictures of her then.

Pictures of You (Before I Do)

Gator Tillman x Reader

Summary: The night before your wedding to Deputy Gator Tillman, your bridesmaids hand him a thick envelope full of very spicy Polaroids of you. Gator already a flustered, lovesick mess nearly loses it in his truck, torn between pure horniness and overwhelming love. From the rehearsal dinner chaos to a sweet (and chaotic) Tillman wedding, all the way to a very thorough wedding night where he puts every photo to good use.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: NSFW, smut, light restraint/holding down, family tension (references to Gator’s strained/abusive relationship with his father Roy Tillman, insecurity, and need for validation resolved with fluff), wedding, heavy pining, emotional vulnerability

A/N: Look, I know Gator Tillman is a walking red flag factory: daddy issues, anger problems, questionable life choices, and the emotional maturity of a feral raccoon with a badge. But goddamn if that pathetic little energy mixed with the way he looks at the person he loves doesn’t make me want to wife him up anyway. In this house we fix (or lovingly enable) the disaster men. Enjoy the fluff and the filth hehehe.

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The North Dakota wind cut sharp across the parking lot of the Stark County community center, the same one that had hosted every Tillman family event since Roy was elected sheriff. Tomorrow, it would host your wedding. Tonight, the rehearsal dinner had wound down into that hazy, half-drunk warmth that came after too many toasts and not enough food. Your bridesmaids, your ride or dies from the diner where you used to waitress and the one girl from high school who’d stuck around, had been giggling all evening, shooting you knowing looks every time Gator’s hand found the small of your back.

You knew they were up to something. The “Polaroid challenge” had been their idea from the start. You’d done the boudoir shoot two weeks ago in a cheap motel room on the edge of town, the photographer a discreet friend of a friend who knew how to keep her mouth shut in a place where everybody talked. The photos were for Gator. Spicy. Playful. Yours. And tonight, the girls were delivering them.

Gator stood by the bar nursing a beer, his sheriff’s jacket slung over the back of a chair even though he wasn’t on duty. He looked good, too good, dark hair slicked back the way he liked it for special occasions, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his elbows showing the ink on his forearm. He was laughing at something one of the groomsmen said, that big, cocky grin he wore like armor. But you saw the way his eyes kept drifting to you across the room, soft around the edges in a way only you got to see.

“Deputy Tillman,” your maid of honor, Jess, said sweetly, appearing at his elbow with two of the other girls. They looked like trouble in matching satin robes they’d changed into for the after-party vibe. “We got something for you.”

Gator raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his beer. “Yeah? If it’s another round of shots, I’m tappin’ out. Gotta be sharp for tomorrow. Can’t have the groom lookin’ like shit walkin’ down the aisle.”

“Oh, it’s better than shots,” the youngest bridesmaid, Kayla, said, barely containing her grin. She thrust a thick, unmarked envelope into his hands. It was heavy. Polaroid-sized. “From the bride. Tradition. Don’t open it here. Go somewhere private. And… maybe lock the door.”

Gator stared at the envelope like it might bite him. His ears went pink under the bar lights. “The hell is this?”

“Open it and find out, big shot,” Jess teased, already backing away with the others. “And tell your future wife we said you’re welcome.”

They scattered before he could argue, leaving him holding the envelope like it was evidence in a case he didn’t want to process. He glanced around, Roy was across the room talking to some old deputies, voice booming about “law and order” and whatever bullshit he was spinning tonight. Gator’s jaw tightened the way it always did around his old man. Then his eyes found yours across the room. You gave him a little wave and a smirk that said everything.

He mouthed “what the fuck” at you.

You just blew him a kiss and turned back to your friends, heart pounding with anticipation and nerves. You’d seen the photos. You knew what was in there. And you knew exactly how Gator Tillman was going to react.

Gator didn’t wait. He grabbed his jacket, mumbled something about “groom shit” to the nearest groomsman, and slipped out the side door into the cold night. His truck was parked out back, the old Ford he’d had since he was nineteen, the one with the dent in the fender from that time he’d chased a suspect too hard and clipped a mailbox. He climbed in, slammed the door, and killed the engine after a second so the heat would stay on. The cab smelled like him: cologne that was too strong, leather, and the faint trace of the energy drinks he lived on.

He stared at the envelope in his lap for a long minute, thumb tracing the edge. “The fuck did she do,” he muttered to himself, that little self-deprecating laugh he used when he was nervous. “I’m a winner. I’m a fuckin’ winner. She’s marryin’ me tomorrow. I’m good.”

He tore it open.

The first Polaroid slid out into his hand.

It was you.

You were on your knees on the motel bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties that barely counted as clothing and his deputy hat, the real one, the one with the Stark County Sheriff’s Department patch, tilted low over your eyes. Your hair was messy, lips parted, one hand resting on your thigh like you were daring him to come closer. The flash had caught the curve of your breast, the way your skin glowed warm under the cheap motel lights. On the white border at the bottom, in your handwriting: “Come get your deputy, baby. Badge and all.”

Gator’s breath left him in a rush. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

His cock twitched hard against his zipper. He shifted in the seat, one hand automatically going to adjust himself through his jeans. The photo shook a little in his fingers. He could see every detail: the little mole on your ribcage he loved to kiss, the way your nipples were tight from the cold or the pose or both. His hat on you looked obscene in the best way. Like you were claiming him. Like you knew exactly what it did to him when you played with his uniform.

He flipped to the next one.

You on your back on the same bed, sheets rumpled around you, one knee bent. You were in red lingerie this time, some strappy thing he’d never seen before that pushed your tits up and had little gold clasps that begged to be undone. Your head was tipped back, mouth open like you were moaning his name, one hand between your legs pressing over the lace. The note: “Thinking about your hands here. Hurry up and marry me so you can do something about it.”

“Fuck,” Gator groaned out loud, head thunking back against the headrest. His free hand pressed harder against his dick, heel of his palm grinding down for relief. He was half-hard already and they’d only given him two. How many were in here? He thumbed through the stack, had to be twenty, thirty photos. “She’s gonna kill me. I’m gonna die before I even say ‘I do.’”

He kept going.

Third photo: You standing in front of his truck in the motel parking lot at dusk, wearing his old leather jacket and nothing underneath. The jacket was open, just enough to show the swell of your breasts and the flat of your stomach. One hand rested on the hood like you owned it. Wind in your hair. You looked like every wet dream he’d ever had about claiming something good in this shitty town. Note: “Your truck. Your girl. Come claim both.”

He remembered that jacket. Wore it the night he first kissed you after pulling you over for going ten over on the county road. You’d laughed in his face when he tried to be all authoritative, called him “Deputy Pretty Boy,” and somehow that had turned into you in his passenger seat, his mouth on yours, hands everywhere. He’d never lived it down with the guys at the station.

Fourth: Close-up. You in his bed, his actual bed at the little house he rented on the edge of town, wearing one of his undershirts and the hat again, but the shirt was rucked up to your ribs. Your hand was down the front of a pair of his boxers you must’ve stolen. Eyes half-lidded, biting your lip. The note was shorter: “Smells like you. Feels like you. Miss you already.”

Gator made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. His hips bucked up into his hand without thinking. He was fully hard now, cock straining, a damp spot already forming on his boxers. He couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop imagining walking in on you like that, pulling those boxers down with his teeth, burying his face between your thighs until you screamed his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

He went through more.

You in the shower at the motel, water sluicing down your body, one arm braced on the tile, looking back over your shoulder at the camera with a wicked little smile. Soap suds strategically placed but not really hiding anything. Note: “Wish you were here to wash my back… and everything else.”

You straddling a chair in the lingerie again, leaning forward so your tits almost spilled out, hands cuffed loosely with a pair of his old handcuffs (the fuzzy ones he’d bought as a joke after you teased him about “playing cop” in bed). Note: “Arrest me, Deputy. I’ve been bad.”

You on the hood of his truck again, this time in daylight, wearing his uniform shirt unbuttoned to the navel, no bra, panties only. Legs spread just enough. The flash made everything sharp: the curve of your hip, the way your skin looked against the dark fabric. Note: “I’m the law now. Come enforce it.”

By the tenth photo he was panting, one hand shoved down his jeans, stroking himself slow and desperate because he couldn’t not. The other hand held the stack like it was holy. His face was flushed, ears burning, that cocky mask completely gone. In its place was raw want and something softer, something that made his chest ache.

He loved you so fucking much it hurt sometimes.

You’d seen every ugly part of him, the way Roy still got under his skin, the nights he came home from a shift too wired to sleep and paced until you pulled him into bed and held him until the shakes stopped. The times he fucked up and lashed out because he didn’t know how to be soft. You never ran. You called him on his shit, kissed him after, told him he was more than his last name. You made him want to be better. Not for Roy. For you.

And now you were giving him this, letting him see you like this, trusting him with it, turning him into a goddamn mess the night before he got to call you his wife.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered to the empty cab, thumb brushing over a photo of you in his hat and nothing else, legs open, one finger tracing your own lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me. And I’m gonna thank you for it.”

He kept going until the stack was done. Every photo burned into his brain. By the end he was leaking into his hand, hips jerking, so close he had to stop himself from coming in his jeans like a teenager. He shoved the photos back into the envelope with shaking hands, zipped himself up with a pained groan, and sat there breathing hard for a long minute.

Then he pulled out his phone.

Gator: holy fucking shit

Gator: what did you DO to me

Gator: i’m in my truck hard as a rock lookin at these like a pervert

Gator: you in my hat??? the cuffs??? the truck hood??? baby i’m not gonna survive tomorrow

Gator: i love you so much it’s stupid

Gator: can’t wait to marry you. can’t wait to fuck you in that dress. can’t wait to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life

Gator: tell your girls they’re evil. i’m never recoverin from this

He hit send on the last one and stared at the screen, grinning like an idiot even as his dick throbbed. The replies came fast.

You: good

You: that’s the point deputy

You: you better not come without me

You: save it for the wedding night

You: i love you too. more than anything. now go to bed and dream about me

You: see you at the altar, husband

Gator groaned again, head falling back. “She’s evil. I’m marryin’ the devil herself. Best day of my fuckin’ life.”

He stayed in the truck a while longer, looking through the photos one more time slower, memorizing. Then he tucked the envelope into the glovebox like it was the most precious thing he owned, started the engine, and drove home with the windows down so the cold air would calm him down.

The next morning dawned clear and cold, the kind of North Dakota winter day that made everything look sharp and new. Gator woke up with your name on his lips and his hand already wrapped around his cock, the Polaroids spread across his kitchen table like evidence. He didn’t touch himself properly, he’d promised you but he edged himself thinking about every single one until he was shaking and had to splash cold water on his face.

He got ready in his dress uniform, the one he saved for ceremonies. Roy showed up early, already in his sheriff’s best, barking orders like it was a crime scene instead of his only son’s wedding.

“Don’t fuck this up, Gator,” Roy said, adjusting his son’s tie with rough hands. “She’s a good girl. Better than you deserve. You keep your head straight and your dick in your pants until after the vows. Hear me?”

Gator’s jaw clenched. Old habits. The need to snap back, to prove he wasn’t the fuck-up Roy always said he was. But then he thought of the photos in his glovebox. Thought of you waiting for him. “Yeah, Dad. I got it. I’m a winner, right?”

Roy grunted, something almost like approval in his eyes for half a second. “Damn right you are. Now let’s go make an honest man out of you.”

The ceremony was at the same community center, decorated with white lights and pine boughs because you’d wanted it simple and pretty. Gator stood at the front, heart hammering so hard he thought everyone could hear it. His groomsmen ribbed him quietly. One of them had seen the envelope exchange last night and was dying to know what was in it.

When the music started and you appeared at the end of the aisle on your dad’s arm, Gator forgot how to breathe.

You were stunning. The dress was simple but perfect: lace sleeves, fitted bodice, skirt that flared just enough. Your hair was down the way he liked it. And you were smiling at him like he was the only person in the room. Like he was enough.

He blinked hard, eyes stinging. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

The vows were a blur. He managed to get through his without crying too much, though his voice cracked when he said, “You make me wanna be the man you see when you look at me. I’m a winner ‘cause I got you. And I’m never lettin’ that go.” You cried a little too, laughing through it, squeezing his hands so tight.

When the officiant said “You may kiss the bride,” Gator didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in and kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life, deep, possessive, a little filthy for a church-adjacent setting. The crowd whooped. Roy even cracked a smile.

The reception was a blur of toasts, bad dancing, and too much whiskey. Your bridesmaids kept shooting him looks, and at one point Jess slipped him another single Polaroid under the table, “For later,” she whispered. It was you in the red lingerie again, but this one had you blowing a kiss, middle finger up playfully. Note: “Husband privileges start now.”

Gator almost choked on his drink.

By the time you two slipped away, early because neither of you could wait anymore, the envelope was burning a hole in his pocket. He’d added the new one to it. You were in his arms in the truck, laughing as he drove too fast toward the little cabin you’d rented for the honeymoon night. Snow started falling, soft and perfect.

“Gator Tillman,” you said, voice warm and teasing, hand sliding up his thigh. “You looked like you were gonna combust last night. Did my girls behave?”

“Behave?” He barked a laugh, catching your hand before it could go higher. “They’re demons. Sent from hell to kill me. I almost came in my fuckin’ jeans lookin’ at those pictures, baby. You in my hat? The cuffs? Jesus Christ.”

You grinned, leaning over to kiss his neck. “Good. That was the plan. I wanted you thinking about me all night. Wanting me.”

“I always want you,” he said, voice rough. “Every second. But last night… fuck. I couldn’t stop. Kept thinkin’ about walkin’ in on you like that. About how you’re mine now. Officially. Legally. Forever.”

The cabin was small, cozy, one big room with a fireplace already lit by the caretaker and a huge bed. Gator barely got the door closed before he had you against it, mouth on yours, hands everywhere. The dress came off in pieces, careful with the buttons, desperate with the zipper. You helped him out of the uniform jacket, fingers working fast.

“Wait,” he panted, pulling back just enough to grab the envelope from his discarded jacket. “I need… I gotta show you what you did to me.”

He spread the Polaroids out on the bed like a fan while you watched, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. You looked at them with him, biting your lip.

“Which one was your favorite?” you asked softly.

Gator pointed to the one with his hat and the black lace. “This. You look like you own me. And you do.” He pointed to another, the one on the truck hood. “This. Reminds me of the night we met. How you didn’t take any of my shit. How I knew right then I was fucked.”

He turned to you, cupping your face. The cocky mask was gone. Just Gator, vulnerable, a little scared, so in love it made his voice shake. “I don’t deserve you. But I’m gonna spend every day tryin’ to. Roy… he always said I’d fuck up anything good. But you—you make me believe maybe I won’t. Maybe I can be good for you.”

You kissed him, slow and deep. “You already are. Now stop talking and fuck your wife, Deputy.”

That was all it took.

Clothes came off the rest of the way. Gator laid you back on the bed among the Polaroids, kissing every inch of skin like he was memorizing it all over again. He spent a long time between your thighs, licking and sucking until you came on his tongue, fingers tangled in his hair, moaning his name. He didn’t stop until you tugged him up, desperate.

“Gator—please—”

He lined up and pushed in slow, watching your face the whole time. The stretch, the heat, the way you clenched around him, it was better than any photo. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fuckin’ perfect. My wife. My girl.”

He started moving, deep and steady, one hand braced by your head, the other holding one of the Polaroids above you so you could both see it. The one with the handcuffs. “Remember this? You looked so fuckin’ hot. I wanted to cuff you for real. Keep you in my bed forever.”

You moaned, arching up into him. “Do it. Cuff me. Anything. Just don’t stop.”

He didn’t have the real cuffs, but he pinned your wrists above your head with one big hand and fucked you harder, the headboard knocking against the wall. The Polaroids crinkled under you. He switched positions, pulled you on top so you could ride him while he held up another photo, the one of you on his truck. “Look at you. Ownin’ my truck. Ownin’ me. Goddamn, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You came again like that, clenching around him, and he followed right after, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name like a prayer. “I love you—I love you—I fuckin’ love you—”

After, he didn’t pull out right away. Just held you close, both of you sweaty and shaking, the Polaroids scattered around like confetti. He traced lazy patterns on your back.

“You okay?” he murmured eventually. “Was that… too much? The photos and all?”

You lifted your head, smiling soft and sated. “It was perfect. You were perfect. I wanted you to have something fun. Something just for us. And I wanted to see you lose it a little.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Mission accomplished. I lost it completely. Almost called you from the truck and begged you to come outside so I could bend you over the hood right there.”

“Next time,” you teased.

“Next time,” he agreed, kissing your temple. Then quieter: “Thank you. For all of it. For choosin’ me. For seein’ past the Tillman bullshit and the badge and all the ways I fuck up. I’m gonna be a good husband. I swear it.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him. His hair was a mess, eyes soft, that little scar on his cheek from some old fight catching the firelight. “You already are. And I’m gonna remind you every day until you believe it.”

He pulled you down for another kiss, slower this time. The fire crackled. Snow tapped the windows. Somewhere outside, the world kept turning with all its chaos and cruelty, but in this cabin, it was just the two of you.

Eventually you got up to clean up, Gator watching you with that dopey, lovesick grin. You came back with a warm cloth and cleaned him too, gentle, and he let you, because it was you. Then you crawled back into bed and he gathered all the Polaroids carefully, stacking them and tucking them into the envelope again like treasure.

“These are stayin’ in the glovebox forever,” he said. “Emergency spank bank. For when I’m on a long shift and missin’ my wife.”

You laughed, curling into his side. “As long as you come home to me after.”

“Always,” he promised. “Win or lose, badge or no badge… I’m comin’ home to you.”

You fell asleep like that, tangled together, the envelope on the nightstand like a talisman. Gator stayed awake a little longer, watching the firelight play over your face, one hand resting possessively on your hip.

He thought about Roy. About all the years of trying and failing and trying again. About how none of it mattered now. He had you. He had this. He was a winner in the only way that counted.

“I’m a winner,” he whispered into your hair, smiling. “Got the best prize in the world.”

Outside, the snow kept falling, blanketing the world in white. Inside, Gator Tillman held his wife and dreamed of forever.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Gator humming off-key in the tiny kitchenette, wearing nothing but his boxers and your favorite flannel. He brought you breakfast in bed: burnt toast, eggs, and a fresh Polaroid he’d taken with the old camera you’d packed: you, asleep and peaceful, one of the spicy ones tucked under your pillow like a secret.

“Figured we should start our own collection,” he said, climbing back in beside you. “This one’s for me. Proof that I get to wake up to this every day.”

You took the photo, smiling. Then you took the camera from him and snapped one of him, rumpled, happy, yours. “And this one’s for me. Proof that the cockiest deputy in North Dakota is secretly the biggest softie.”

He tackled you gently, laughing, and the camera ended up forgotten as the new husband and wife lost themselves in each other all over again.

By the time you checked out of the cabin two days later, the envelope had a few new additions. And Gator Tillman walked out into the snow with his arm around his wife, the cocky grin back in place but the eyes soft, the heart full.

He was a winner.

And he had the Polaroids to prove it.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @harringtondarling @kristywidget97

[notreallythatlost]

“You make me wanna be the man you see when you look at me. I’m a winner ‘cause I got you. And I’m never lettin’ that go.”

the best line, i’m fucking sobbing

thank you char for blessing us again, love ya

[frootybb]

Summer Heat

Chap 1: Arrival Day

Word count: 5.2K

Warnings: significant age gap (Steve early 40s, reader early 20s), dad’s best friend trope, forbidden/slow-burn attraction, sexual tension, teasing/flirting, emotional tension

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———————————· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·———————————-

The familiar crunch of gravel under the tires pulled you out of the half-doze you’d fallen into somewhere on the highway. You blinked against the bright June sunlight pouring through the windshield as your dad’s SUV turned onto the private road that wound through tall pines toward the lake. The air that rushed in when you rolled the window down smelled exactly like it always did: pine resin, warm earth, and the faint metallic sweetness of lake water. Three months of this every summer since you were a kid. It should have felt routine. Comfortable. Safe.

This year it didn’t.

Your dad, Mark, glanced at you in the rearview mirror, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. “Almost there, kiddo. Steve beat us by about an hour. Said he already opened all the windows and got the grill going.”

Your mom, Laura, turned in the passenger seat with that soft, knowing smile she wore whenever Steve’s name came up. “It’ll be nice having him for the whole summer this time. He sounded like he really needed the break.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped. Steve Harrington had been part of your summers for as long as you could remember. Your dad’s best friend since college, roommates, then groomsmen at each other’s weddings (well, your dad’s wedding), then the guy who showed up for every birthday, every graduation, every random weekend when your parents needed an extra set of hands at the lake house. He’d taught you how to bait a hook when you were seven, how to drive the little motorboat when you were fourteen, and how to shotgun a beer when you turned twenty-one last year (much to your dad’s fake outrage).

But you were twenty-two now. And something had shifted the last time you saw him.

Last summer he’d only stayed for a long weekend. You’d caught him watching you when you climbed out of the lake in your new bikini, water streaming down your skin. His gaze had lingered a second too long before he looked away and cracked a joke about you finally learning how to do a proper dive. You’d told yourself it was nothing. He was Steve, charming, a little flirty with everyone, your dad’s oldest friend. Off-limits in every possible way.

Still, when your dad mentioned he’d invited Steve to stay the entire summer because Steve’s downtown apartment was being gut-renovated and he wanted somewhere peaceful to land for a few months, you’d felt that same flutter low in your belly. Three whole months. Under the same roof. On the same dock. In the same small lake town where everyone knew everyone.

The house came into view through the trees: big, weathered wood with a wide wraparound porch, string lights already glowing even though it was barely late afternoon, and the long dock stretching out into the sparkling blue water like an invitation. And there he was, standing on the porch steps with a beer in one hand, the other raised in a wave.

Steve Harrington at forty-two looked unfairly good.

The white t-shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders and a chest that had clearly seen its share of gym time or manual labor over the years. There was a little more silver threaded through the dark hair at his temples, and the lines around his eyes were deeper when he smiled, but the smile itself was the same one that had always made people lean in closer. He wore faded navy shorts that showed off strong, tanned legs, and when he stepped down to meet the car you noticed the way the fabric pulled just slightly across his hips.

“Mark!” he called, voice warm and rough like it always was after a few hours on the lake. “Laura! Get your asses out here.”

Your dad laughed as he parked and climbed out, pulling Steve into one of those back-slapping bro hugs that men like them never seemed to outgrow. “You look like you’ve already claimed the best chair on the porch, you bastard.”

“Damn right I did.” Steve’s eyes flicked past your dad to where you were climbing out of the back seat. His smile softened, something warmer and a little more careful slipping into it. “Hey there. Long time no see.”

The sound of his voice did something stupid to your pulse.

“Hey, Steve.” You stepped forward and let him pull you into a hug. It was the same hug he’d given you a hundred times, strong arms, a quick squeeze, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and whatever grill smoke clung to his clothes. But it felt different this time. Or maybe you were different. His hand lingered at the small of your back for a beat longer than necessary before he let go, and when he pulled back his eyes met yours and held.

“College treating you okay?” he asked, voice lower. “You look… grown up.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Yeah. It’s been good. Busy, but good. How about you? Dad said your place is getting torn apart.”

Steve huffed a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, the motion making the muscles in his arm flex. “Yeah, whole kitchen and both bathrooms. Figured it was a good excuse to disappear for a while. Your dad wouldn’t shut up about how perfect the lake is in June, so here I am.”

Your mom came around the car and gave him a quick hug too. “We’re glad you’re here, Steve. Really. It’s been too long since you stayed more than a weekend.”

“Tell me about it.” He glanced at you again, quick but deliberate. “Gonna be nice having the whole crew together again.”

Your dad started unloading bags from the trunk, and Steve immediately moved to help, grabbing the heaviest suitcase, yours, before you could reach for it. “I got it. You probably packed half your dorm in here.”

“I did not,” you protested, but you were smiling. “Just… essentials.”

“Essentials for three months look a lot like ‘I’m moving in permanently,’” he teased, but there was no bite to it. Just that easy warmth he’d always had with you. He carried the suitcase up the porch steps like it weighed nothing, and you followed, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders moved under the thin cotton.

Inside, the lake house smelled like cedar and the lemon cleaner your mom always used the first day. Sunlight poured through the big windows overlooking the water. The living room was open and airy, with the big stone fireplace that never got used in summer and the long dining table where you’d eaten every meal of every vacation since you were little. Steve had already put fresh flowers on the table, wildflowers from the side of the road, probably, and the fridge was humming with what looked like enough groceries for a small army.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, setting your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. “I hit the store on the way in. Figured nobody’d want to cook tonight after the drive.”

“You’re a saint,” your mom said, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get the grill going if you want to show her her room.”

Steve nodded and picked up your suitcase again without being asked. “Come on. I put you in the blue room this year. Better view of the dock.”

The blue room was the one at the end of the upstairs hallway, right across from the guest room Steve would be using. Your parents’ room was at the other end of the hall, with its own little sitting area. Thin walls, creaky floors. You tried not to think about how close his room would be to yours for the next twelve weeks.

He set your suitcase on the bed and turned, hands on his hips, looking around like he was making sure everything was perfect. “Brought some extra pillows down from the linen closet. And there’s a fan in the closet if it gets too warm at night. These old windows don’t always catch the breeze.”

“Thanks.” You stepped past him to open the window, letting in the sound of water lapping against the dock and the distant call of a loon. When you turned back he was watching you, expression unreadable for a second before the easy smile returned.

“So,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “Tell me about school. Your dad says you’re killing it. Business major, right?”

“Marketing, actually. With a minor in communications.” You sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly aware of how small the room felt with him in it. “It’s been intense. Group projects, internships, all that. But I like it.”

He nodded, genuinely interested. “Yeah? What kind of stuff are you into? Like… campaigns? Social media stuff?”

“Both. I did an internship last semester with a small outdoor brand—kayaks, camping gear, that kind of thing. It was fun. Felt relevant up here.” You gestured vaguely toward the lake.

Steve’s smile widened. “Outdoor brand, huh? I could see you doing that. You always loved being out on the water more than anyone else in this family.”

The compliment settled warm in your chest. “What about you? Dad said work’s been crazy.”

He shrugged, the motion casual but his eyes a little tired around the edges. “Real estate’s been good. Busy. I closed on a couple big lakefront properties last year—ironic, right? But it takes a lot out of you. Long hours, clients who want everything yesterday. Figured I’d earned a summer where I don’t have to answer emails at seven a.m.”

You studied him for a moment. The Steve you remembered from your teens had always seemed larger than life, loud laugh, bigger personality, the guy who could charm anyone. This version was quieter in the spaces between words. Still charming, still magnetic, but there was something steadier underneath. Something that made you want to ask more.

“Dad mentioned you and… what was her name? The one from a couple years ago?”

Steve’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Vanessa. Yeah. That ended about eighteen months ago. She wanted the city life, the parties, the constant going. I wanted… this.” He gestured around the room, but you knew he meant the lake, the quiet, the slower pace. “We wanted different things. It’s better this way.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“Don’t be. It was mutual. And honestly?” He met your eyes again, and there was something honest and a little raw there. “I’m not twenty-five anymore. I don’t have the energy to pretend I want something I don’t. I like my life. I like coming up here. I like being around people who know me without all the bullshit.”

The way he was looking at you made your breath catch. It wasn’t the look of an uncle or a family friend. It was something heavier. Warmer. You swallowed and looked down at your hands.

“I get that,” you said. “College is… a lot of pretending sometimes. Who you’re supposed to be, what you’re supposed to want. It’s nice to come back here and just… be.”

Steve pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could see the faint scar on his jaw from some long-ago mishap he and your dad had never fully explained. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Never have.”

The air in the room felt thicker. You could hear your own heartbeat. Before either of you could say anything else, your dad’s voice boomed up the stairs.

“Steve! Stop flirting with my daughter and come help me with the grill, you lazy bastard!”

Steve laughed, the sound breaking the tension like a stone through still water. “Duty calls.” He winked at you, actually winked, and headed for the door. “Get changed if you want to swim before dinner. Water’s perfect today.”

You watched him go, heart still racing, and let out a shaky breath once his footsteps faded down the hall.

Dinner was loud and easy the way family dinners at the lake always were. Your mom had thrown together a salad while the guys grilled burgers and corn. String lights glowed along the porch railings. The sun was setting over the lake in streaks of orange and pink, turning the water gold. You sat between your mom and Steve, across from your dad, and tried not to notice every time Steve’s knee brushed yours under the table.

“So,” your dad said around a mouthful of burger, “remember that Fourth of July when Steve tried to impress that girl from the next house over by doing a backflip off the dock?”

Steve groaned. “Mark, come on. She doesn’t need to hear every embarrassing story from the nineties.”

“I do, actually,” you said, grinning. “Please continue.”

Your dad launched into the story with relish, how Steve had been twenty-three, cocky as hell, and had over-rotated and belly-flopped so hard the whole lake heard it. Steve took it with good humor, laughing along and adding details your dad conveniently left out (like how the girl had still gone home with him anyway).

“You were always such a show-off,” your mom teased Steve.

“Had to be,” Steve said easily. “Couldn’t let Mark have all the attention. He was the responsible one even back then.” He glanced at you. “Your dad was already talking about settling down and buying a lake house someday. I was still trying to figure out how to pay rent.”

“And now look at you,” your dad said, raising his beer in a toast. “Successful asshole with a fancy apartment and a summer off. Proud of you, man.”

Steve clinked bottles with him, but his eyes flicked to you again. “Yeah. Life’s funny like that.”

Later, after the dishes were done and your parents had gone inside to watch some old movie on the TV, you found yourself drifting down to the dock. The wood was still warm from the day’s sun under your bare feet. You sat at the very end, legs dangling over the water, and watched the moon rise over the far shore. Crickets sang in the trees. Somewhere across the lake a boat motor hummed and faded.

Footsteps on the dock behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Mind if I join you?” Steve asked quietly.

You shook your head. He sat down a respectful distance away, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. He’d changed into a soft gray henley and another pair of shorts. His feet dipped into the water beside yours.

For a while neither of you spoke. It was comfortable. Easy. The way it had always been between you two, even when you were little and he let you “help” him fix the boat motor.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice low so it wouldn’t carry back to the house, “I used to look forward to these summers more than anything. Coming up here, seeing your family… it was like hitting reset. No matter how crazy work got, no matter what was going on in my life, this place was always the same.”

You glanced at him. The moonlight caught the silver in his hair and the strong line of his jaw. “And now?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Now it feels like something’s different. Better, maybe. Or maybe I’m just finally old enough to appreciate it without needing to fill every second with noise.”

You swallowed. “I know what you mean. Last year at school I kept thinking about how quiet it is here. How you can actually hear yourself think.”

Steve turned his head to look at you fully. His eyes were dark in the low light, warm and intent. “You’ve always been good at that. Thinking. Feeling things deeply. Even when you were a kid, you’d sit out here by yourself sometimes, just watching the water like it had all the answers.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “I still do that.”

“I know.” His voice had dropped even lower. “I’ve noticed.”

The admission hung between you. You could feel the heat of his body even though he wasn’t touching you. The air felt charged, like the moment before a summer storm breaks.

“Steve…” you started, not sure what you were going to say.

He shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s okay. We don’t have to… I’m not trying to make this weird. You’re Mark’s daughter. I’ve known you since you were in pigtails. I just…” He exhaled. “You’re not a kid anymore. And I’m not blind.”

Your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. “I’m not either.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Steve went very still beside you. For a second the only sound was the gentle lap of water against the pilings and the distant hum of night insects.

Then he let out a low, rough chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. This is dangerous territory.”

“I know.” You looked down at your hands, twisting in your lap. “I’m not… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know that when you look at me like that, it doesn’t feel like it used to.”

He was quiet again. When he spoke, his voice was careful. “I’ve been trying really hard not to look at you like that.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad is my best friend. Because I’m supposed to be the responsible one who doesn’t cross lines. Because you’re twenty-two and I’m forty-two and there are about a hundred reasons this is a bad idea.” He paused. “And because if I let myself think about it too much, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

The honesty in his voice made your throat tight. You wanted to reach for him. You wanted to lean in and see what would happen if you closed the distance. Instead you stayed where you were, feet in the cool water, heart in your throat.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered.

Steve made a sound low in his chest, half groan, half laugh. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Before either of you could do something you couldn’t take back, the porch light flicked on behind you and your dad’s voice carried across the yard. “You two still out there? Don’t stay up too late—we’re doing the boat in the morning!”

Steve cleared his throat and stood, offering you a hand up. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and solid, and he held on for just a second longer than necessary when you were on your feet.

“Night,” he said softly. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

You watched him walk back toward the house, broad shoulders silhouetted against the lights, and felt the ache of something unfinished settle deep in your chest.

Upstairs in the blue room, you changed into an old t-shirt and shorts and climbed into bed. The sheets smelled like lavender from the dryer sheets your mom used. You left the window open, letting the night air and the sound of the lake fill the space. Somewhere down the hall you heard Steve’s door close, then the low murmur of his voice, maybe on the phone, maybe just talking to himself. Then silence.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time, replaying every moment of the day. The hug. The way he’d carried your suitcase. The look in his eyes on the dock. The way his voice had gone rough when he admitted he’d been trying not to look at you.

This summer was going to be different. You could feel it in your bones.

And as sleep finally pulled you under, you wondered, not for the first time, how long either of you would be able to keep pretending it was still innocent.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @sheisjoeschateau @yikesdrama @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @jorkingtodjo @justalongfortherideee

[notreallythatlost]

[keer-y]

Antagonizing

pairing: steve harrington/gator tillman/f!reader wc: 1700 tags: threesome (mmf), established relationship, MDNI//SMUT: snowballing, hand jobs, come eating, mentions of a blowjob a/n: from @lofi-fics's prompt - here. fill #8 for my 1000 follower special🩵 &&

“If we’re playin’ Fortnite, I don’t want the Switch,” Gator said.

Your ears perked up, because you were currently standing next to the entertainment center, with your hand on the Switch, about to sit down to play.

“Well, I don’t want the Switch either,” Steve said. “The controllers are too small.”

“Yeah, ‘nd we got the same size fuckin’ hands,” Gator replied. “I’m takin’ the computer.”

“Like hell you are, man,” Steve said, and you sighed. Because they always fought like this, and then within the hour were kissing and making up (literally, sometimes).

You did pick up the Switch though, because you knew if Gator was relegated to the console, he’d immediately give in and let you keep it, because he had wrapped himself around your little finger willingly and, you’d even go so far as to say, enthusiastically.

“Then we’ll switch off after each match,” Gator said, and you heard him stomping from the spare room to the den. (Steve also had Gator wrapped around his little finger, though both were much less wont to admit it.)

And there you stood, Switch in your hands, smiling weakly as Gator rounded the corner.

“Aw, come on, man,” he said, then turned around. “Harrington, Fortnite’s off, you better let me on that ‘puter so I can do my fantasy football instead.”

“Huh?” you heard Steve call, smirking to yourself. Your home wasn’t that big一he’d absolutely heard what Gator said.

“I said you better let me on that fuckin’一”

“Sorry,” Steve called back, “I had Fortnite too loud in my headphones. What?”

“Man, fuck both’a y’all,” Gator said, huffing, then stomping into the living room to flop down onto the couch, dislodging the snapback he’d been wearing backwards. It fell over his face and stayed there. Gator grumbled.

“I’ll go get him,” you said, stepping over to Gator, plucking the hat off of his face and leaning in to kiss him, tender and sweet, your lips catching one another’s before you pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “We’ll all have some playtime together, ok?”

Gator’s eyes shone for a moment, until he realized you were still holding the Switch. But he didn’t say anything, in case you meant the adult version of playtime. He didn’t want to fuck up his chances.

He just fiddled with his hat in his lap until he heard Steve yelp一you’d probably done your patented move of yanking off the communal headphones that you all shared for computer games, and then after another few minutes, you were marching back into the den with Steve, Switch in one hand, Steve’s wrist in the other. You nestled your second boyfriend down onto the couch beside the first, placed the Switch back in its dock, grabbed the Joycons, and then took your spot beside Gator (which appeased him).

“If you two can’t get along, we’re going to sit here until you do.” You navigated over to the game you wanted to play: Tiny Bookshop.

Gator groaned and Steve exhaled heavily一he was more open to cozy games, but Gator absolutely hated them. You glanced over.

“Hold hands,” you said. Gator didn’t move, his arms firmly crossed over his chest, while Steve sat with his hands on his thighs. You loaded your save, then looked over again. “You heard me.”

“We weren’t even fighting,” Steve said.

“You were antagonizing each other,” you replied, eyes back on the TV. You checked the in-game newspaper, chose a location, then went about filling the shelves in your trailer to sell books to the locals.

Beside you, Gator turned to Steve. Steve returned the scowl. Then一to his surprise (not yours, because you were very much not looking), Gator uncrossed his arms and laid his hand onto Steve’s atop his leg. For a moment, Steve genuinely thought Gator was listening to you一he made to turn his hand over, willing to hold Gator’s hand if it got them back into your good graces一but no. The moment Steve’s hand twitched, Gator’s slid up his leg further, fingertips trailing along his inner thigh, until he was cupping Steve through his jeans and Steve looked over at him, a little shocked. It wasn’t that Gator never usually initiated, it was just一he usually waited until all three of you were ready to go. You currently had your back to them, intently focused on bookselling.

“What are you doing?” Steve whispered.

Gator answered, his voice just as quiet. “Girly thinks we’re antagonizin’ each other when we ain’t. Let’s antagonize her fer once.”

Steve scoffed, almost a laugh but not quite, and then realized一oh, no, Gator was serious. 

“Shouldn’t we一”

“Hush up, Harrington,” Gator said, shifting himself a little on the couch. You didn’t even acknowledge it, because a patron in your bookshop had just asked for a recommendation and you were perusing the titles you still had available.

And then, behind your back, Gator leaned in to kiss Steve, his hand still working over him roughly through the denim. Steve reacted一he always did一his hips bucking into Gator’s hand, the couch moving beneath the three of you.

“If you two are fighting back there,” you said, “I’m turning this off and we’re all gonna play Blue Prince. I know how much you love that game.” They hated it with the fire of a thousand burning suns.

“We ain’t fightin’,” Gator said, breaking the kiss before diving right back in, and Steve hurriedly moved his hands to his waist, unbuttoning his jeans and lifting his hips up, pushing them down so Gator could slide his hand right into Steve’s briefs.

“Definitely一not fighting,” Steve added. Your head cocked to the side, and you started to turn, but just as you did, another customer in the game asked you for a recommendation, and so that captured your attention for another minute or two.

Your boyfriends’ lips met again, and this time, when Steve grunted quietly because Gator took his cock out to stroke, you paused your game and whirled around to scold them.

Except you couldn’t find the words. Because they didn’t need to be scolded.

“Wh…” you started to say, the words fading to nothing as you took in the sight before you. Gator’s broad back was toward you, but you could see the muscles flexing as his arm moved, ostensibly jerking Steve off on the couch as they kissed. Inches from you, and they’d been so quiet and stealthy you had no idea that they were fooling around with you right there.

“See?” Gator said, breaking away from Steve to speak, though not turning to face you. “Weren’t fightin’.”

“Well, let me see what you are doing then,” you said, turning to sit the other way on the couch, facing them now, and you saw Gator shake his head, mutter something to Steve that made them both chuckle (Steve’s a bit breathier, admittedly), and then Gator stood up and moved to Steve’s other side.

“Just gettin’ him nice’n ready for us,” Gator said, his hand back on Steve’s length, pulling gently at his cock, mouth on the corner of his lips. “Figure once ya have a great day makin’ money”一he glanced at the game screen一“sellin’ some books at the Lighthouse, ya might wanna relax with yer boyfriends.”

“I’m”一you looked back at the TV screen too一“almost done.”

“Well, peachy,” Gator said. “We’ll be here waitin' for ya.”

And as you watched, reaching absently for the Switch controllers, Gator bowed his back and let his tongue drag over the head of Steve’s cock, teasing the slit.

You turned back to the TV, resuming your game, fumbling most of the customer requests because now that you were listening for it, you heard the sloppy, wet sounds of Gator sucking Steve off, of Steve’s mumbles and moans一and they were all your name, you noticed一and once the day concluded, you practically tossed the controller onto the coffee table and crawled over the couch to get to your boys. Pulling Gator up by the chin, your wrist brushing the underside of Steve’s length, you moved all three of your faces together for a kiss, first licking into Gator’s mouth, then Steve’s, and then all three of you were moving together, your hand on top of Gator’s as you slid them over Steve’s cock, both touching him at the same time. His chest kicked as you let your hand slip off of Gator’s, now moving over him in tandem, opposite the other, rubbing at him until he was gasping against your lips, turning to press his nose into Gator’s cheek, his body roiling at the attention he was getting from you and Gator一until finally, his hips kicked up once, twice, three times.

You felt his hot release on the back of your hand, smeared over his velvety cock by your fingers, as Gator withdrew his hand to lift it to Steve’s mouth.

“Made a mess,” Gator said, angling his come-covered fingers toward Steve’s lips. “Clean it up, ya sloppy motherfucker.”

Steve’s tongue moved over Gator digits, licking between them, gathering his own spend and collecting it on his tongue. Gator pulled his hand away, and Steve leaned back, but you raised your arm, proffering your hand to Steve too.

“Wait,” you said, and before Steve could swallow what was already in his mouth, you had him licking his come off of your hand too, gathering it all up onto his tongue, and you moved your free hand to hold his jaw, keeping his mouth open. You looked at Gator, then flicked your eyes at Steve. “Go on.”

Gator’s lips curled for a brief moment, but then he leaned in, kissing Steve deeply, their tongues moving against one another’s, and Gator lapped up the come from Steve’s tongue, holding it on his own. He showed you, smug, before leaning forward to kiss you right in front of Steve, passing Steve’s spunk to you. You moaned a little at the taste of him, of Gator too, and swallowed it down before Gator nosed in to you again, licking into your mouth, and then tipped you both toward Steve, letting him join in the kiss too. Your hand wandered down Steve’s front again, then moved to Gator’s. You tugged at the hem of his shirt upward while the three of you made out, games forgotten一you’d fully succumbed to their antagonizing.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @s3xytosomeone @cupofdjoplease @tenderlyuniquepatrol @treebabe

[notreallythatlost]

[kassy-djomunson]

dear god -

[frootybb]

Summer Heat - Masterlist

Father’s Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Every summer your family escapes to the lake house: lazy boat rides, bonfires, late swims, and endless golden sunsets. This year your dad invited his best friend Steve to stay the whole season. Steve, with his easy charm, toned arms from years of swimming, and that smirk that makes your stomach flip. He’s twice your age. He’s your father’s closest friend. And he’s been looking at you like he shouldn’t for weeks.

Word count: ON GOING

Warnings: NSFW, heavy smut, age gap (Steve is your father’s best friend, early 40s / you’re in your early 20s), forbidden / taboo relationship, slow burn, power imbalance, secret relationship / sneaking around

* indicates explicit material

COMING SOON

[notreallythatlost]

[graywrenhart]

WORTH A SHOT

pairing: hockey!travis 'teacake' meacham x bartender!female!reader

summary: because teacake is determined to stay sober, he can’t party with his teammates after the semi-finals. so, you devise a plan to let him join the fun without consuming any alcohol.

tags: [is this fluff? is this smut? idk but it’s super horny, so MDNI!!] [hockey player au] [travis is one year sober] [hockey team celebrating their win at a bar] [body shots] [alcohol consumption] [lowkey body worship lol] 3k words

a/n: thank you, @holawdw for putting the idea of hockey player!travis into my head. I will never forgive you. also, for this...

The bar is…wild.

It’s that time of night where the music gets racier, laughter gets louder, ties come off, and hair is raked through. You’re usually swamped working alone at this point, sweat beading down your back as you pour drink after drink from behind the bar. 

But tonight, it’s a different kind of rowdy. 

Neon lights sweep across the dance floor, illuminating the entirety of the Kansas Bucks men’s hockey team in your bar. 

After snatching a win at the semi-finals—thanks to a beautiful assist by their new left defensemen, Travis Meacham—the boys decided to pop in for a celebratory drink. Which turned into two. Which, turned into…well, you just heard somebody loudly suggest body shots. 

Now, normally, this kind of thing is against the rules. But tonight is a slow one, with most of the usual patrons choosing a bigger sports bar to go to after the win, and you don’t see a reason to deny this team much of anything right now. 

So, you turn and a handful of shot glasses from the shelf, snagging a fresh bottle of tequila, too. 

“Hey, could I get a glass of water?” A voice calls behind you. 

“Sure thing, do you want—” you start, but freeze when you look up to see who just sat down at the bar.

He smiles, white teeth flashing in the lights. His bleached hair is parted down the middle, falling over his forehead in frizzy, crimped waves. 

“…Ice?” you finish lamely. 

His brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and your stomach does a little flip. 

“Ice? Nah. Well, just—whatever you got’s good. Thanks.”

You nod, swiping a glass and filling it quickly from the tap. 

“Hey, great assist tonight by the way.” The words tumble from your lips as you set the glass down in front of him. 

His eyes flicker with interest as they meet yours again. “You saw the game?”

His jacket gapes a little off his waist, the width of his shoulders filling it out as he reaches for the glass.

“I always turn the TV to local sports.” You motion to the TV in the corner of the bar. As if he couldn’t see it for himself. 

“Shit, seriously? That’s cool.” His gaze lingers on you for a second before he clears his throat, then shifts on the barstool to hold out his hand. “Hey, I’m Teacake, by the way. Well, Travis, technically, but everybody calls me that. Or Tea.” 

You smile, setting down the glass you were holding and reach out to clasp his hand in yours. But when you look down at your hands, you forget entirely how to introduce yourself. 

His hands are so big that his palm practically engulfs yours, and his long, blunt fingers brush your wrist, warm against your skin. 

“How we doin’ on those shots?” Someone calls. 

You jump, the music swelling back into your ears, and you drop Teacake’s hand. Looking up, you find Gus now standing at the bar. He’s tall and lean, with black hair that’s shaved down short. You recognize him as the team’s right winger. 

“Y-yeah! Yeah, got ‘em right here,” you say, flashing Teacake an apologetic look before flipping open the tequila bottle and pouring eight neat shots, all in a row. The liquor gurgles from the spout, splashing right into the glass bottoms without spilling a drop.

“Jesus, you’re really fast at that,” Teacake muses under his breath, and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile. 

Gus turns around to face the bar, then cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Body shots!”

An answering chorus of whoops and cheers echo through the bar, and you shake your head in amusement. This is definitely a bad idea, but hey—it’s not every day you win the semifinals. 

“We’re celebrating you tonight, man!” Jamison shouts over the music, coming up behind Teacake and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. A few of the girls fill the gaps between the stools in front of you, a cloud of sparkling tops and perfume. “What’dya say, girls?” he says, turning to them with a charming grin, sweaty brunette curls sticking to his face. “You wanna show our boy, Teacake, a good time?”

You grab a knife and slice into a fresh lime, the tart smell filling your nose, the sticky juice spilling over your fingers as you try not to look up at him. 

“Hey, hey,” Travis says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

A shadow falls over your cutting board, and you look up to see one of the girls shimmying herself up onto the bar top.  

“Where do want it, Tea?” The girl asks coyly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Here?” She brushes her hand over her cleavage, and the boys crowd around, eyes eager, drinks hooked lazily in their hands. Her hand travels lower, circling the flat stomach peeking out under her top. “Or here?”

He swallows hard, then opens his mouth to say something, but she turns over her shoulder to you before he can. 

“Hand me that, would you?” She says. The neon lights catch in her lashes, and she smiles. 

You reach over to hand her a tequila shot, but she stops you, one manicured finger pointing beside you. 

“No, I meant the bottle.”

Wordlessly, and a little reluctantly, you hand her the tequila bottle, as well as a pinch of margarita salt, and a fresh lime wedge. When she turns back to Travis, a chant starts up from the crowd. 

"Tea-cake, Tea-cake, Tea-cake!”

The team’s bellows are so loud, they temporarily drown out the music. Everyone crowds in even more, and even Landon, their shy goalie, grabs a hold of Teacake’s jacket and shakes him a little in anticipation. 

Travis raises his big hands, motioning for them to stop. A small smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, but he shakes his head, and the cheers dies out. 

The girl on the bar starts to pout, her bottom lip slick with lip gloss. “You’re not any fun.”

“Oh, me?” Teacake asks, pointing a finger into his chest. “I’m fun. I’m huge fun! But look—” He fishes something out of his pocket, then holds it out proudly. “Fourteen months sober.”

He’s holding a sobriety coin. It’s a smooth, slightly tarnished bronze, but Teacake holds it like its treasure. It winks under the flashing lights as he weaves it between his knuckles in a practiced motion. 

Gus groans. “That’s right. Sorry man. I forgot. I didn’t mean—”

“Nah, man, you’re good.” Teacake says, with a little shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, he holds out his hand for the drunk girl still perched in front of him. “Shit, here, let me help you down. And it’s not that I don’t want to, okay? Your tits look good. Great, I mean! They look great. Seriously.”

She looks up at him, then, and flashes him a small smile, turning back to her friends. You recognize that look. Pity.

It makes your stomach twist. 

Travis is a fairly new addition to the Bucks. Apparently, after spending a short time in the slammer for something stupid, his childhood hockey coach decided to give him a fresh start. Saw his potential. Saw his heart. 

He’s got more to prove than the others because of this, though, and you recognize that earnest desire to succeed. It matches your own.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself leaning over the bar in front of him and saying, “You know, you don’t have to drink alcohol in order to do a body shot.”

Travis looks over his shoulder at you, and his lips part in surprise. Like, he almost can’t believe you are speaking to him again. The rest of his team still stands around, but they aren’t listening anymore. 

“There are…other ways.” you continue, mouth suddenly dry.

He twists towards you, wide shoulders taking up your vision as he leans over the bar, meeting you halfway.  “Oh yeah?”  His hair flops in his face as he tilts his head. “What other way are we talkin’ about here?”’

You smirk to yourself, then plant your hands on the sticky bar top and level his gaze. 

“Oh. Oh, shit. You mean off me?” His eyes widen and he glances at the girls, then back at you. “Trust me, these girls don’t wanna—”

“I bet they would,” you interrupt with a shrug you hope looks casual. “But I wasn’t talking about them.”

He lets out a quiet, stuttering laugh. “Are….are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’ right now? You want to do a body shot off me?”

Landon, Gus, and Jamison all turn around sharply in unison. It’s honestly kind of impressive for three guys as drunk as they are.

“Wait, what did he say?” Landon asks. 

Jamison gestures towards you with his glass. “I think the bartender’s doing a body shot off Tea.”

At that moment, the song changes. It turns into something with a deep bass, and a sexy tempo that sits low in your hips, humming up your spine. 

“Ohhh yeah. Yep, this is happening!” Gus shouts. “Clear the bar top!” 

A blur of hands grab their drinks from the ledge before you can blink. Gus sure knows how to command a room. 

Travis rubs his neck. “I don’t know, man. I’m trying to get better at not getting talked into shit, you know?”

Jamison scoffs. “What’s the harm in this, T? You’re not the one drinking!”

A cheer runs through the crowd, and in a matter of seconds, the boys have Teacake laid out on the bartop like your personal offering. He’s scoffing, batting their hands away, lips twisted in disgust as they try to rip up his shirt. 

“Ah—okay, what the hell, man? Jesus,” he hisses. “Can take off my own damn shirt…”

Getting a knee up on the counter for leverage, you climb up onto the bar top with him, and man, that really makes the crowd go crazy. 

You seek out his eyes underneath the neon lights as your knees find their place on either side of his hips. His jacket is gone, leaving his chest heaving underneath a mussed white T-shirt, and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his gaze meets yours. 

He blushes, but doesn’t look away, so you turn to the girl from before, who’s standing on the ground watching. 

“Can I see that?” You ask. She hands the tequila bottle up to you, clearly a little chagrined she didn’t think of this first. “Thanks.”

 Snatching a pinch of salt from the counter, and a fresh lime wedge, you lean back on your heels and look down at Teacake.

He’s so wide and broad underneath you, your knees almost ache from being spread so far, planted on either side of his ribs. His chest is warm through the cotton shirt, brushing against your inner thighs. 

The rest of him is just as good, from the sliver you can see. His stomach made up of strong muscles under a thin layer of fat you just want to sink your teeth into. 

“There’s no fucking way this is happening,” he mutters in awe.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Why not? I mean—look at you! You’re, like, insanely hot and shit.” 

You smile. “So are you.”

And he is. 

You raise your head to look at the crowd. They’re all gathered around, awaiting your next move as the song’s tempo picks up.

“Where should I put the salt, boys?” You yell over the music. 

A chorus of suggestions rise, each one more risqué than the last, but you turn back to Teacake and move down his body. 

“I think…” You tilt your head, pursing your lips. “Here.”

“Jesus,” Travis hisses, dropping his head back against the bar as you swipe the lime across the sliver of skin just above his waistband, then sprinkle salt over the gleaming strip. “Are you sure you—”

“Hold this for me, would ya?” You reach up and press the lime wedge peel against his mouth, muffling his words. 

Slowly, under your watchful gaze, his lips part and his teeth accept it. 

“Atta girl!” Jamison shouts. “Show him who’s boss!”

Gus cheers, slinging an arm around one of the girls. “Finally, someone who knows how to shut Tea up!”

Travis’ nostrils flare as the lime invades his senses, his pupils dilated and fixed on you. The swinging lights skitter across his lashes, painting his freckles in gold.  

“Good boy.” You murmur, smiling. “Now pull that shirt up higher.”

The boys whoop so loudly the vibrations travel through your kneecaps planted on the bar. They crowd around closer, slamming open palms into each other’s chests, slinging drinks around. 

You’ll have to stay late cleaning this place up. But, considering the view in front of you right now, it’s so worth it. 

Teacake scoffs against the lime at your order, but his lips quirk. The veins in his hands flex as he reaches down and grabs his shirt and drags it higher.

The glass bottle feels slick in your sweaty palm, salt chunks digging into the pads of your fingers in the other, and your heart hammers against your ribs as you stare down at him. 

Lick. Shoot. Suck. 

Easy. 

But as his shirt lifts, revealing hard pecs beneath warm, soft fat, and a chestful of dark hair, your mouth parts on an exhale. He’s so big, and so warm. Like a damn furnace underneath you right now. 

Suddenly, you’re consumed by the urge to know what it’s like to burrow into his side and use that heavy arm like your personal weighted blanket. Your head swims like you’ve already slammed the shot, and—fuck, what are you supposed to do again?

Right. Lick. 

You shuffle down until your face is practically level with his crotch as the song builds to the chorus. He’s wearing dark jeans, spread tight over his thick, muscular thighs. God, if you were alone right now…

But you’re not. And you have a job to do. 

Slowly, you lower your body. You’re utterly entranced by the way his breath heaves once, twice, his head tipping up to look at you, and then your mouth descends—just as the beat drops. 

Cheers erupt, but you hardly hear them over the blood rushing in your ears. 

The harsh bite of salt invades your tongue, but you swipe it across his skin eagerly, looking for the taste of him underneath it. 

With the hand that isn’t clenched around the bar top for stability, you tip the bottle just enough for a small pool of tequila to land on his stomach. His core clenches as it splashes over his body, pooling in his navel before running in rivulets down his sides.  

He curses again from behind the lime, but you swoop in, slurping the alcohol off his body, letting your lips drag over the dips and valley of skin and muscle. His stomach jerks beneath the hot, velvety glide of your tongue, and despite everything, a groan escapes him. 

It’s muffled under the music, you more so feel it than hear it, but it sends a thrill down your spine. 

The tequila bites your taste buds, hot and bitter, but the scent of his skin is overwhelming. Warm, but clean, probably from his shower after the game, with just a hint of sweat that makes embers stir between your hips. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you suck gently, intent on getting every drop, and his hand twitches at his side as if he wants to grab your hair for you.

You look up when his chest vibrates under your lips and find him trying to say something to his teammate from behind the lime. One of the boys has his phone out, filming over Teacake’s shoulder with a wicked grin. 

Travis waves him away, but it’s no use, and when he turns back to you, he’s laughing from behind the fruit, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You laugh too, heartbeat fluttering against Travis’ thigh as you slide your tongue over his abs again. The tequila is gone now, but he deserves to have a video his teammates can wave around, make inside jokes about, or threaten to show everyone at the fancy hockey galas.

Finally, you pull back and crawl up his body. He looks up at you, brown eyes wide and pupils blown. That lime still pitifully stuck between his lips, flesh part facing you. Your hair brushes his cheek and his hand flies up. You think he’s going to brush it away, but instead, he reaches up under your hair, and cups the nape of your neck.

Your heart stops. His hand is so heavy, so warm, as he pulls you down. Your lashes flutter and you try to keep from grinning in excitement as you slowly, slowly lower your mouth down to his. 

His breath ghosts along your cheek as your teeth sink into the flesh of the fruit. The sour tang hits the back of your throat, but you barely feel it, because your bottom lip slides across his. 

Your stomach swoops, heat pooling in your belly. It feels like, for a moment, it’s just the two of you. No music. No onlookers. And when his other hand brushes your thigh beside his hip, you nearly forget how to breathe. 

The hoots and hollers coming from the boys rip you back into the present, and you pull back just far enough to take the lime from your own mouth, but you stay hovered over him, your eyes on his. 

He swallows hard, and his thumb brushes your thigh again. Intentional, this time. Earnest, and almost…grateful. 

“So, you still think girls don’t want to do that to you?” You tease. 

“I think—” He breaks into a helpless laugh. “Shit, man, if this is what’s waiting for me at the afterparty, I’ll win every fucking game.”

“Hey,” you smile down at him with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”

a/n: god, I need him bad. like, badddddddddd. expect more hockey!teacake soon. (my sports romance side is coming out, if you couldn't tell)

also, if you liked this, you might like soccer player!travis (football, for her lol) by @moonstoneandmoonlight.

teacake taglist: @xoxocelestial , @s3xytosomeone , @tellcherhesgone , @another-widow , leave a comment here if you want to join!

teacake masterlist

[notreallythatlost]

[comfycosygirl]

where'd you get that confidence from, last time that i checked i won

"don't go,

go where you don't belong."

***

steve harrington x fem!reader

one of Steve's exes keeps coming into his work in hopes of winning him back over. Despite his persistence that he's taken, after she completely steps over the line you feel the need to step in and remind her that Steve's yours now.

warnings: nsfw mdni, swearing, oral (m. receiving), p in v (protected), making out, dirty talk, slightly rough sex, sub/dom steve, jealous reader, steve's ex won't leave him alone, reader publicly humiliates ex, lovesick steve, nancy is the ultimate bestie

a.n: this might be one of my favourite things i've ever written, i hope you all enjoy this x

part of the 200 follower celebration

***

Thirty seconds. That’s precisely how long it took for you to walk into the Family Video store and realise that something wasn’t right. You were chatting to Nancy, the two of you out shopping for a party you were throwing next week, completely engrossed in her re-telling of the awful date she went on last night when you glanced over to the cash register and stopped with a very loud sigh.

The sigh wasn’t directed at your boyfriend, no. The very moment you’d walked through the door, Steve had met your gaze and not been able to stop looking at you, that stupid grin on his face that always made your knees weak Actually the sigh was meant for the girl who was currently leaning over the counter, chatting your boyfriend’s ear off and seemingly ignoring the fact that he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. This didn’t stop her from casually placing a hand on Steve’s arm as she told him a joke, laughing loudly. Steve smiled out of politeness but he carefully shrugged out of her touch. This girl could not take a hint.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nancy roll her eyes. “Seriously, she’s here again? Isn’t this like the third time this week?”

Krissy Matthews. She had been the girl that Steve dated before you, the two of them having broken up a few months beforehand when Steve had caught her kissing another guy at a party. It had taken a little while for him to get over it, but as soon as he’d met you Steve had never looked back. Which was more than could be said for Krissy. It seemed as of late that she had realised what a great guy she’d let go of. What a shame that guy was already taken.

You strolled over casually, not feeling the least bit intimidated by her. The relationship you had with Steve was rock solid, you knew he only had eyes for you, which was proved by the way his whole demeanour lit up when you reached him, turning towards you and completely shutting Krissy down.

“Hey, baby.” You smiled at him, leaning over the counter to kiss him. When you pulled away he was full on beaming, gazing at you like a lovesick puppy. Krissy didn’t even exist to him anymore.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He replied. “Hey, Nance.” He nodded over your shoulder to your best friend. She smiled in response before heading off to browse the tapes. “What are you doing here, I thought you guys were going out for coffee?”

“We were just passing by and I wanted to stop in and see you.” You told him. “Thought you might be getting a little bored.”

It was then that Krissy cleared her throat loudly, making her presence known to you. Slowly you turned to face her, giving her your best saccharine smile. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You apologised to her. “I didn’t realise Steve was with a customer.”

“Actually-“ she began.

“You look kind of familiar. Have I seen you in here before?” You were riling her up, she knew that you knew exactly who she was. Krissy had been lingering in her for the last few weeks like a bad perfume, desperately trying to get some facetime with Steve. The idea that it hadn’t fazed you at all made her scowl in disappointment.

“I was actually in the middle of a conversation with Steve.” She told you. “I was telling him about a film I watched last week.” She turned back to your boyfriend. “So, what did you think about my offer?”

“Oh, what offer was this?” You asked, playing along with her.

Steve’s eyes were twinkling as he caught on to what you were doing. “Krissy was inviting me over to watch a movie with her tomorrow night.”

“She was?” You turned back to her, amusement written on your face. “What a damn shame, Steve and I already have plans tomorrow night.”

Krissy glowered at you. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Steve.”

You turned back to Steve, awaiting his response. A smile crept across your face when you saw he was already looking at you, no doubt already envisioning how the next evening would play out. Most nights spent together ended up with both of your clothes off, tangled up in the sheets. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you thought about it, and he knew damn well the effect he had on you as his fingers intertwined with yours over the counter.

“Sorry Krissy, I’m busy tomorrow night. I’m busy every night, actually. I’m really not interested in whatever you’re doing here.”

The devious smile on her face dropped instantly, and she immediately tried to recover it. “That’s OK. I’ll give you time to reconsider.” She reached over and put her hand on Steve’s arm, causing him to startle a little. “Wouldn’t want to see you settle, Steve.”

You didn’t let her words affect you, but they sure affected Steve. His jaw clenched at her words and he gently brushed her hand off. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

She finally conceded, stepping away from the counter. “OK. I’ll see you around, handsome.”

That was the last straw. You physically had to hold yourself back from launching across and throttling her as she turned her back to you, walking out of the store. The only thing that broke through the red haze was the hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently to bring you back down to earth. “Honey, are you alright?”

You turned back to Steve, seeing his face etched with concern. You were his moon and stars, and nothing else ever came close. He hated the fact that this ghost from his past had come back to haunt both of you, there was absolutely not a chance of anything happening with him and Krissy. When she’d broken his heart, he’s taken it pretty hard and hadn’t othered with anyone else for months. But when he met you, it was a reminder that there were still people who loved every part of him, not just the jokey façade he often wore or the things he could do for people. You loved every piece of him. Krissy never had.

That was why you were it for him.

“I’m sorry, baby. I tried shutting down that conversation so many times, she said she was just here to rent a video.”

“It’s OK, Steve.” You smiled at him. “I’m not mad at you. I just wish she would get the hint.”

“You’re telling me? The prettiest girl in all of Hawkins just walked in and I had to stand there talking to Krissy.”

A smirk crept across your face. “The prettiest girl, huh?”

“God damn gorgeous.” Steve told you, leaning in to kiss you again. You were tempted to lose yourself in it, but then Nancy reappeared next to you, coughing loudly. You smiled at her.

“What is her problem?” She asked the both of you. “Doesn’t she know you guys are dating now?”

“Apparently she can’t get the message.” You replied, glancing to the door that Krissy had just disappeared out of. “The fucking nerve after everything she did.”

“I don’t want to talk about Krissy anymore.” Steve interjected. “If I never have to see her again, that’s fine with me. Besides, I’d rather talk about this party next week, is it still on?”

“Damn right.” You nodded. “Me and Nancy are throwing it at her house. Everyone’s coming. I just need to figure out what to wear.”

“You should wear that cute skirt you just bought.” Nancy told you, smirking at Steve. “Wait until you see her in, you’ll lose your mind.”

You could tell Steve was already picturing you in it by the way he gulped slightly, Shaking your head, you rana hand up his arm. “Alright, I think we’ll leave you to it. But I’ll see you tonight at your place?”

“Absolutely, can’t wait.” Steve had that lovesick grin on his face again as you gave him another quick kiss before heading out the door. Anyone within a three-mile radius could see how down bad he was for you, no one else ever stood a chance as long as you were around. He was already counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

It was just a shame some people couldn’t take a hint.

***

“Steve.” You breathed softly, head falling against the couch cushions as he kissed your neck gently. The TV was still on but the two of you had long forgotten the movie you had been watching. This was how most nights went down when you came to see Steve, neither of you could keep your hands to yourself.

His tongue laved over the sensitive spots of your skin as he groaned lightly. “Taste so good, baby. Can’t wait to taste all of you.”

His words sent shivers down your spine as he reached under the t-shirt you were wearing, one of his that you’d stolen. The second he’d opened the front door to you and seen you wearing it, he was totally done for. You could tell from the way his pupils blew out that he wouldn’t be able to resist you for too long. And you’d been right. He moved to unclasp your bra, ready to take all of your clothes off.

And then the phone rang.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” He said in annoyance. The one thing Steve hated was to be interrupted when he was with you, he valued your time together more than anything. “Who the fuck is calling right now?”

“It’s OK, you can answer.” You told him with a smile. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

With a mutter of indignation, he climbed up off the couch and made his way over to the phone, which was still shrieking on the wall. He quickly answered it. “Hello?”

You observed his facial expressions as he listened to the response, trying to make sure nothing was wrong. It was unusual for anyone to call round here so late, you hoped nothing had happened with one of the kids. But then he sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Why do you still have my number?”

You could only hear a faint chattering on the other end, but whoever it was Steve clearly didn’t want to talk to them. It wasn’t until he name-dropped that you felt your blood run cold. “Krissy, you need to stop.”

“What the fuck?!” You exclaimed loudly, Steve shook his head at you, sharing in your anger.

“We broke up ages ago, because you cheated on me. It’s over, alright. I’m happy now and you need to leave me alone.” He told her before hastily slamming the phone back on the wall, cutting her off. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily as he stared at the phone like it had personally offended him.

You slowly got up and made your way over to him, hugging him from behind. He instantly relaxed into your touch, melting against you. “Are you OK, baby?”

“I didn’t even know she still had my number.” He told you. “Why won’t she just leave us alone?”

“I know, honey. I hate it as well.” You told him. “But hopefully now she’ll get the message.”

“I don’t get it, it’s like she enjoys trying to hurt me or something.” He turned around so he was facing you, arms circling around you. “I’m sorry, baby. I can’t believe I let her ruin our date night.”

“Hey, she didn’t ruin anything.” You carded your hands into his hair and his eyes drifted shut as he leaned into his touch, all the tension leaving his body. “I’m still here. Now, can we pick up where we left off?”

Steve pulled you into a hungry kiss, attention completely fixed on you now. “You’re the only one for me, you know that right?” He mumbled against your lips.

“I know, honey. You’re it for me, too.”

You just wished Krissy knew it too.

***

The night on the party finally rolled around, and you found yourself climbing out the car at the Wheeler’s house, decked out in the outfit you’d picked out with Nancy. You couldn’t lie, you did look hot. A lacy pink shirt and skirt was just the right length that you knew it would drive Steve crazy when he saw you. It was a showstopper for sure, and you were pretty sure nothing could dampen your mood right now.

There were already crowds of people there when you walked in through the front door, eyes searching for your friends. You’d told Steve to meet you here, knowing full well if you’d driven together there was no way he would have been able to keep his hands off you. It didn’t take long for you to spot the familiar head of curls that belonged to your best friend, standing next to Robin and Jonathan. When she spotted you, you waved over to her and she hastily made her way over to you. As soon as she reached you, you could tell by her expression that something was off.

“What’s wrong?” You asked her.

“We have a problem.” She told you, before glancing over to the kitchen. You followed her gaze, and your stomach dropped when you saw that your boyfriend had been cornered by the one girl you had not wanted to see tonight.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You exclaimed loudly.

“I don’t even know who invited her.” Nancy said. “I didn’t even know she was here until Steve went to get a drink, and she just appeared. I was going to step in but then you got there.”

“I swear, the audacity of that girl is something else.” You shook your head.

Steve was obviously uncomfortable, trying to sidle past her but Krissy had him in a corner, clearly hanging on way too hard. She was chewing his ear off about something that he wasn’t listening to. His gaze flickered over her head and landed straight on you, almost as though he had felt you come into the house, like he’d been searching for you all night. His mouth fell open when he saw the outfit you were wearing, taking you in. He’d never seen anyone so gorgeous in all his life. You flashed him a small smile.

Krissy seemed to notice that his attention had drifted somewhere else and she followed his gaze to see you standing there next to Nancy. She flashed you a dirty look, rolling her eyes before turning back to Steve, putting a hand on his arm. Steve was already making his excuses, attempting to move past her. And then it happened.

Krissy tightened her grip on his arm, holding him in place as she leaned in and went to brush her lips against hers.

Before she could, Steve immediately recoiled away from her, shaking her arm off. From across the room, all sense and reason had left your head as you stormed away from Nancy and marched over to them. When you reached them Steve had retracted back, speaking to her in an angry tone.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m in a relationship now. Stay away from me.”

“Oh, come on.” Krissy laughed as you reached Steve’s side, staring daggers at her. “You think she’s better than me. Steve, baby, you could be so much happier with me.”

“No, I’m already happy. And don’t talk about her like that, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” His arm instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer. It was a good thing, too. It meant you couldn’t strangle Krissy. “She picked me up after you broke my heart. We’re over, Krissy. You need to move on.”

Your gaze flickered down to the jacket wrapped around her shoulders. It was one of Steve’s. “Where did you get that from?” Your voice didn’t waver once.

She glanced down at the jacket. “Oh, this old thing?” She chuckled. “Steve gave it to me.”

You heard him sigh as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I left it on the back of the chair just now when I went to get a drink. I think she took it then.”

You knew he was telling the truth. Steve had been wearing that jacket just this morning when you saw him, it was one of his favourites. Except now it was tarnished because she was wearing it. But you weren’t one to get rattled so easily. Instead, you flashed her a smile.

“It suits you, you should keep it.” You told her, before turning your attention to Steve. “Baby, I’m so thirsty. Would you mind grabbing me a drink?”

“Sure, honey.” He leaned into you. “You look fucking amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you, baby.” Before he could leave, you pulled him into a kiss in front of Krissy, making sure she could see just how much Steve had moved on. When you pulled away, Steve was grinning like an idiot, wandering over to grab you a drink and not giving Krissy a second glance. You on the other hand.

As soon as Steve was gone, you whirled around to face her. She was still wearing that smug grin on her face. “Don’t get too comfy, sweetie. It’s only a matter of time before Steve comes crawling back to me.”

“Oh, honey.” You laughed. “You really don’t know when to back down, do you?”

Nancy and Robin appeared next to you, a safe alliance around you. “Want me to throw her out?” Nancy asked you.

“No, no. That’s OK, Nance. Actually she should stay, as a guest of honour. In fact, I should make a speech just for her.” You spotted the cup in Robin’s hand and took it off her, storming into the living room and climbing up onto the coffee table so everybody could see you. “Excuse me, can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

The swathes of people mingling about all turned their heads towards you, clearly excited to see what this new development at the party was. You noticed Steve return, standing next to Nancy and Robin and looking bemused. You held your cup up in the air. “Thank you all for coming, but right now I would love to make a toast to our guest of honour. Krissy Matthews.” You tilted the cup in her direction.

Krissy didn’t look so confident anymore, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope as all eyes in the place turned on her. You continued your spiel. “You know, from up here I can see there are a lot of happy couples here tonight. You guys all look so good, by the way. I just wanted to make a quick PSA to all the ladies, you might want to steer clear of Krissy tonight, because she can’t seem to keep her hands off what doesn’t belong to her anymore.” You announced loudly.

Everyone suddenly started booing, but not at you. At Krissy. She folded her arms in on herself as you went on. “But doesn’t she look great tonight, guys? Let’s all give it up for Krissy.” You signed off your speech, climbing down and making your way over to her. As soon as you were close enough, you tripped forward and spilled the remnants of the drink all over the jacket.

Krissy yelled in shock. “What the fuck?!”

“Aw, I’m so sorry babe.” You pouted at her. “Butterfingers and all. But then again, I guess that jacket was never yours to begin with, huh?” You gave her the fakest smile, leaning in so only she could hear you. “The next time you think about kissing my boyfriend, maybe think twice. Steve’s with me now, you lost babe.” You stepped back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs with my boyfriend to fuck his brains out.”

With that, you turned heel and left her standing there completely dumfounded. Wandering over to Steve, you planted a kiss on his cheek and he chuckled low..

“Jesus, baby. You know how hot you looked up there, looking like that and defending my honour.”

You shrugged. “Maybe it was petty, but it had to be done.”

Steve’s hand settled on your waist, passing the drink he had gotten you to Robin before leaning in to you. “I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of turned on right now. You look damn good in that skirt.” Steve confessed, whispering in your ear. A shiver went down your spine at his words.

“Oh, yeah?” You smirked. “Well, how about we go somewhere quiet and you show me exactly how much?”

You grabbed Steve’s hand and began pulling him through the crowd, flashing Krissy a wink and a smile as your pushed past her, heading for the stairs. Steve followed you up and you located the first room you could find, dragging him inside. It turned out to be one of the guest bedrooms which worked perfectly for you. You took no time in pushing Steve up against the wall and crashing your lips with his.

He groaned against your lips, secretly loving how much you were taking charge right now. “Jesus, baby. You’re fucking killing me right now.”

You broke away from his lips and began peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck, feeling him melt into you. “You know what I want to do to you right now?”

“Mmm?” Steve was a little too preoccupied with how good your kisses felt in that moment, heat creeping up his back.

“I want to fuck you until you forget all about Krissy Matthews.” You told him as you palmed him through his jeans, feeling how hard he was.

“Fuck, baby.” Steve moaned in surprise. “You know it’s only you for me.”

Your hands moved up to card into his hair, tilting his head back and leaning in to lick a long strip up his neck, revelling in how you felt him shudder under your touch. “I know, baby. I just want to make sure.” You moved down to unbuckle his belt.

“Honey, let me touch you first, please?” Steve practically begged but you shook your head, pulling his pants down and dropping to your knees.

“Not just yet, baby. Let me take care of you, first.”

Steve was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven, seeing you down on your knees for him. You removed his boxers slowly and before he knew it, you were taking him in your hand, pumping slowly. His head fell back against the wall, a series of curse words falling from his mouth. You picked up the pace a little, and Steve saw stars. “Jesus Christ, baby. Please, you’re killing me.”

“Please what, Stevie? You want my mouth.”

“Fuck yes.” His breathing was ragged.

“Hmm.” You hummed in contemplation, still stroking him. “I don’t know, have you forgotten about Krissy yet?” You knew what the answer was, and the jealousy from earlier had completely dissipated now. Steve was all yours and you knew it. You were just slightly enjoying having him as putty in your hands right now, seeing his face completely wrecked from your touch gave you a little thrill.

“Baby, I never thought about her. It’s only ever been you.” Steve breathed. “Please.”

That was good enough for you, and without any hesitation you licked a strip up his length, causing him to jolt in both surprise and pleasure. “Oh, fuck.”

You took him in your mouth, expertly bobbing up and down. This wasn’t your first rodeo and you knew exactly how to ruin Steve. You started off slow, knowing how much it would drive him crazy. His hands snaked into your hair, desperately trying to keep himself grounded. “Oh God, baby. You’re so good at this, please don’t stop.”

You glanced up at him, head thrown back against the wall, breathing heavy and eyes drifted close in pure ecstasy. “You look so pretty right now, honey. You briefly paused to tell him, before taking his entire length back in your mouth. He groaned loudly.

“Shit, I’m not going to last much longer, baby.”

You hummed in response, feeling his hands tighten in your hair and his legs start to shake. After a moment, he cursed loudly and tried to pull your head away but you doubled down as he spilled his release into your mouth, moaning as he watched you swallow. You finally pulled away with a smile. “You’re so good for me, Stevie.” You grinned up at him, watching as he tried to catch his breath, holding his hand against the door frame to steady himself. As soon as he had come back down, he reached down to pull you up, kissing you softly as his hands found their way into your hair again.

You sighed against his lips, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Steve was the best kisser you had ever met, you could have stayed there for hours, but apparently he had other ideas. He was in control now, moving to kiss down your neck and sucking at a particularly sensitive spot, making you moan.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asked, hands toying with the hem of your shirt. “Think it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

“Please.” You were begging now, which only fuelled Steve’s ego. He leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, baby. Show you that you’re the only one for me.”

He pulled your shirt over your head and immediately trailed kisses down your neck, hands coming up to your nipples as he circled them slowly. Your head fell forward against his shoulder as he played with your tits, caught up in how good it felt. “Shit, Stevie. That feels good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He kissed the top of your head softly, not stopping his assault on your nipples. “Swear I could do this all day.”

“I need you, Steve.”

Steve cooed. “Poor baby, gone all dumb for me now? Need me to take care of you?” His hands moved down to pull up your skirt. “Gonna let me make you feel good?”

“Please, baby, want you inside me.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He lined himself up with you and slowly pushed himself inside. Even after all this time, it still took you a minute to adjust to his size, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as Steve stroked your hair gently. “It’s OK, honey. I’ve got you. I’ll start slow.” As soon as the pain bloomed into pleasure, you squeezed his shoulder, a green light. Steve began moving, slowly at first and he groaned at the feeling of you around him. “Fuck, baby. You feel amazing.”

“Feels so good, Steve. Always so good.”

Steve pressed kisses to your neck as he picked up the pace. “God, no one ever felt as good as you do, honey. You know how much I love you?”

You did, you always had. Steve was the one for you, no one ever made you feel as good as he did. “Love you too, Steve. So much.”

His groans were getting louder, mixed with your moans and you knew for sure that if anyone was outside right now, they would hear you. Not that you cared, you wanted everyone at that party to know that Steve was yours.

“Say you’re mine, Steve.” His head was nestled in the crook of your shoulder as he thrusted in and out of you, not hearing you at first. “Baby, please say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, honey. No one else’s. Yours.” He whispered in your ear.

You moaned loudly. “God, you feel so good, Steve. I’m so close.”

Steve picked up the pace tenfold, pounding into you knowing how much you loved it when he got a little rough. “That’s it, baby. Take it like that, you feel fucking incredible.”

“Steve.” Feeling the coil tighten in your stomach, you knew how close you were to the edge. Steve was right there with you.

“Let go for me, honey. You know how much I love to hear you fall apart on my cock.” He said, voice low and husky. That was all it took for you to tip over the edge, feeling as though you’d been sent to another planet as Steve held you through your orgasm.

“Oh God, Steve.” You moaned loudly. “Oh, Steve.” His name fell from your lips like a prayer and it was enough for him to follow you over the edge, groaning loudly as he spilled his load inside you. You were grateful to be on the pill, as there was no way you were pulling away from him right now. The two of you held each other as you both came down from your highs, breathing slowly returning to normal.

You looked up and brushed some hair out of his face, revelling in how fucked out he looked right now. He gave you a grin right back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

“I do, but it’s nice to hear it.” You giggled. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too. I swear, it’s only you.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Hopefully now everyone else does too.”

A sudden banging on the door had you both startling in surprise. “Hey, guys!” It was Robin. “If you’re done screwing in there, we might need your help clearing up down here.”

You both chuckled together. “I think they do.”

***

tags: @whispersoflost @cupofdjoplease @tenderlyuniquepatrol @oliviaharrington @veeweepeeknee @beesbotanicalwhispers @jamesdeerest @louisbelongstome28 @marie-the-muse @dreamerjj @crescentwillow