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[peasdigitalarchive]

hittin' it raw

pairing: eddie x reader

rating: pg13 i guess!

warnings: none

eddie and you have a daytime date planned — a picnic in the park — and you beg him to take you to your favorite market before the date so you could stock up on essentials.

the essentials being corn salsa, elote chips and a giant bottle of fruit moscato, eddie has things to say about it.

“sweetheart, i really don’t think we need those things. they’re not essentials and we have enough food for the picnic.” he says as he holds up the way-too-heavy picnic basket.

you grumble, your arms cross over your chest and your eyes narrow at your boyfriend. you know he’ll crack if you put enough pressure on him — he’s a sucker for you, how could he not crack?

“ugh! fine. get your ass in the van.” eddie lets out an exaggerated sigh with his words but his lips are stretched into a goofy smile.

eddie’s ‘no’s’ never hold up when it comes to you and it indeed turned you into a brat but you also listened well when he had things to ask of you.

snatching your purse from the counter, you dash out of the house and to the van, getting into the passenger side. eddie follows after you with the picnic basket in hand and the keys to the van in his other. he places the basket securely in the back seat because he'd have a small meltdown if it spilled everywhere. once he was sure it was safe from spilling, he hops into the driver's seat and starts the vehicle.

“i'm so happy you love me, eds.” you beam, giggling when your comment pulls an eye roll from your boyfriend.

“you're quite lucky,” he replies with a grin so bright the sun doesn't compare to it.

the drive takes a short 10 minutes, traffic surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon. eddie pulls into the parking lot, mumbling a ‘fuck yeah' when he finds princess parking. he puts the van in park, reaches back to grab the spare reusable bag and climbs out once it's in his grip. you follow suit, your pink purse hooked onto your shoulder.

the store is quiet, a few shoppers milling about which makes you happy.

strolling away from eddie and into the aisle you've memorized that holds your favorite treats, you notice a familiar face standing directly in front of the elote chips.

“ah, fuck..” you mumble under your breath, not loud enough for the man to hear. mustering some courage, you plaster on a smile and approach the chip shelf but hold out hope he doesn't speak to you.

your hope fizzles out fast.

“oh my god, you're y/n! we used to chat, remember me?”

trying your best not to roll your eyes, you reply with an empty smile.

“yeah, i remember you. how're you?”

your manicured hands grab the fullest bag you can find and pop it into the crook of your elbow. the thought ‘where the fuck is eddie’ rolls through your head and right as it passes, your curly hair boyfriend pulls up to your side and snags the chips from your arm and plops them into the basket he grabbed.

“hi, i'm eddie, her favorite man ever. who are you?” eddie asks with a quizzical look written on his features.

you know he's being a shithead on purpose but you let it slide because the guy in front of you was both equally annoying and misogynistic.

“i'm billy, your girl and i used to talk.” he reaches his hand out to shake eddie’s but eddie just eyes it like he's a cockroach.

“that's cool. her and i did it raw on the first date and every time after.”

you audibly choke on your spit, not completely taken aback that eddie would speak like that.

billy's eyes widen and he coughs, excusing himself from the conversation.

“edward! why would you say that?!” you smack his arm, flabbergasted that your boyfriend is so brash at times.

“because he was oogling at you! i gotta remind these boys that you're with a man now.”

you don't give him a verbal response, you just grab the corn salsa and turn on your heel to head towards checkout. you're not mad by any means — it makes your tummy flutter that eddie’s possessive.

the cashier rings you out quickly, eddie slapping his card onto the reader faster than you can pull yours out. you grumble out a thank you and grab the bag, tugging eddie along with you.

your picnic is wonderful and full of giggles and reminiscing on old times with your lover.

definitely worth letting him hit it raw the first date.

[gutsby]

Come Again?

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After you spend spring break away from him, Joel just wants to make sure you’ve been good.

Warnings: 18+. FAUXCEST + PUSSY INSPECTION —AS ALWAYS: IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT. Joel and Reader are not related, just roleplaying. Age gap. Two (2) pussy spanks. Daddy kink. Hyperspermia* This is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

*I’ve explained what this entails in a separate post - read here!

Word count: 5.2k

You came home half-drunk and baked from the sun.

A stupid smile played at the corners of your lips, despite the grueling two-hour flight that had somehow turned into five that morning with all the delays, gate changes, TSA short-staffing, ground operations snafus, and screaming, kicking, crying children that clearly couldn’t have hated air travel more if they tried.

Panama City Beach for spring break was a good fucking time regardless of all the nonsense that it took to get there. Your string bikini was practically glued to your skin underneath your clothes, and your brain was filled to the brim with wild and dumbass memories that would last you several lifetimes, if not longer.

“Bye-eee! Try not to die!!” your friend yelled presently, leaning out the driver’s side window of her car to wave.

You stood on the front stoop of your boyfriend’s house, one hand shielding your face from the sun, and you smiled. Pained and now nursing a hangover that felt like it might legitimately kill you, you shouted back:

“You, too!”

“Tell your dad I said hi!”

And before you could return with so much as another syllable—or, your middle finger, as your friend had probably expected—the little sedan sped off down the road. You were left standing on the porch with all your luggage, shaking your head and thinking it was pretty insane to be dating a man almost three times your age.

Knowing, deep down, your friends would have a whole lot more to say about your relationship if they knew what other things happened behind closed doors.

Shortly, the one in front of you creaked open.

Joel stood there. His brown eyes shone.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Admittedly, this was a fucked up way of showing love.

What you and Joel had come to explore over the course of the last year wasn’t normal by any means. People would probably call you freaks if they knew. This…routine that the two of you had fallen into had started out as a joke, frankly. And a bad one at that.

‘Daaad,’ you’d groaned one day, pulling the covers over your head in an effort to defy his beckoning hands. ‘I don’t wanna go to school. I wanna stay here with you.’

The ‘funny’ part was, you didn’t have class that morning or afternoon. Joel obviously wasn’t your father, and it sure as fuck wasn’t his job to make sure you got your butt out of bed. It had still ended with you folded in half underneath him, ankles bobbing at either side of his head while he drilled you into the mattress.

That was when both of you learned you liked roleplay.

Daddy and his darling daughter, sweetheart and her doting father—whatever you two called it, it worked.

It turned you on to no end pretending like Joel was something a little more paternal. And dirty. And wrong, running his hands over your body with a darkened glint, like, ‘I really shouldn’t be doin’ this, sweetie.’

And yet you did, every single time.

It only got better with practice, and the fantasy took on wilder and more intricate, filthy dimensions every day.

Tonight, Joel made dinner. You sat and ate in relative silence, admiring the grays in your old man’s beard and wondering if he might not have aged a year in the week you’d been gone. You took another bite of your chicken fried steak and smiled—the gravy was perfect.

“I got somethin’ on my face, babygirl?” Joel hummed.

Across the table, he met your gaze, and your grin grew.

You probably did look silly chewing and staring, but you didn’t care. Joel didn’t seem to mind it, either.

“Nuh-uh,” you answered.

“Nuh-what?” Joel returned, a little more pointed.

You swallowed and then straightened in your seat. Softly, apologetically, and also making sure to lick one corner of your lips as you did, you corrected yourself:

“No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Already, Joel was somewhat disgruntled that you hadn’t bothered to tell him what time your plane would be landing, and that he hadn’t been able to pick you up from the airport because of it—‘You know I’m not crazy ‘bout surprises, baby. And your safety’s most important. OK?’ Ever since then, it seemed as though the guy were trying to find some reason to scold you, and be stern. Whenever you spent too much time away from him, he had a tendency to get a little more possessive; this evening was no exception.

“Clean plate club, remember, pumpkin?” Joel pointed with his fork at your plate of food, still only half-eaten.

Beside the china, on the table, your phone buzzed.

“I…um,” you started off, slow. Distracted. “I ain’t—”

“‘Am not.’”

When you looked up from where you’d just read the notification that had popped up on your device, Joel was scowling again. Challenging you with his eyes.

Sure you wanna go this way, sweetheart?

“I mean, I am not too…hungry,” you said.

“Well, you said you’d eat it, remember?”

Simultaneously, your phone vibrated again.

That seemed to snag Joel’s attention well enough—almost immediately then, he rose, clearing his throat.

The little breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen wasn’t particularly large, and he didn’t have to travel very far to reach your spot from across the way. Just as you were retrieving your utensils again, conceding, ‘OK, OK, I’ll eat it! I promise I’ll eat all my food,’ Joel was standing over your shoulder, hand quick as a whip to land on the back of your chair as he leaned right in.

“I’ll eat it, Dad, I’ll—”

“—be a good girl, or I’ll put somethin’ else in that pretty little mouth’a yours that won’t fit as nice as this steak.”

OK.

OK, fine, maybe you did want to suck his dick, but—

Another two painfully loud vibrations sounded.

From: Harry Castillo

Make it home OK?

Missin’ you pretty lady

Fuck if that stupid motherfucker couldn’t catch a hint if it were hotglued to his palm. Inwardly, you groaned.

Outwardly, you bat your lashes at your pretend father.

“I’ll eat it all, don’t worry, D—” you started.

“Who the fuck is Harry?”

Well, it just wasn’t fair.

A dipshit like that texting at a time like this.

You’d been towing what almost anyone else would’ve considered a razor-thin line between discipline and getting the lights fucked out of you right there on the kitchen table, and then came the mess with the texts.

On your second night out at the beach, you and your friends had made the acquaintance of a group of guys from Ole Miss—all seniors in Sigma Chi, all super nice, and all on their spring break together—and you’d gotten along great. Drank heavily and bar-hopped from place to place throughout the week, making a groupchat to keep up-to-date on plans. You never thought much of it, or of any of them, but you’d had a sneaking suspicion that Harry Castillo was definitely into you, even though he knew you had an ‘older’ boyfriend back home. The funny thing was, he probably figured Joel was a grad student just a couple years your senior and not an almost fifty-year-old man.

Damn if Harry could see you now, getting your legs spread wide over this old, oak farmhouse table for two.

You weren’t getting fucked anytime soon, though.

No, your dear old man was making damn sure of that—he had you half-spreadeagle there getting absolutely nothing while you sat and squirmed and wanted to cry.

“Dad, this isn’t fair!” you huffed, blowing out a loud and indignant breath. Squeezing the edge of the table underneath your butt and wishing your skimpy blue bikini bottom was off and not just pulled to the side.

Joel didn’t gratify girls who’d been bad, he’d told you.

“‘Hey. Just wanted to say…you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and I wish I could’ve gotten to know you better. If you’re ever down in Oxford, just H-M-U.’” Your boyfriend rattled off the lines by heart—that particular text had stuck with him, for obvious reasons.

After seeing the two most recent messages from Harry, he’d gone through your entire text thread with the guy. All of six or seven texts had been exchanged between you and Harry while you’d been in PCB, mostly to update the other on bars and parties and events your friend groups were going to. But, of course, Harry had had to end the week by sending that message Joel had just repeated, after everybody had said their goodbyes and the guy suddenly felt the need to confess all of his deepest, dumbest feelings for you.

You’d left him on read and never responded to it.

You had zero desire to entertain any of that bullshit, and by that point in time, you were already on your way back home, so why even bother sending a rejection?

Evidently, though, Harry still had had hope, as he’d sent you a string of texts during your dinner with Joel:

Hey you

Just got back to Oxford 😌

And then:

Make it home OK?

Missin’ you pretty lady

Now you were paying for that goddamn idiotic persistence in spades—Joel had you splayed over his table like you were the main course, and he wasn’t particularly hungry. He was just there to toy with you.

Torture you.

“Y’know why I hate whenever you’re away for too long?” The man’s voice was low, tone serious. His old, weathered hand slid up and down your inner thigh, and the texture was almost like sandpaper. The calluses on his palm made your shivers multiply a thousandfold.

“W-Why?” you stammered before sucking in a breath.

“Can’t...keep my hands on you. Keep an eye on this.”

And with that, Joel finally moved his touch to your wet and aching seam. Like he knew your body better than the back of his own hand—which, in truth, he probably did—he started to thumb little circles over your clit.

Your head fell back on a soft moan.

All of your body was hypersensitized and as full to the brim with energy as a live wire at the moment; you couldn’t help it. You also couldn’t resist blurting out:

“Oh, fuck, Dad. Fuck me, please.”

It was lewd.

It was wrong.

It was everything you simply weren’t able to keep contained inside your chest and nothing of what your faux father, Joel, wanted to hear from you right now, strict as he was about you not using crude language.

So, you weren’t surprised in the least when that thumb on your clit was replaced by a spank between your lips: one quick, light swat on your slit just hard enough to grab your attention, but not sharp enough to hurt you.

Still, you keened, whining petulantly.

“Owwww! That hurts, Dad.”

“Does it, sweetheart?”

Why that fucker was grinning was beyond you.

“Y—You don’t...” you started to say, then stopped. Swallowed, blinking harder. “…don’t trust me enough to spend a week at the beach with m-my friends?”

Your face was flushed, and your body was almost incandescent with heat. While your pussy pulsed and drooled between your legs, there was no doubt some indignation had started to creep into your words. Really, what was he so worried about, anyway?

“Ain’t you I don’t trust,” Joel returned instantly.

‘Is not’ you could’ve corrected him.

But you didn’t. Joel went on:

“‘Course it ain’t you I’ve gotta worry about in the slightest, no…It’s those goddamn boys with their pryin’ eyes and sniffin’ noses, goin’ after what’s mine.”

And at the same time, before you could even process what was happening, another blow landed on your throbbing clit. A peal of pleasure and pain blossomed through your limbs, and your hips bucked by instinct. This time, fortunately, Joel’s move was succeeded by a thumb pressing down, dulling the sting of what he’d done with a string of tender, apologetic lemniscates.

While the motions on your clit sent wave after wave of mollifying pleasure spiraling through your system, you could feel the burn with it, too. You could see the firm and paternal look in Joel’s eyes and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath a fine dusting of salt-and-pepper stubble before he spoke to you again.

Calmly, then: “Mind if your old man takes a look?”

You knew what that meant; you didn’t need to ask.

And Joel didn’t need an answer beyond the one you were supplying with your eyes and the single dip of your chin. It might as well have been tattooed over your forehead—‘Please, pleeease touch me, Dad’—and it wouldn’t have reached him any more clearly. Both of you were more than familiar with this kink.

Inspection, that is.

Was it even properly labeled a fetish if it came to be imbibed by you both more easily than the air you breathed? A mix of dominance and submission, give and take and touch and baiting each other endlessly.

“She been good f’me?” Joel said then, spreading your slick down your seam with just the pad of his thumb.

He was seated. You were perched on the edge of the table with your legs spread open to him, one ankle hooked over his shoulder and the other dangling up in the air. It all felt so precarious, what with you in only your barely-there, yanked-aside bikini and your man—this father figure of yours, who most folks would probably assume was just that at a glance—had a front row seat to your most intimate parts in the quiet and calm of this kitchen. Should a neighbor decide to stroll past the big bay window to your right, your secret and Joel’s would be exposed in a blink, no doubt about it.

“I said, has this pussy been good f’me?” Joel repeated.

“She has.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise, Dad. Didn’t…do…a thing.”

Almost too swiftly, Joel spit. One thick, glistening glob of saliva dropped from his lips to hit its target—your cunt—and mixed without a hitch as those circles of his continued. The sounds were delectable, and the sensation was amplified beyond what you could even begin to describe, Joel’s gaze locking with yours.

That lined face was handsome. Warm. Watchful.

“You wear this bikini out on the beach?”

“I— P-Please—”

“By the pool?”

You tried to reply to him again, but the sound caught in your throat; Joel planted his free hand on your thigh to hold you wider, and then he lowered his head. What you expected then would be his tongue appearing in the next second to lick a long, wet stripe up your slit ended up being just the tip of one of his fingers instead

Gently, Joel prodded at your entrance.

And though he didn’t breach you so much as a millimeter, simply the presence of his touch—the anticipation of being teased and pressed and stretched—was enough to have you whimpering.

You dug your heel into Joel’s shoulder. Your hips twitched restlessly, desperate for more contact.

“No wonder that boy’s been blowin’ up your phone,” Joel said, and at the same time, began tracing the rim of your cunt with his long and callused middle finger. “Lookin’ the way you do, pussy as sweet as she is…”

“He— He didn’t…I didn’t show him anything.” You barely managed to choke it out. Every nerve-ending in your body was alight, and it was taking all you had not to cum from the way his touch was grazing against you

Then that middle finger pushed its way inside.

“Harry never touched this, huh?” Joel cooed.

With the intrusion, it was as if every muscle in your body contracted at once; your walls clamped hard around Joel’s finger, and you couldn’t even hope to control it. Your cunt choked him, then made it almost impossible for the man to drag his finger back out.

Gently, though, Joel managed. He slid his big—now glistening—digit out of your pussy, and he smirked.

“You let those boys down in PCB touch you anyplace close to here, darlin’? They get to see, or…cop a feel?”

“No!”

Just as the protest clawed out of your throat, and you sat up stiff as a board to assure him, of course I didn’t do that, Dad, Joel’s mouth descended again. He nudged you backward, and you had no choice but to make space for shoulders bulldozing their way in.

It happened with one flick of his tongue.

One measly little lick, Joel groaning:

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, honey?”

And then you were finished.

‘Embarrassing’ was the first word to come to mind while it happened. Embarrassing that your thighs trembled against the table, gut clenching as if you’d just been punched. Embarrassing that you let out a cry of ‘Daaaaaad!’ loud enough to wake half the neighborhood and humiliating that Joel’s lips hadn’t even been attached to your clit for two seconds before you came unraveling underneath his touch. Just…what the fuck? And why the hell now? And how?!

And what would a fictional sex scene be without dialogue to send the incel fuckwit losers on an anonymous confessions blog into a frenzy?

“Dad’s so proud of ya, kiddo. Cum f’me.”

“But— But— it’s wrong. We shouldn’t.”

“I can feel you squeezin’. Keep goin’.”

In just a dozen or so words, Joel told you even more. He wasn’t simply giving you permission to let go but to feel what you wanted, think whatever you pleased to get to your peak, and lean into this dynamic—completely fabricated and without any basis in reality. No need to feel guilt or shame over a silly little forty-five minutes of roleplay with a person you loved. You were safe to navigate whatever fantasy you wanted with him, and because of that, it all flowed naturally.

The façade slipped a second as you reached for Joel and he held you right back, gripping your hand and grinning like the most pleased-as-punch old fucker.

“Oh, Joel. Joel, Joel, shit,” you whispered in a rush.

“I know, baby.” Joel said, almost seeming to commiserate. “I know, I know. Jus’ let it happen.”

And you did.

Joel thumbed at your clit with his other hand, and another miniature wave of ecstasy rolled over you—whether it was a new orgasm or not mattered very little to you. You just moaned and rolled your hips, and you smiled back at Joel in that sleepy and entirely contented way you did. You felt boneless.

“Maybe…pick back up where we left off tomorrow?” your old man started to say after you finally came down, rubbing your thigh. “Know it’s been a long day with your flight an’ all. Don’t want my girl feelin’—”

“I do.”

“—pressured.” he finished.

“Perfectly fine to keep going, Dad,” you corrected.

If you could’ve bottled that moment to keep safe inside your memory forever, you would have. The way you watched the corners of Joel’s lips twitch up again, buried beneath a swath of silvery dark hairs you’d come to love dearly, was bliss. The great bulk of his chest, the gentle curve of his tummy and the indent of his navel, his biceps—all visible through the tight gray fabric of his t-shirt. His smile, so unassuming and sweet, didn’t seem to belie a man capable of calling you his perfect, precious daughter and in the same breath slide his cock inside you to the hilt. But he did.

And he was, currently, taking himself out. You helped.

Joel’s cock was long and hard and heavy, flushed red with an uncharacteristically large pearl of precum beaded at his tip. He might’ve run his hand down it once or twice then before you felt yourself salivating.

Angling your hips, and admiring the way his length looked so imposing and big over your body, you said:

“Are you sure it’ll fit, Dad?”

You played up the bit.

Your fingers spread your puffy, swollen lips to give Joel the clearest view of your cunt, dripping wet for him, and you could feel air cooling you. Your slit was shiny and slick. While you peered up at him sweetly, you also made sure the man could see your still-pulsing hole underneath where he was currently fisting his cock.

Joel lowered his hold and dragged the head of his dick through your folds, all the way down until the crown met your entrance. His hips flexed, but the rim of your cunt didn’t budge. Joel grunted, seeing and feeling it.

As if partway in a trance, and a little pussydrunk now already, he went on gently, “We’ll make it fit, honey.”

He put on the ‘Dad voice’ so effortlessly—it seemed it became second nature right before he worked his way inside you. Like the rest of the world was white noise and all that mattered was that thick, hard thing fitting in your tight, wet, sticky warmth, he guided you as tenderly as ever. He planted a hand beside your head on the table, not too far away from all the plates and glasses and silverware from your since-abandoned meal, and he started to push ahead with deliberation.

At first, it was just the tip pressing forward. Testing you, almost, as if to make sure your pussy could stretch to accommodate his girth. Joel knew better than this, of course, and you whined in answer.

“M— More’n that. Can take more, Dad,” you moaned.

“I know you can, kid,” Joel answered, still just stretching your rim with the tip of his cock. Holding onto his base. He’d barely breached more than an inch, and he already had your legs shaking, clutch sucking at him with all the force it could manage. He grunted.

“I’m…checkin’.” He stopped to exhale again. Dragged his cock forward and backward just to scrub the first bit of your inner walls. “Makin’ sure this pussy ain’t been touched since the last time I been inside her.” And once more, knitting his brows and thrusting as if he were really feeling around for something, accent growing coarser and more distinctly Texan as he did so, “That’s a good girl, you jus’ sit tight right there.”

And tight you were. Tight you gripped him, cunt gaping into a perfect ‘o’ around his length, and high-pitched were your moans as he fed you just those couple inches, again and again and again. Joel slowed.

Your pussy involuntarily clenched, and he shuddered on a groan. His hand curled into a fist on the tabletop.

“Fuck me,” he panted out. “Kept it nice an’ tight for dear old dad, knowin’ just what it’d do to him, yeah?”

You might’ve giggled if you weren’t so turned on. If your hands hadn’t drifted to your bikini top and freed your breasts to start toying with your nipples outside of the soft, nylon fabric, you might’ve taunted him back. But the truth was, your body was as taut as ever, your pussy was leaking liquid heat, and you were dangerously close to your second, or third, climax of the night with just a fraction of Joel sawing in and out.

He sank deeper, and both of you tensed, moaning.

“‘S’why she’s so sensitive now, huh?” Joel murmured, thrusts slow to pick up. The sounds of him hitting the table with each jerky motion echoed through the kitchen. “Why you came so fuckin’ fast on dad’s cock, ‘cause this pussy ain’t been touched all week? That it?”

Joel’s grin was wolfish and sly, but there was a tenderness to it all the same. He knew damn well he didn’t really need to feel inside to know you’d behaved.

“Haven’t been touched. Not even…on my own.” You pinched your nipples and let out a low, shaky breath.

“Not once?” Joel questioned.

“N— No, sir.”

Out of habit, you glanced down your body, and your cunt throbbed. Half of Joel’s cock had disappeared and was reappearing, soaked all the way to his balls.

“Guess we’re in the same boat then, you an’ me.”

And, as if the man could read your mind right then, Joel sank all the way in on his next thrust. He filled you up until those round, swollen globes of his were kissing your ass and the tip of his cock was hitting your cervix, and then he let out a sound of pleasure. Contented and craving still, his voice was hoarse and throaty and low. He leaned down until his body blanketed yours completely over the table, then fucked in deeper.

Joel moved his hands to grip either side of the wooden surface to the left and the right of your head, and in time, the wet plap-plap-plaps got even faster. Louder.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Darlin’ girl.”

“Dad couldn’t cum all week without this perfect little pussy snug ‘round ‘im. Y’know what that means, hm?”

Joel’s words were punctured by a breath, and without a syllable more from him, you could already sense it.

Could tell from the way that thick and throbbing head was gliding—diving—into your core repeatedly while his slick-drenched sac battered your ass with an agonizing weight, ‘Dad’ was close to having an orgasm

More than that, though, this was going to be a lot.

After not fucking for an entire week, not only did Joel tend to blow his load much sooner than usual, but the stuff that came out of him was insane in its sheer volume. He could already practically paint your face or fill your tummy on any given day, but when he’d been deprived of release long enough, his cum was just…

“—so. fucking. much.” Joel’s voice cut in over the crescendo of sound buzzing through your skull. He repeated what he’d said: “I love you so fucking much.”

He rutted into your needy, leaking cunt like he meant it

You kissed him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as your legs did the same around his hips.

In between panting breaths, you managed, ‘I’ and ‘love’ and ‘you’ against Joel’s soft, stubbled mouth.

‘Dad’ as his cock carved a path toward your center. ‘Dad’ to make the lips kissing you back form the faintest of smiles as he fucked you. ‘Dad’ because it drove you both batshit crazy with how wrong and taboo and wild the word sounded between you two in moments like these. ‘Dad’ because that wasn’t what your relationship was at all, and you and Joel could distinguish fantasy from reality like full-grown adults.

“Ain’t gonna last,” Joel murmured shortly. His hips stuttered, your own mostly-naked body writhing against the motion, and he watched your tits bounce.

He soaked up the sight of you grinding and moaning and soaking his length with that bright blue string bikini shoved to the side—the one that had probably driven every guy half out of his mind in PCB last week—and you could tell that he was relishing the fact that this was all his. You were all his, and no fuckwit fratboy from Ole Miss was changing that. His gaze brightened.

Then those eyes traveled up. Past your pussy being split in two over his pistoning cock, your bouncing tits, over your face and up to something out on the table.

He hesitated only a second before peering back down:

“You gonna cum again for me?”

With his thumb moving between your bodies and pressing to your clit to draw little circles again, you didn’t even need to answer in words. You just did it.

You finished on Joel’s cock, and his thrusts continued to land relentlessly, fucking you all through your high. There were whimpers and cries and fingers clawing at his sides, and it all felt so indescribably good you thought you might burst. At the same time, Joel sucked a breath through his teeth and groaned.

His cock jerked inside you, a sign of impending release.

Just as Joel’s hips drove furiously against you, and your wetness all but flooded and stuck to your writhing bodies with each and every thrust, you tried to speak.

You’d just started to form the words on your tongue:

‘Cum inside me, Dad. Cum inside me, please.’

And then Joel was pulling out.

Reaching for something over your head while he fisted his cock and let out a hoarse, almost strangled sound.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Knees—on your knees.”

As soon as he said it, you didn’t hesitate.

You didn’t even try wondering at what he might be saying—you just slid off the table he’d just been fucking you on and then dropped to the floor.

Your face was right beside the edge of the tabletop, eye-level with the surface, and your head was spinning.

Stars burst along the periphery of your vision, and you were still busy trying to catch your breath from your most recent climax when suddenly, you heard the sound of porcelain on wood. Sliding over, as it were.

Joel had taken a plate—your unfinished meal, by the looks of it—and he yanked it to the corner of the table. Still fisting his cock in his other hand, he let out a grunt

“Right here, kiddo. That’s it,” he commanded.

Then, once he’d positioned the china right where it appeared he’d wanted it, he grabbed you by the chin. He tugged your face forward, closer to the table where he’d just moved your plate, and he made you look up.

He bared his teeth in almost a sort of wry, knowing smile, and then he peered down at you under him.

Starting to stroke his cock again, he went:

“You want Dad’s cum, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

Again, you didn’t think.

You just stared up at him, mindless and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been, and you opened your mouth. Stuck your tongue out like a good, sweet, obedient girl and waited for Joel’s load to come spattering on your face.

And it did, in fewer than three or four seconds.

You kneeled there, chin tilted up, and you couldn’t help but grin, too, as you felt rope after rope of Joel’s hot, heavy seed spilling all over your skin. It felt like a goddamn prize showering you and sinking into your open mouth, eyes, and everyplace else. Evidence of you being the best, most precious girl to your old man after he’d fucked you so well. And, just as you’d expected, there was so much stuff coming out.

Joel might’ve painted a third of your upturned face and filled a decent part of your mouth when he groaned again, reaching to the left of him jerkily.

And then, to your quiet, wide-eyed disbelief, he kept on going—pumped his cock again and again, and again, more cum spurted out from his pulsing tip.

This time, though, he’d pivoted toward the table.

Joel jerked himself over your dinner plate, cursing, and let four or five ropes more spatter over your mostly uneaten meal. Each one landed with startling precision

Dimly, you remembered what your dinner had been.

Chicken fried steak—a Southern staple and one of Joel’s favorites to make. Almost all of it was there.

Smothered in gravy.

Joel was finished.

He turned to you, just as your cum-drenched face was peering into the thick, wet, sticky-white mess the man had just made over the plate. Your mouth was slightly agape, and you couldn’t deny a little spit had begun to pool inside it, right along with the rest of Joel’s load.

Joel moved a warm and comforting hand to the crown of your head. He stroked it gently, in that excruciatingly paternal way he’d perfected of late.

Then, meeting your gaze, he finally spoke again:

“Clean plate club, remember, kiddo?”

[peasdigitalarchive]

hi friends! i have some ideas for fics but i’ve had my nose buried in books so i haven’t written anything lately.

what do y’all wanna read

eddie x puppy!reader & reader introduces those drooly mints to eddie

eddie x reader with the prompt “yeah we did it raw on the first date”

dom!reader x sub!steve & reader makes steve drink a “special water”

steve x reader & steve distracts reader while they dye their hair

Voting ended onApr 1

[gutsby]

pussy inspection with Joel coming soon 🔍🙂‍↕️

[star--stilinski]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ masterlist ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

works for more mature audiences will be marked with an 18+, but i was on here at like 11 reading smut so i really can't do much more about it. just... guys if you're young just get off tumblr.

✩

stiles stilinski (teen wolf)-

"is that because of me?" - 18+ stiles cannot stop getting turned on from the randomest things you do. so when you call it out, things in your friendship take a turn.

cool off - 18+ on a beach trip, your boyfriend is receiving some female attention that you're not fond of. so, you remind him of who he belongs to.

death of you - 18+ stiles wants to try a new meal and finds it to be his new favorite dish. (aka, munch stiles).

wow, you're so fucked - 18+ stiles just won a lacrosse game he actually contributed in!! wait- wait- are you- are you horny right now?!

the pain of being pure at heart - 18+ you and stiles are knee-deep in a pretty rough argument. unfortunately, you're also deeply in love.

"oh yeah?" you and stiles are bickering. and he's hot. why does he have to be so hot?!

so whipped stiles is insecure about his buzzcut, and you alleviate his worries.

meet the parents when you officially meet your boyfriend stiles' father, stiles cannot keep his hands to himself. how distracting!

blurbs & rambles-

stiles, and his neighbor since he was four.

stiles is a whirlwind of a relationship!!

stiles is accidentally hot

stiles accidentally teasing reader - 18+

stiles and pet names

thomas (tmr)-

tank top - 18+

thomas can finally be horny now that he's saved the world. luckily for him, you're wearing a tank top.

mitch rapp (american assasin)-

blurbs & rambles-

mitch rapp showing love - 18+

[aurapetals]

cw: public sex-ish? praise, fucking in a hotel room, posessive!steve, jealous!steve, light choking, finger sucking, primal!steve, p in v unprotected, creamipie, dirty talk, proposal ending, and the whole kitchen sink!

steve has more money than he knows what to do with. his parents inheritance would cover the rest of his life, and then some.

he honestly wasn’t all that worked up when they passed away. they were young, but never around, leaving him nothing to mourn.

so when he’s got a fistful of your hair, tugging it so your head lulls back against his chest, you can tell he’s spent the money right.

he’d gotten you both a presidential suite at some uppity hotel for the night-a short pit stop on the way to visit dustin at school.

your tits are pressed against the glass window overlooking the city, the harmony of late night bar-goers chattering and the occasional honking woven into your moans.

“steve-” you whine his name coming out strangled. it only makes him fuck you harder. your bare tits have fogged up the window, leaving white frost against the glass.

his bicep wrenches around your sternum, his fingers squeezing into your throat. your jaw is fully slack, only held up by steve’s grip. his free hand is wrapped around your stomach, clenching onto your hip as he thrusts into you. “fuckin’ good girl.” he snarls, the breath of his praise ghosting the shell of your ear. “stupid-fuckin’-hick-” he groans, bottoming out into you, “tryna fuckin’ talk to my girl. this shit’s mine, you hear me?” he groans, and you feel helpless-only able to exchange currency in gasping moans. his grip has tightened, forcing more air out of your lungs every time you manage to inhale. “you’re mine. not some stupid fuckin’ rest stop pig’s.” he hisses, hips snapping impossibly fast against the fat of your flesh. you can’t even move the way you want to. you can barely write around. he has you pinned to the window, helpless as he sandwiches your body against his chest and the glass. your forehead ghosts it with more fog, barely able to see your reflection.

you see steve behind you, only a glimpse. his hair is loose and tousled, brows furrowed tightly. not with concentration; he knows how to work you. but with anger. jealousy.

“steve-” you try, but the second you open your mouth, he’s shoving two thick fingers into your mouth.

“fuck-” he groans, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. you gag softly, finally able to release more noise with his grip having departed from your throat. “fuck, baby.” he snarls, scissoring your tongue with his fingers. “spit.” he orders, and you oblige, drooling all over his fingers. “uh-huh,” he mocks, tsk-ing. “never gonna leave you. fuckin’ love you.” he says, sincerely. “you know that? c’mon, baby. try for stevie.” he coos, pulling his fingers from your mouth, running them along your lips to gloss them in saliva.

you don’t even know if you can form words at this point. but you know the answer in your head.

“never—” you mumble against his fingers, playing with your lips and tongue. “say it.” he orders, “wanna know what it feels like when you say you’re mine.”

your brain short-circuits.

“i’m-” you moan, feeling his cock fill you. stretch you. your walls grip to his cock, milking it desperately. “i’m yours, steve.” you babble, your spit dripping onto your tits as he feels the words against his fingers.

that’s all it takes.

“gonna fuckin make you my wife. gonna fuckin’ get you nice and full for me, yeah? make a little family, hm?” he poses, and you nod desperately. “s’all i want, steve-please-” you beg, “m’so—”

“close?” he finishes, adorned with his infamous chuckle. “i know, baby. know it better than you do.” he coos, nipping at the shell of your ear. “fuckin’ come. come on my fuckin’ cock.” he orders. “you com’inside.” you retort, and the noise he lets out is animalistic. primal.

he holds you tighter than he ever has, both of your breaths staggering as you focus on your release. you vision blurs, screaming his name as he pounds into you relentlessly, feeling yourself unravel on his cock. not long after, his cock is filling you up, releasing all the cum he has. his balls have ached until now.

your breaths are desperate and ragged, dragging against your dry throat as you both fight to return the air to your lungs. “i love you,” he says, spinning you around to face him. “and, uh, i know this is bad timing, but..” he clears his throat, i meant what i said. about making you my wife.” he says, and you soften.

“i know,” you say, a gentle grin. he cocoons you in his arms, overlooking the city with you, a stupid grin plastered on his face. you lift the diamond ring adorning your finger, both of you admiring it as he peers down over your shoulder.

“i do good?” he asks, rustling your hair with a grin.

“perfect.”

[mcrdvcks]

so a few weeks ago in the car, ring by djo came up on my playlist and i immediately thought about steve jerking off to his oblivious best friend while you're talking on the phone. it's been on my mind since then, and it took me a while to write it, but here it is!

warnings/tags: kinda pervy!steve i guess???, best friend!steve, oblivious!reader, sweet!reader, can be read as gn!reader (there is one use of pretty), m!masturbation, use of pet name (honey), no use of y/n

The phone rings twice before he picks up, breath already uneven because he knows exactly what happens to him when you call this late.

“Steve?” you murmur, soft and a little sleepy, that warm nighttime version of your voice that hits him lower than he’ll ever admit.

“Yeah, honey. I’m here,” he answers, trying to sound casual even though he’s already sliding down in his bed, one hand raking through his hair while the other drifts under the sheets.

You start talking immediately—like you always do. Some story about your day, Dustin’s new stupid invention, how Max stole your fries at the arcade. It’s all normal, it’s all innocent, and it kills him because you have no idea what your voice does to him.

He murmurs little “mmhmm”s and “yeah?”s to let you know he’s listening, but his mind is locked onto the soft rise and fall of your voice: how you get breathless when you ramble, how you laugh at your own jokes. God, he’s so far gone for you.

His hand slips beneath his waistband the second you laugh. He can’t help it anymore, not after months of this—months of wanting you, thinking about you, imagining those pretty hands holding his arm the way you do while your mouth brushes too close to his shoulder.

He wraps his hand around his cock, already hard just from listening to you talk about goddamn fries. His breath stutters, but he keeps it quiet.

“And then Max said—Steve? You’re awfully quiet.” Your voice dips, concerned but teasing.

“I’m here,” he mutters, voice low, strained. “Just… listening.”

You keep talking, completely unaware of the way he strokes himself slow, thumb circling his tip, smearing the precome that keeps leaking out for you. His hips lift into his palm without him meaning to, sheets rustling softly.

You ramble about Hopper nearly dropping a box of something, and he bites back a groan because your voice tilts up sweetly at the end and he pictures your mouth forming every word.

His pace quickens; he imagines you lying on your stomach on your bed, kicking your feet gently, twirling the phone cord with your fingers. And he’s here, fist working up and down his cock like he’s starved for you.

“Steve,” you laugh, “you’re really quiet tonight.”

He swallows a moan and somehow forces out, “Just tired. Keep goin’, honey.”

And you do, because you trust him. Because this is what you and Steve do—you talk until one of you falls asleep. You don’t hear the breath hitch he smothers into the back of his wrist, you don’t know he’s imagining your lips brushing his neck the way they do when you hug his arm.

“You okay over there?” you ask, voice softening with real concern now. “You sound a little... out of breath.”

His hand tightens around himself, stroking faster, his hips rolling up into the heat of his palm. “Yeah,” he gets out, barely, “just—long day.”

You hum, soothing and sweet, and he nearly comes from that alone. He pictures you lying next to him instead of across town, your hand resting on his chest, your voice rumbling against his skin as you ramble right into his ear. He imagines you shifting closer, leg draped over his hip, not meaning anything by it—just instinct. He pumps his cock harder, jaw clenched, chest rising in quick, desperate breaths.

“And anyway,” you finish, “I guess it wasn’t that interesting, but—are you sure you’re okay?”

“‘M fine,” he whispers, thighs tensing, stomach tightening. “You’re—fuck—you’re fine.”

You giggle softly, thinking he’s just being dramatic. “Well, good. I’d hate to bore my best friend to sleep.”

Best friend. Jesus. He grinds into his fist, the word making his whole body tense with wanting—wanting more than that, wanting you in ways he should not think about when you’re explaining Dustin’s homework meltdown. “Never boring,” he pants, trying to keep it quiet. “Never.”

“Steve? Are you sure—”

He comes with your name on his tongue, biting down on the sound so you don’t hear it. His come spills over his hand, chest jerking, breath caught hard in his throat. The phone crackles softly as he tries to breathe normally again, wiping his hand on the sheets and praying his voice works.

You wait patiently—curious and sweetly oblivious. He clears his throat. “Sorry, dropped the phone for a sec.”

“Oh! That’s okay,” you say brightly. “You wanna hear what happened after that?”

He smiles, “yeah, honey,” he murmurs, settling back into the pillows. “Tell me everything.”

extra notes: i had like a day left on my canva free trial so i tried making a gif with the title, even though it'll probably be the only time i do it, lol (unless i make another account and use the free trial there... which is entirely plausible)

everything: @clxt-lamb1 @person-005 @bookoffracturedescapes

steve harrington: @miffysoo @obsessivelyadoring @sparklediscoladybug @chansmai @ruwaidahmulla @beaflowersfly @yellowbirdbluetoo @emmswcn @iladamercedes @kkittykiss

[gardenias-on-the-tile]

Steve Harrington fucked you so hard that the bed broke.

x fem!reader, SMUT! mdni

quick blurb, because he literally cannot leave my mind

english is not my first language, be nice to me please ;p

dividers by angeliicide

You knew that Steve wanted to fuck you since the day he met you. He wasn't exactly subtle about it, pants getting tighter every time you wore a riskier outfit, eyes not leaving your body for even a second while imagining all the positions he could put you in.

But you didn't expect his eagerness would end up in your bed getting broken, snapping under the weight of him pushing into you.

It started slow, intimate, fingers intertwined beside your head. It was divine, with him praising you, worshiping your body with his mouth, his whole being like life depended on it.

Steve was taking care of you like no one ever did before, making you arch into him, boobs squeezing into his chest as you moaned nonsense, too drunk on him and his cock to even care. 

Steve loved it–and that made him lose it.

His strokes became harder, deeper, reaching new places and making you speechless with all the pleasure he was giving you. Your body moved with him, eyes rolling back at the perfect friction.

"Jesus, baby, you're so good. So good to me." he panted, breath ragged as he plunged into you.

With his name on your tongue, you came hard, shivers running down your spine in the most delicious way. You squeezed around him, prolonging that feeling as much as possible, and when he felt it, he went dumb. 

Steve was fucking into you like he never wanted to stop, cock twitching as his own release approached. 

So just as he started to whine above you, a loud crack echoed through the room. Warm liquid spilled into you, and your bodies slumped on the mattress slightly when the wooden boards split under it.

"Did you just..." you muttered in disbelief, but smiled widely after processing the situation.

Steve Harrington fucked you so hard that the bed broke.

"I'm sorry." a quiet laugh escaped him, little embarrassed but still clearly proud of himself for what he did. "I promise I'll get it fixed, or buy you a new one if that's what you want."

You beamed at him, arms wrapping around his neck and bringing him closer to your face. His cheeks were still red, hair tousled, messy from all the times your fingers ran through them. So handsome.

"Now we can't fuck on my bed again." you teased, looking up at him innocently.

But he just smirked and leaned to whisper against your ear, lips softly touching the skin there.

"It's fine." his hand came up to graze your hardening nipple, the intimacy of his actions making you wet again. "I'll just bend you over the desk. See how long it takes to break that."

And Steve was a man of his word after all.

interactions appreciated!:)

[aurapetals]

cw: makeout, spitting, thigh riding, praise, mean!steve if u squint!

steve is a messy kisser.

intentional, but sloppy.

his fingers threaded through your hair, tugging softly to lull your head back. granting him access earns a groan from him, his cock threatening to pulse out of his jeans, licking into your mouth. he earns soft moans from you, his grip on your hair more desperate. primal.

"c'mere," he breathes, "open."

you oblige, your tongue limply falling between parted lips, waiting for him to play with it. he squeezes your cheeks gently, barely brushing noses as he pulls back from you. he’s cocky tonight, and you know it. he knows how bad you need him.

his face goes mean-serious-pulling back just enough to spit in your mouth. his fingers ghost your flesh, dragging upwards from your knee, softly raking his nails along the inside of your thigh.

you clench around nothing, squirming as his tongue softly strokes against yours, collecting the saliva he’s deposited, feeling it travel between your tongues. his hand moves to hold your jaw, balancing it as he squeezes gently, holding you in place.

you’ve never heard the noises he’s making come out of him before.

his knee bumps between your legs, a silent invitation that you graciously accept. caged beneath him, he holds firm on your face, slowly nudging his knee against your core. mouth forced open, all you can do is sigh, though it forces itself out as a whimper.

“pretty baby.” he coos, barely audible. “such a pretty baby.” he continues, almost mockingly. his words send your brain into a frenzy, dizzied with lust as you attempt to push yourself down onto his thigh.

“this what you want?” he groans into your mouth, lifting his knee up firmly, knocking the head of it into your clit.

“fuck-!” you cry, everything clenching at once. you hear his chuckle as he moves his lips to the shell of your ear, humming softly. “like this?” he asks, large hands dragging down your side, resting firmly on your hips.

“steve-” you try, but it’s too late. the couch cushion envelops you deeper as he presses onto you, dragging your clothed pussy up and down his thigh.

“so fuckin’ desperate.” he manages, though it expels from him out as a strangled moan.

“please-” you beg, his hands quickening their pace. you feel helpless-the agonizing torture of your pulsing clit dragging along the firm denim, clinging to his muscles buried beneath.

“s’okay, sweetheart. know you’re close.” he replies, pulling back to look at you. when he does, his lips are glossy, pupils blown wide at the sight of you. you’re not sure how it’s humanly possible to move you at the speed he is right now, but it’s steve. it’s like he was built for you.

you fall limp beneath him, your breathing staggered. “there you go, honey. let go.” he demands, and like clockwork, you unravel beneath him. your hands fly upwards, desperately clawing at his biceps, those of which are pulsed and tight, using all of his strength to make sure you come for him.

“steve-!” you cry, feeling your panties soak, the stickiness of your release soothing your puffy clit. steve envelops you in his arms, pulling you upwards into his lap, cradling you as he presses soft-quick kisses to your lips.

“did so good,” he coos, “missed me today, huh?” he grins, brushing the strands of hair that cling to your face. you nod dumbly, a soft grin and exhale expelling from you. “always do,” you reply, his fingers searching for yours before intertwining them.

“never gonna have to miss me. always yours.” he replies, sure. certain. “you’re never leavin’ me, and i’m never leavin’ you. you hear me?” he continues, and you know he’s serious.

“never.” you reply with a grin.

he mirrors your expression, swooping you up to carry you upstairs.“good.”

[gutsby]

In Your Dreams

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Your husband fucks you awake.

Warnings: 18+. SOMNOPHILIA / DUBCON but also kinda not lol - Reader and Joel are both 100% into it. Unprotected p-in-v. Dream Joel™️ cameo. Creampie. Breeding kink because that’s just who I am as a person

Note: Inspired by Ty Myers’ ‘Never Get Tired (of Loving You)’ 🫡

Word count: 2.3k

It should’ve come as no surprise the night started here

The day ended the same as it often did: you curled up on your side, pillows and blankets and the occasional stray article of Joel’s clothing caging you in. You slept with your nose buried in one of his old flannels when he was out on patrol, and this evening was no different.

He’d been gone for too long. By your calculation, it must’ve been at least three days since the last time you’d seen that soft, twinkling gaze beaming down at you from underneath a fringe of salt-and-pepper. Those absences always seemed to be felt most keenly when the winter months had started to give way to spring, sunlight streamed through the windows of your home a little longer each day, and all signs pointed to the fact that he should be here. Why wasn’t he here?

‘’M’right behind ya. Right here, sweetheart. Hold on.’

Sometimes, it was like you could almost hear the gravel in his tone, the little kinks at the corners of his lips, even the jingle of his belt buckle as the leather came undone. There were moments you would’ve sworn those callused hands were searing a red-hot path down your sides, trailing slow and long and low until the panties he’d hooked under his thumbs were at your knees. More often than not, you woke up soaked.

Sweating.

Cursing yourself for how long you’d let this go on.

But that was Joel Miller’s effect, wasn’t it? Half the reason you were in this bed, huffing his tattered clothing to fall asleep and whimpering and moaning when you couldn’t bring yourself to climax in the middle of the night no matter how hard you tried.

If you didn’t love him so much, you might be irked.

Dream Joel could get fucked, though, frankly.

Teasing you like that was just the worst thing—which was probably the reason why you felt no compunction whatsoever when a touch grazed your thigh through your sleep shorts tonight, and you groaned, reflexively:

“Nooooooo! Please. Please, I’m too tired for this shit.”

Only an imagined chuckle came as your reply, identical to Joel’s own and almost impossibly close to your ear. Something as sharp as his stubble touched your neck.

You were awake, but not really. Conscious but barely clinging to your own awareness, with just enough lucidity to keep your personality intact and tell faux-Joel he could take a long walk off a short pier and die.

‘Mmm. Your husband comin’ home anytime soon?’ The wildly rude hallucination mocked you. It even combed its fingertips over the crown of your head, smoothing your hair and then massaging tiny circles toward the base of your skull, just like Joel loved to do.

You eased into it, but you didn’t budge an inch besides.

In your barely sentient state, you recalled four separate occasions this same man had disappeared into thin air.

“My husband…would fuck me…” you trailed off, yawning big. “So…so much better than you could.”

‘Is that a fact?’

By now, the ministrations on your scalp had descended past your neck and met your shoulders, then your ribs, then the soft and pliant flesh peeking out through the side of your shirt. Your camisole was loose—an unflattering, murky shade of gray you’d hoped Joel would never get to take too long a look at. Simultaneously, you wished he would see it tonight.

‘Wanna test that theory, hon? See who fucks better?’

If it would get this fraudulent motherfucker to shut up, then yeah, definitely. It wasn’t going to end up with a—

“Oh,” you let out a breath at a pressure on your back.

And there it was: Joel’s warmth, Joel’s weight, the goddamn smell of Joel’s aftershave greeting your senses like an old friend as a form slid into the bed behind you. For a second, tears could’ve started to well in your eyes, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop them. You were sleepy, and you were starved, and more than anything, you missed your old man like hell.

“Please don’t…go,” you mumbled, wistful and pathetic.

If there was one thing you wished you’d told Joel before he’d slung his knapsack over his back on Monday and kissed you goodbye, it was that: don’t go.

Don’t leave you a quivering, shaking mess at the mere thought of feeling those hands all over you again. And once they did—or the imaginary ones, anyway—and they slid right over your hips and kneaded the skin there, you sighed. You relaxed into a body that had molded to the back of yours, and for a beat, you contemplated opening your eyes into the darkness.

Not wanting the dream to end, you decided against it.

All the familiar sights, from the deep burgundy duvet to the pillows scattered around the mattress, the indentations from where your body and Joel’s had laid countless times before, would have to wait. You hated how natural it felt to be resting like this here, now.

Something nudged between the tops of your legs.

Had the moon been shining a little brighter or your eyes actually ventured to open again, you might’ve seen a broad, muscular forearm reach across your abdomen and find a home for a seasoned hand. That touch was not only quick but assured in its movements, just where you needed it most.

You moaned while two fingers circled your clit.

And again, and again, and again, they went on.

‘There she is,’ a Texan’s lilt crooned in your ear. Elevating in volume as your whines did the same, ‘That’s where your old man misses every time, huh?’

“N-No. He doesn’t,” you protested weakly.

This dream was fucking unreal.

The little circuits and lemniscates on your sensitive bundle of nerves had turned into a full-blown incursion, and it worked. In no time at all, you felt an influx of pleasure materialize; you heard it echo through the tiny, repeated squelches between your thighs, and you guessed that very same essence would be trickling down onto the bedspread. Pleasure eclipsed thought, and your eyes shut even tighter.

Then a pair of lips grazed your jaw. Fine, sharp hairs that you pictured shining mostly silver in the light tickled behind your ear, and the voice continued:

‘Bet he can’t find that…special spot…inside her.’

At just the mention of it—that fucking use of ‘her’ to refer to your slick, wet pussy—your whole body pulsed.

Something else must have twitched back, too, because suddenly you felt your hips at an angle.

Still unable to fathom that any of this could be real, or that the fingers working your clit mercilessly right now might actually lead to more, you operated on instinct.

You arched your back, obedient as you’d ever been, and you didn’t protest. You wanted it. From Joel, some figment of the inner machinations of your own mind, an enigma, really, you weren’t in a position to care.

‘Can you make it fit? All the way in, sweet pea?’

You nodded into the bed, lids pinched shut.

‘Been so long since you had it, huh?’

Uh-huh, your head bobbled again.

It didn’t matter if this whole thing ended a second from now: you were feeling it, needing him, and practically bucking for release. You’d get it soon enough, you reasoned. Asleep or fully awake—it would happen.

And then something warm and thick breached you.

The tip and every inch beyond was welcomed by your dripping heat, so the slide was easy. It might’ve gone four, five inches before you hit the widest part, and only then did your walls show a hint of resistance. Hell, it had been almost a week since you’d gotten fucked properly, and your body needed some…adjustment.

You were stunned you’d actually made it this far.

Never before had the fantasy not ended with Joel’s cock at your entrance, and never had it been like this.

Frantically, you reached behind yourself and felt him.

“Joel?!” you all but choked on the words as your husband sheathed the rest of himself inside. A soft, wet sound echoed at the press of his balls to your rear.

“Right here, honey. You jus’ tell me if this is OK, yeah?”

Clearly, he hadn’t been aware that you thought his presence was all an illusion; he’d figured you were roleplaying, probably. There was a strain in his voice as you squeezed and clenched around him and made his cock fit as snug as it had been in a while. He held your hip and kept his own lower half perfectly rigid and still.

You turned your head to him and stared, eyes wide.

Still lying with your spine pressed flush to his chest, but able to crane your neck just enough to watch him:

“I—I thought I was making you up.”

Joel grinned. The bastard smirked before he leaned forward an inch or two and found your lips. Kissed you.

That face was worn and haggard and webbed with rows of wrinkles from all the years and restless nights, and you wished you could soak it all in like a person might take a picture. As it was, though, your eyelids were fluttering back shut with the kiss, and your cunt was quick to stretch against Joel’s pulsing intrusion. His cock was more than a familiar force by now; he’d practically carved himself into your genetic makeup with every thrust, and your body reacted accordingly.

Taking gentle, shallow strokes and kneading your breast while he did, rubbing his thumb over the hypersensitive nipple, Joel managed against your lips:

“My baby’s been dreamin’ ‘bout me, huh?”

You didn’t need to respond in words.

Your reply came in the way you reached behind yourself and fisted a clump of gray ringlets at the nape of Joel’s neck. Your husband adjusted his position and began fucking you a little more quickly and deeply.

“I can tell, honey. Can feel by how she squeezes me.”

Without a doubt, Joel was in charge, but you could also hear the faintest intonation of something breaking for him, too. You’d been thinking of him, of this, and he’d been doing the same while he was away on patrol.

The thought that you could be a vessel for his pleasure in the exact same way that he was for you made you want to squirm even more. You felt him hold your head upright by your neck, and with his face only inches away, you kept coupling your bodies, again and again.

The hand around your breast squeezed harder. The measured thrusts grew uneven. You were milking Joel’s cock for every scrap of pleasure you could claim, and in truth, the two of you probably looked close to feral fucking like this. The bed creaked and groaned and threatened to splinter with every new movement.

A familiar warmth pooled in your stomach.

Something twitched beside your cervix.

“Ain’t gonna last long. ‘M’sorr—”

“Don’t,” you choked, before Joel could finish the apology. “Don’t be. Want you to…cum inside me.”

Instinctively, you both knew better.

Hell, you hadn’t been tracking your period for weeks with how infrequently Joel was at home, but here you went: all but begging him to blow his load inside you.

“Aw, honey. You—You know—”

Apocalypse. Living undead. No access to emergency contraceptives should you have been ovulating then.

“Might as well leave me with…” A strangled breath curtailed your speech. You rut your hips even harder. “…something to…to…keep me company while you’re out on patrol. You know how lonely it can get here.”

You knew what kind of effect those words would have on your husband, too. You’d never indulged this much.

Joel had just been itching to knock you up of late.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His thrusts sped up. There wasn’t enough road left for the two of you to keep speeding on like this—your highs were drawing closer and closer by the second.

“Don’t you wanna make me a mama?” you pouted.

“Fuck, honey. Yes. Yes. You jus’ give me the go ahead.”

Joel was polite, even when he was about to breed you.

Like it had been before, you didn’t need words to answer his question. Like you felt when you were curled up in bed, mostly dead to the world, you were fine because you’d already established this agreement that it was OK to take. OK to give, so long as it made both you and him happy and still put your safety first.

Maybe this wasn’t the safest, or smartest, thing to do.

But when Joel groaned against you, and you moaned back, mouths open and strained and panting out noises of inimitable pleasure, that thought faded.

In its place came an arm tightening around your body, a set of lips crashing to yours, and a long-awaited release—pulsing, pushing, flooding you with heat.

Your husband must have unloaded about a hundred ropes of spend by the time the two of you were finished. He looked about as tired as if he did.

Still, he was grinning as he flipped your body to him.

An electric current seemed to be vibrating beneath your skin as you finally, finally got to throw your arms around your husband and let him pull you into a hug.

He smelled like pine needles and sweat. His hair was a mess. That beard you’d been begging him to grow out for ages was now long and a little unkempt in some places, but nothing could hide the smile on his lips.

Most importantly to you, he was real this time.

And before you could utter so much as a word to say that you’d missed him more than anything this last week, the old man was reaching for your hips again.

Your smile grew bigger, and your eyebrows lifted a bit.

“Well, darlin’, I’ve gotta make sure we made it stick.”

TIME TO YEARN ABOUT THAT OLD MAN AS A FATHER NOW!!!

[nobodys-s0n]

A QUICK FIX. 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

‎✧˚₊‧ steve harrington fucking you silly after you get stood up !

his cock drills in and out of you, the bed creaking and the headboard cracking against the wall of your bedroom as he thrusts harder.

his hair was a mess, his hands gripping your thighs to the point you could see marks begin to appear on your skin, but you couldn't care. your mind was a jumbled mess, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth remaining agape no matter how many times you tried to keep it close.

steve leans in, pressing a kiss onto your lips, that fails halfway through because of a moan escaping your throat before he could lock lips, smirking against your chin. "poor baby." he whispers, you knew that cocky tone too well, you knew what kind of things it did to you. "can't even kiss me? that's sad... am i fucking you that good?"

your back arched off the bed, nails digging deep into steve's shoulders, leaving red markings on them as each thrust hits you harder and harder. he's always had an effect on you that you couldn't describe, but you didn't push away either.

neither shaking or nodding your head, you tilt your head back, hair sprawled on the pillow as your walls stretch around him. "steve! ngh, fuck! fuck! steve! s'so good..."

he smiles to himself, kissing your cheek as his hands drift down to the back of your knees, pushing your legs back to have your knees hit your breasts, leaning back. "oh yeah? too good huh? your pussy is incredible, baby, taking me so good."

you moan louder as he changes the position, feeling your heels hit his shoulders, toes curling up in the air as your hands find themselves in the bedsheets, curling the material.

you see, you were supposed to be going on a date at this time... keyword; supposed.

you were all dolled up, nice smelling perfume, lingerie ready because you were interested in this guy, you weren't going to front... but then, when you drove yourself downtown and went to the restaurant... he wasn't there.

minutes passed by, and he didn't show up, you even gave this bastard an hour to show up... he never came.

which left you, slightly embarrassed, more pissed if anything, in this nice restaurant, with no date. your interest in this guy immediately died after that.

but luckily, your friend, steve harrington, was at work at the family video right down the street from the restaurant, so you drove over to the family video, rented out a couple of movies, and definitely sensed steve's brown eyes on you.

so now, you were here, in your bed, completely naked, make up ruined and steve's cock bulldozing in and out of your wet folds.

"steveeeee, oh fuck! don't stop, don't fuckin s-stop!" you slur out, words getting mixed together and cut off, pleasure seeping into every fiber of your bones as he brings you closer and closer to your orgasm. you couldn't even feel half of your body, tingles running up your body, it felt so good.

"don't worry, hun." he whispers, squeezing your legs which fit perfectly in his palms. "don't worry 'bout me stopping. with this perfect cunt? how could i?" he asks, almost himself.

his voice alone makes your cunt flutter, but you squeeze around him anything, your version of telling him that you're close.

you're not close enough to bite him anyway.

his voice rings out again, mixing in with the wood cracking and the sloppy sounds of wet mixing with wet. "this pussy is so wet f'me... it's cute, honey, especially because you were waiting for someone else to ruin it only an hour ago."

your face heats up. "ste- steve, don't. please."

"oh but why not?" he shakes his heads, purposely dragging his cock against your walls slower than usual but going deeper. "because you know it's true? you know this sweet girl is so needy for some cock that she lets me fill it? it's perfectly okay sweetheart, just be honest 'bout it."

fuck him. fuck him for being able to ruin you so good, and fuck you for deciding to let him fuck you... especially because you know damn well he was going to act like this.

but thank any god above that your date bailed out on you, cause it got you a good taste of harrington cock!

click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

AUTHOR'S NOTE: seriously, I am addicted to writing about this fuck ass dude, I can’t stop. he’s so fun to write for too, he can be pathetic but so dominant at the same time… I’ve been thinking of creating some au’s for him and for other characters… having sum thoughtssss.

thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!

created by... nobodys-s0n! ™

[suprclark]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

— you ask steve harrington to be your fake date to your ex’s wedding to prove you’ve totally moved on, except steve has been secretly in love with you forever and pretending turns dangerously real when one drunken confession threaten to expose feelings neither of you are ready to admit, leaving steve determined to prove you were never just someone before “the one.”.

🍁 3.3k — steve harrington x fem!reader, fake dating, mutual pining, hopelessly whipped steve harrington, reader convinced she’s unlovable, yearning so obvious everyone suffers, robin buckley the voice of reason, rom-com energy, “just one wedding” famous last words, drunk honesty incoming, steve determined to love her loudly, friends to lovers kinda, everyone knows except them, potential multi parts series ( ? )

author's note — before anyone asks, the next part will be out in mid-march. enjoy <3

masterlist : navigation

gif by @yenvengerberg | divider by @/lavendergalactic

All previous doubt that the universe didn’t hate you personally had vanished today, because standing there with the wedding invitation in your hand, you had never been more certain that fate was, in fact, a petty, vindictive bitch with a personal grudge against you.

The card was thick and definitely expensive, the kind of paper people only used when they wanted everyone to know they were happy and financially doing great. Gold lettering shimmered under the kitchen light, obnoxiously shiny, and right there in the center was your ex’s name written in looping cursive.

You stared at it longer than necessary, hoping maybe the letters would rearrange themselves into a joke or a prank or literally anything else, but no. You flipped the card over as if maybe the back would say just kidding, wrong person, this is actually a coupon for free pizza. It did not. Just directions, a venue, and a cheerful little line about celebrating love.

You scoffed out loud.

You hated it.

You hated the creamy paper, the floral border, the tiny gold leaves curling around the edges like they were celebrating your suffering. You hated how formal it sounded. You hated how happy it sounded. Mostly, you hated how final it felt.

Because not that long ago, you had been the one talking about weddings. And he had laughed it off, said he wasn’t ready, that marriage wasn’t for him, that you wanted different things. And apparently what he meant was the same thing with someone who was not you.

The worst part — truly the absolute insult added on top of injury — was that you were painfully aware of several pairs of eyes burning into the back of your head.

Slowly, dread settling in your stomach, you noticed shapes hovering just slightly too close behind your shoulder. The boys were attempting subtlety, which meant they were failing spectacularly at it.

Dustin was practically leaning sideways to read the card. Will stood beside Mike, who was mouthing him what he was seeing. Lucas was trying to peek and Gareth hovered near the couch like he might need to duck for cover at any moment.

You didn’t even have to turn fully to know Eddie was right there too, eyes narrowed in interest, already invested in whatever drama this was about to become.

You slowly glanced at them from the corner of your eye.

Every single one froze.

Your glare worked instantly. They scattered backward in clumsy unison, suddenly fascinated by walls, furniture, and absolutely anything that was not the invitation.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as exhaustion replaced irritation, and finally turned around to face them properly, the card still clutched in your hand.

It was honestly impressive how quickly a group of boys who regularly fought interdimensional monsters could become terrified of one mildly upset woman.

For a moment, no one spoke. The boys exchanged looks, silently nominating a spokesperson the way people did before approaching a wild person.

Eddie, unfortunately for him, seemed to win that silent vote.

He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight as he eyed you cautiously. “So,” he started, gesturing vaguely toward the card, “uh. . . what’s wrong?”

You stared at him.

He winced a little but pushed forward anyway, or more correctly, was pushed forward by Garreth. “Well,” he added, “are you going to go?”

You planted your hands on your hips immediately. “Gee, I don’t know, Ed,” you said, pacing slowly across the room. “Do I want to go to the wedding of my ex who broke up with me because I wanted to get married and he didn’t?”

You turned, continuing before anyone could interrupt, frustration spilling out faster now.

“And now,” you added, gesturing at all of them, “now I’m here playing a stupid game with you stupid boys while he’s getting married to a probably gorgeous girl.”

Lucas slowly raised his hand like he was in class. “It sounds like you don’t.”

You stopped pacing and stared at him in disbelief.

“Of course I don’t.”

Mike blinked at you for a second before shrugging with complete sincerity. “Well,” he said, like the solution was painfully obvious, “then don’t go.”

You stared at him.

Then your face broke into the sweetest, most exaggerated smile imaginable, the kind that immediately made Dustin take one cautious step backward.

“Wow,” you said warmly, nodding slowly. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’re so smart, Michael.”

Mike straightened slightly, unsure whether he was being praised or threatened, but Dustin immediately clapped him on the shoulder with proud enthusiasm anyway. “That’s my boy,” Dustin said, beaming.

Your smile dropped instantly.

“Of course I have to go, you idiot!”

Dustin’s proud expression vanished as he smacked Mike lightly on the back of the head. “You ruined it,” he muttered.

You began pacing again. “Because if I don’t go,” you explained, “then it’s going to look like I still love him. Which I don’t. I absolutely do not. I am completely over him.” You paused, pointing at the card. “But I also can’t go because I’m not even dating anyone.”

The room absorbed this logic in silence.

Gareth frowned thoughtfully. “Since when did weddings become a thing people couldn’t go to if they weren’t dating someone?”

You turned your head slowly toward him and gave him a look.

Gareth visibly swallowed mid-breath, posture collapsing as survival instincts kicked in. “Okay,” he muttered quickly, sinking back into the couch cushions, “bad question. I see that now.”

Will spoke up cautiously. “Well. . . you could always pretend you’re dating someone,” he suggested. “Like take a fake date.”

Your head turned toward him slowly, eyes widening.

The boys immediately looked between the two of you. Dustin’s eyes went huge. “Abort, man. Abort,” he whispered urgently to Will, as if the suggestion could still be taken back.

Instead, you lit up completely.

A laugh escaped you as you crossed the room in two quick steps and pulled Will into a tight hug, nearly knocking him off balance. “I swear you’re the smartest person in this room,” you declared happily. “I always knew you were my favourite.”

Will turned pink instantly, awkward but pleased, while the rest of the boys protested at once.

“Rude,” Eddie said from behind you, sounding deeply offended.

You pulled back from Will and turned toward Eddie with mock innocence. “I’m sorry, do you have a problem, Edward?”

Eddie hesitated, clearly weighing his options very carefully. “I want to say no,” he admitted cautiously.

You stared at him for a moment, thinking, your gaze sharpening as an idea began forming. Slowly, your eyes traveled up and down him, assessing in a way that made Eddie immediately uncomfortable.

He pointed at himself. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Your expression brightened suddenly. “Say, Edward,” you said sweetly, clasping your hands together, “how would you like to help out a girl in distress?”

Eddie recoiled instantly. “Nope. Absolutely not. I’m out,” he said, shaking his head before you even finished. “I’m terrible at gatherings. You know this. People expect eye contact and normal behavior. I can’t provide that.”

He looked at you expectantly, clearly waiting for reassurance, for you to insist he’d be perfect, for emotional persuasion to begin.

Instead, you nodded thoughtfully. “No, you’re right.”

Eddie blinked, caught completely off guard.

You turned away from him immediately, scanning the room until your eyes landed on Gareth.

Gareth sat upright. “No,” he said quickly. “No, no, not me.”

You stepped toward him anyway, smile widening. “C’mon, Gareth. I thought we had something.”

“Yes,” Gareth said firmly, scooting backward into the couch like he might disappear into it, “we do. It’s called fear. I’m scared of you.”

You looked around the room at the collection of boys and felt a deep disappointment settle into your bones. Your shoulders slumped as you pointed accusingly at all of them, one by one.

“You’re terrible,” you announced. “The lot of you. I need new friends. Except you Will, you're an angel.”

Will grinned as Dustin gasped, hand coming to his chest as if personally wounded.

You sighed heavily, pacing again. “I cannot believe none of you are willing to help me avoid humiliation,” you muttered. “Unbelievable. After everything I’ve done for this group.”

“What have you done?” Mike asked genuinely.

You ignored him completely.

There was a brief silence while everyone thought. Then Dustin suddenly straightened, eyes lighting up with the unmistakable excitement of someone who believed he had just solved everything.

“I have an idea,” he announced.

Every head turned toward him.

He grinned proudly. “You could take Steve.”

You blinked. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said eagerly, warming to his own brilliance. “He’s awesome. And he’s very good with the ladies.” He nodded confidently. “Like, he’s probably your best option.”

You stared at him for a second, processing.

Then your face slowly brightened, realization settling in.

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, pointing at him, “there’s another genius. Good job, Dust.”

Dustin puffed up immediately under the praise, looking unbearably pleased with himself as the others groaned.

You grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair with sudden determination. “I’m going to talk to him,” you declared, already heading toward the door like this plan had been inevitable all along.

“Right now?” Lucas asked.

“Yes, right now,” you said, slipping your shoes on without slowing down. “Before I can think about it too much and realize this is probably a terrible idea.”

Eddie watched you go with narrowed eyes. “Oh, this is absolutely a terrible idea,” he called after you.

You pointed at him without turning around. “Too late!”

And then you were out the door.

Dustin frowned, leaning closer to Will with clear disappointment. “I didn’t get a hug,” he muttered.

Will shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

The closer you got to WSQK, the more your confidence began quietly packing its bags and leaving without telling you.

At first, the walk had felt empowering. Of a woman with a plan. But somewhere between your street and the radio station, reality started creeping in.

This was, objectively speaking, a terrible idea.

Eddie had been right. Which was already upsetting enough on its own.

You slowed your pace as the building came into view, your steps losing momentum while doubts piled up one after another. You didn’t even know Steve that well. Sure, you existed in the same orbit. Group hangouts, occasional movie nights and there had been that one month at Scoops Ahoy.

But that was it.

You weren’t close-close.

Not fake-date-to-a-wedding close.

Steve Harrington had clearly moved on with his life. He had a job, responsibilities, hair that somehow always looked professionally styled despite zero visible effort, and absolutely no reason to get dragged into your revenge against fate.

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous this felt.

By the time you reached the front steps, you were already mentally backing out. Maybe you shouldn’t ask Steve. Maybe you should just. . . move to another country. Yes. That was mature. Or, you could ask Nancy instead. Nancy liked you. You were almost certain she would let you borrow Jonathan for a day if you explained the situation properly. Jonathan had a calm, trustworthy face. Wedding-appropriate.

You nodded to yourself, fully convincing your brain this was the new plan.

Okay. Good. Crisis averted.

You turned slightly, already preparing to leave before anyone noticed you had even come, when a voice cut cleanly through your thoughts.

“Hey?”

You blinked.

Your brain took a second to catch up. You looked up, refocusing, and suddenly realized Steve Harrington was standing directly in front of you at the WSQK door, one hand still resting on the handle like he had just opened it.

You froze.

When had he gotten there?

More importantly, when had you gotten there?

You glanced behind you briefly, as if retracing your steps might magically explain how you had apparently walked all the way here, approached the door, and knocked without registering any of it.

“Steve— hey,” you said, still slightly disoriented. “When did you get here?”

Steve frowned at you immediately, concern replacing confusion as he looked you over. “Are you sleepwalking again?” he asked, completely serious. “I told you to go to a doctor about that.”

You stared at him.

Not because of the question itself, but because he remembered.

Out of everything, that was what caught you off guard. The sleepwalking thing had come up once—one single conversation months ago during a late group hangout when you’d mentioned waking up in your kitchen holding a spoon for no reason. You hadn’t even thought he’d been listening.

And yet here he was, looking genuinely worried about it.

“I’m not sleepwalking,” you said slowly, still trying to catch up with reality. “I think.”

Steve’s frown deepened as he watched you and he leaned a little closer. “Okay,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

You blinked at him like you had almost forgotten why you were there in the first place. The weight of the invitation in your pocket suddenly felt heavier than it had a minute ago. “I might want to sit down for this,” you admitted.

That was apparently all the confirmation Steve needed that something was seriously wrong, because his posture shifted instantly into full caretaking mode. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” he said quickly, stepping aside and holding the door open wider. “Come in.”

You walked inside as Steve guided you toward the small seating area near the lobby. Your brain, meanwhile, had already begun spiraling again, rehearsing possible ways to ask someone to pretend to date you without sounding completely insane.

You glanced around automatically. “Where’s Robin?”

Steve froze for half a second.

“She’s out to see V—” he started, then abruptly stopped himself. “—Venus.”

You blinked. “Venus?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding too firmly. “She’s out to see Venus. The planet.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You decided, very consciously, not to question it. Whatever that meant was a problem for another day. Right now you had a fake romantic proposal to survive.

You shifted on the couch, nerves rising fast. “Actually,” you said, glancing up at him, “you might want to sit down for this too.”

That definitely did not help.

His eyes widened slightly as he lowered himself into the chair across from you. “Is everything okay?”

You gave a small, helpless smile. “Not so much.”

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the wedding invitation and handed it to him Steve took it carefully, brows furrowing as he opened it and scanned the front.

There was a brief pause.

Then he looked back up at you, confused. “I think you got it wrong,” he said gently. “This is not mine. I don’t know this guy.”

You blinked. “What? No. This is my ex.”

Steve looked back down at the invitation, confusion deepening. “Then. . . why are you giving me your ex’s mail?” he asked. “Did the mailman send this to you by mistake and you want me to give it to him or something?”

You stared at him, completely thrown. “No, what are you talking about?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

You inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.”

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself, hands gripping your knees as you forced the words out before courage could abandon you.

“Myexisgettingmarriedandineedyoutocomeasmyfakedate.”

Steve blinked.

Silence filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting a hand to his temple. “I think I just had a stroke hearing that. Could you say that more slowly?”

Your face burned, but you nodded, forcing yourself to repeat it, this time enunciating every word like it physically hurt. “My ex is getting married and I need you to come as my fake date.”

Steve stared at you.

“Okay,” he said faintly. “Wow. Okay. Uh.”

He leaned back slightly, processing.

“Uh,” he repeated.

You waited, hands clasped tightly together in your lap.

“Okay,” he tried again, nodding once like that might help his brain catch up. “Wow. Uh.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the ceiling like answers might be written there. “Okay,” he repeated again, voice drifting as he processed. “That’s. . . wow. That’s a sentence.”

You waited, hope and embarrassment wrestling violently inside your chest as he continued making small thinking noises.

“Okay uh. . . wow, fake date. . . wedding. . . okay.”

This went on for an impressive amount of time. He continued making variations of that exact noise for a solid five minutes, running a hand through his hair, blinking at the invitation.

Finally, he looked back at you.

Your expression must have betrayed exactly how much you were counting on this, because something in his face softened immediately.

He sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

The relief hit you so fast you practically launched out of your seat, a delighted sound escaping before you could stop it. You moved forward instinctively, arms lifting to hug him and then realization slammed into you halfway there.

You froze.

Awkwardly, painfully, you stopped yourself and stepped back instead, clearing your throat like nothing had happened. “Thanks,” you said quickly, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Steve hid a small smile, pretending not to notice it. “On one condition,” he added.

You nodded immediately. “Okay.”

He pointed at you firmly. “You’re going to be the one telling Robin. Because she will actually kill me if I tell her.”

You considered that for approximately half a second. “Okay.”

Steve had been on the phone with Robin for exactly twelve minutes and forty-three seconds, which was approximately twelve minutes longer than he had hoped the conversation would last.

He stood in the middle of his living room in a half-buttoned suit, the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear while he aggressively polished one shoe against the back of his pant leg like the extra shine might somehow help his argument. His tie hung loose around his neck, crooked from multiple failed attempts at tying it properly, and every few seconds he paced a small anxious circle before stopping again.

“I know it sounds bad when you say it like that,” he insisted, lowering his voice even though you were still in the other room getting ready.

Robin’s voice crackled loudly through the receiver, disbelieving even from several feet away. She had been talking almost nonstop since the day you’d explained the situation.

“Steve,” she said, “it doesn’t just sound bad. It is bad. This is a terrible idea.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just one wedding.”

“It’s a fake date to her ex’s wedding,” Robin corrected immediately. “Those words individually are terrible. You can imagine how they must be together.”

Steve hummed noncommittally, switching the shoe he was polishing. “Mm.”

“And don’t ‘mm’ me,” she continued. “You know why this is a disaster.”

He hesitated just long enough to give himself away.

Robin pounced. “Because you’re in love with her, Steve.”

He nearly dropped the shoe.

“I am not,” he said quickly, voice pitching higher than usual.

Robin laughed, the sound equal parts fond and exasperated. “You absolutely are. You have been for, like, forever. You do that thing where you pretend you’re not listening but then remember every tiny detail she’s ever said.”

“That’s just called being attentive,” he muttered weakly.

“You remembered her coffee order from that one time you brought it for her six months ago,” Robin shot back. “You don’t even remember my birthday half the time.”

“That’s different,” he said defensively, immediately regretting how guilty that sounded.

“Steve,” she said, “this is going to end terribly. You’re going to spend an entire night pretending to be her boyfriend while watching her deal with her ex, and then what? You think your feelings are just going to politely sit in the corner and behave?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, he knew she was right. Every logical part of his brain had screamed that this was a bad idea the moment you’d asked. But then he remembered the way you’d looked at him—hopeful and nervous and trying so hard not to seem like you needed the help as much as you did—and something in his chest had completely folded.

“She just. . . needed someone,” he said.

Robin groaned. “You are unbelievable.”

He smiled faintly despite himself, continuing to polish his shoe, humming absentmindedly as she continued listing all the consequences he was absolutely ignoring.

“And when this blows up,” she went on, “I want it officially on record that I warned you.”

“Mhm,” he said, distracted now as he checked his reflection in the window, adjusting his collar.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Mhm.”

“Steve—”

He never heard the rest because at that exact moment, your bedroom door opened.

He glanced up automatically and then completely forgot how functioning as a human being worked.

You stepped into the room in your dress, smoothing it nervously as you walked forward, clearly unsure whether it looked right, whether it was too much or not enough, whether this entire situation was as surreal as it felt.

Steve’s head snapped upright so fast it was almost audible.

The phone slipped straight from his shoulder and dangled by the cord, swinging gently near his chest.

His jaw followed shortly after.

For a long second, he just stared.

Every coherent thought left his brain at once. All Robin’s warnings, all his careful mental preparation, every argument he’d made about this being manageable vanished instantly. You looked. . . breathtaking.

He swallowed, attempting to stand straighter and immediately fumbling with his tie instead, fingers suddenly useless. “Uh—hi,” he managed, voice slightly hoarse.

You smiled shyly. “Is it too much?”

His brain short-circuited.

“No,” he said immediately. Then, realizing that sounded too fast, he added, “I mean, no. It’s— you look—” He gestured vaguely, words completely abandoning him. “Good. Really good.”

The phone swung slightly, and faintly, Robin’s voice could still be heard shouting through it.

“. . . Steve? Steve! Tell me you didn’t just zone out while I was making a very important point—”

She paused and there was a beat of silence.

Then, resigned and deeply unsurprised, her voice floated through faintly. “Oh my god, she walked in, didn’t she?”

Steve did not respond, still staring at you like he’d forgotten gravity existed.

Robin sighed. “Yeah. You’re on your own, dingus.”

A click followed.

The line went dead, the phone still hanging uselessly by its cord as Steve finally seemed to remember it existed, grabbing it awkwardly and setting it back in place without ever fully taking his eyes off you.

You shifted your weight nervously under his stare, suddenly hyperaware of every tiny detail about yourself. The dress had felt right when you picked it out, but now, standing in front of Steve while he looked at you like the concept of blinking had personally offended him, doubt crept in fast.

You smoothed your hands down the fabric for the hundredth time. “It’s not too formal, right?” you asked, turning slightly to check the hem even though you’d already checked it three times in the mirror. “I mean, it’s a wedding, but it’s not my wedding, so there’s probably like a criteria I’m supposed to follow.”

Steve nodded immediately.

Then realized he hadn’t actually processed a single word you’d said.

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “Totally.”

You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes a little. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am,” he lied automatically, still staring.

Because he was, unfortunately, completely gone.

There was something deeply unfair about how you looked right now. Not just pretty—Steve knew pretty—but real and nervous in a way that made his chest ache. You kept adjusting the dress like you weren’t sure you deserved to feel confident in it, and all he could think about was how insane it was that anyone had ever let you feel unsure about yourself at all.

His brain kept supplying unhelpful thoughts like she’s trusting you with this and you get to be the one standing next to her tonight and do not ruin this by being weird.

He was already being weird.

You turned back toward the small table, picking up a delicate pendant necklace and frowning at the clasp behind it. “Can you help me with this?” you asked casually, holding it up. “I can never get these stupid things on.”

Steve froze for half a second before walking over, every step suddenly careful, like he was approaching something fragile.

“Yeah,” he said.

You turned around, lifting your hair away from your neck without thinking, exposing the soft curve of your shoulders. The movement was simple, absentminded even, but Steve’s brain immediately stopped functioning again.

Up close, he could smell your perfume and the faint warmth of your skin. His hands hovered awkwardly for a moment before he carefully took the necklace from you, fingers brushing yours briefly.

The contact was quick but it still sent a small shock straight through him.

“Okay,” he murmured, mostly to himself, focusing very hard on the clasp.

You stood still, waiting patiently, completely unaware of the internal crisis happening two inches behind you.

His fingers trembled slightly as he brought the chain around your neck. The pendant rested against your collarbone while he tried to line up the tiny hook, concentration intense but constantly disrupted by how close he was. Every small movement meant his knuckles brushed your skin and each touch made his breathing a little less steady.

“Sorry,” he muttered softly when his fingers slipped. “These things are. . . tiny.”

“It’s okay,” you said gently, smiling even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re doing great.”

That did not help him at all.

He swallowed, leaning closer without meaning to, breath brushing the back of your neck as he finally managed to hook the clasp into place. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, adjusting the chain so it sat neatly.

Neither of you moved right away.

His hands slowly fell away, but he didn’t step back immediately, caught in that small space between finishing and letting go. Steve felt something warm and overwhelming settle in his chest.

“Done,” he said softly, voice rougher than he intended.

You turned back toward him, smiling. “Thanks.”

And for a second, standing that close, Steve forgot this was supposed to be pretend.

You turned toward the mirror to check the necklace, fingertips brushing lightly over the pendant as you tilted your head from side to side, making sure it sat right. For a moment you were focused entirely on adjusting the chain, smoothing your hair back into place, trying to ignore the nervous flutter still bouncing around your stomach.

Then your eyes shifted slightly in the reflection and you paused.

Steve stood just behind you, still a little too close, looking like he had forgotten where to put his hands or how to exist normally. But that wasn’t what caught your attention.

His tie was, how do you put this politely, tragic.

It hung slightly crooked, the knot uneven and pulled too tight on one side while somehow still loose on the other.

You squinted at the mirror. “Oh my god.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

You turned toward him immediately, already reaching out. “Your tie. What did you do to it?”

He looked down defensively. “I tied it.”

“With what, hatred?” you muttered, stepping closer. “Hold still.”

He did.

Like someone had pressed a pause button.

Your fingers gently grabbed the knot, loosening it slightly before straightening the fabric. Steve’s entire body went rigid the second you touched him, shoulders locking as his brain short-circuited all over again.

Up close, you were focused, completely unaware of the effect you were having. You tugged lightly at the tie, smoothing it down his shirt, your brows pulling together in concentration.

“You were just going to leave it like this?” you asked, half amused, half horrified. “You’re supposed to be my impressive fake date.”

“I am impressive,” he said automatically, voice quieter than usual.

You hummed skeptically, adjusting the knot again. “Debatable.”

Your fingers brushed his collar as you fixed the fold beneath it, and Steve forgot how breathing worked for a second. He stood perfectly still, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, terrified that moving even slightly might break whatever this moment was.

He could see every detail up close now—the small crease between your brows when you focused, the way your lips moved slightly as you muttered to yourself, the soft shine of the pendant he had just fastened resting against your skin.

His heart was beating embarrassingly fast and he just hoped it didn't burst out and embarrass him in front of you.

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed somewhere just above your head because looking directly at you felt dangerously overwhelming. His brain supplied one very clear thought: I am down catastrophically bad and Robin is never wrong.

“There,” you said, giving the tie one last satisfied adjustment. You leaned back slightly to inspect your work, nodding approvingly. “Much better.”

Steve didn’t respond.

You glanced up at him, noticing the way he’d completely frozen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately, voice a little breathless. “Yeah. Totally.”

You smiled, oblivious, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from his jacket before stepping back fully. “Good.”

Steve nodded, still trying to recover, watching you with the same soft, helpless expression he hadn’t been able to hide all evening.

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

FUNNY MOUTH | steve harrington

pairing: steve harrignton x reader words: 1.5k contains: 18+ smut!! minors dni!! established relationship, finger kink, finger sucking, dry humping, fingering, boyfriend!steve, dirty talk, steve covering reader's eyes and mouth a little, no use of y/n, pure foreplay, use of pet names, fem reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader.

author's note: i feel like this wasn’t my best but i did give it a good go! thank you for the request anon, i went a little overboard 💗 also this isn’t inspired by the song funny mouth, i was just struggling to think of a title and picked this one as i thought it fit!! also sorry for lowkey blue balling you guys with the ending tehehe

to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page

Steve Harrington once called you an ‘instant boner giver’. You had laughed and called him ridiculous because you figured he had to be joking.

But he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.

Despite being together for nearly two years—Steve still got ridiculously hard over you. For the most stupid reasons.

He got hard when he walked in on you (completely accidentally) as you showered. He got hard when you came home from a run covered in sweat and chest heaving. He got hard when your foot brushed against his calf at dinners. He got hard as you got ready for work next to him—those damn pencil skirts got him going. He got hard when you bent over to grab the television remote that he wedged itself beneath the sofa. He got hard when he woke up and you were just there.

And so, it came as no surprise to him that seeing you laying on your stomach on your bed—in nothing but one of his t-shirts and those soft pink panties that drove him insane as you read Wuthering Heights—made his cock twitch. The blood rushed south as you hummed, flipping a page while you read intently.

Maybe it was the fact he had just showered—his hair still a little wet and only wearing his boxers. Or maybe it was the t-shirt and panties combination you were wearing that made him so horny. That was definitely a contributor. But honestly? It was you reading that did it for him. He loved that look of concentration you got. Loved it when you got into whatever you were reading.

He walked over to the bed slowly—his cock straining against his boxers as you lay there reading without even noticing him.

His eyes roamed over your body as he stood by the edge of the bed—focused on the backs of your thighs, your calves. He could smell that sweet vanilla body lotion you used and he swears he gets even harder. And when you move your legs just so that his shirt rides up on you and he gets a view of your plump ass cheeks—he knows he can’t wait a second more.

In an instant, he’s leaning over the edge of the bed—knees either side of your thighs and cupping one hand over your eyes.

“Steve,” you groan, squirming beneath him as you try and move his hand—your book falling out of your hands and onto the bed. “I was reading—”

Steve hums, body shifting closer to yours. Not pressing against it just yet but enough to make your breath hitch . He moves your hair aside so he could press a kiss to the side of your neck—shamelessly lavishing the skin with his tongue after.

“I know baby,” he murmurs gently against your skin. “You just looked so damn good. Couldn’t resist.”

It’s then that he finally presses himself against you firmly—the hard press of his cock against your barely covered ass cheeks making you feel suddenly hot all over. A familiar warmth spreads through you. An exhale of breath leaving your lips as you press back against him instinctively.

“That book making you all horny, baby?” He whispers against your skin.

You almost laugh but stop yourself as you feel him grind against your ass—just a little. Just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“It’s not that kind of book—” you murmur, trying not to sound affected. Even though you absolutely were.

Steve hums, not really listening as he ducks his head down to press a kiss another to your neck—making sure to find that spot that always made you squirm (which he found with ease). “Sure thing.”

His hand still covering your eyes made it so all your other senses were heightened. The way you could feel every hard ridge of his cock against your ass. How your heart thumped against your chest—the hardened peaks of your nipples brushing against the t-shirt of Steve’s you wore. How the bedsheets felt against the skin of your legs. How he smelt of that expensive summery body wash you used—

“Stevie, you didn’t use my body wash again did you—”

A hand over your mouth is what silences you. The sensation shouldn’t turn you on even more but it does. Wetnesses pools embarrassingly quickly between your legs, dampening your panties as your voice is muffled behind his hand.

“Forgot about the body wash, baby,” he tells you—another slow grind of his hips from behind you. You moaned into his hand as the feel of his cock against your ass like the sweetest torture—your needy cunt clenching around nothing.

Steve seemed to know that you were getting worked up because Steve just knew your body—knew all your tells. How your legs twitched as you tried not to squeeze your thighs together. How your breathing picked up. How your fingers curled into the bedsheets beneath you, knuckles turning white. How your back arched just a little.

“Focus on me, yeah?” Steve murmurs—his lips still pressing sweet kisses to your neck as he adjusted his hand over your mouth. He pulls away just enough to brush his middle finger over your lips. “Open up for me, baby.”

You do it without question. Your lips part obediently and he slides his middle finger into your mouth, breathing heavily as it makes contact with your tongue. You moan around him, being unable to see anything due to Steve’s other hand still over your eyes. Your focus zeroed in on his finger. You swirl your tongue around the digit, before you wrap your lips around it fully. 

“Want more?” Steve asks you breathlessly. He watches in awe when you nod—easing his index finger into your mouth alongside his middle finger. And when you start to suck on his fingers like it was his fucking cock—head bobbing, salvia starting to dribble down your chin, fingers gripping onto the bedsheets—all he wants to do is slam his cock inside you and fuck you stupid.

But watching you suck on his fingers was enough for now. He didn’t mind suffering for a little while longer.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes out, his hips moving again. His heavy cock—still contained in his boxers and beginning to be freed—pressing against your back. The slight friction driving him mad. “You love my fingers, don’t you?”

You hum around his fingers before taking them deeper—hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. Steve was transfixed, he probably could have gotten off on just watching you suck on his fingers. But your needy, whiny moans around his digits told him you needed more.

He hand dropped from covering your eyes to lift your hips up, fingers sliding down to run over the damp patch in your panties. You couldn’t hold back your moan even if you tried. His fingers slipped from your mouth and you saw them coated in your spit. The sight was lewd, dirty even. You barely had time to react before he was tugging your panties to the side and pushing his fingers—slick with your own saliva—inside you. Your spit mixes with your wetness and the sound is obscene but you don’t care as Steve’s fingers begin pump in and out of you.

Moans fall from your lips and your hips move of their own accord. You were putty in his hands—as usual. He loved it—loved you. 

“So fucking pretty, baby,” he tells you, his free hand finding your hip and gripping it tightly to ground himself—holding back from shoving his boxers down and slamming his cock inside you from behind. His fingers continue to move in and out of you, your hands scrambling to grip the sheets beneath as your stomach tightens and tightens—

And then his fingers curl inside you and you cry out—

“Stevie—”

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give you a second to breathe. Instead his thumb seeks out your swollen, needy clit and that was all you needed.

Your release courses through your entire body—starting from your lower stomach and travelling all the way down to the tips of your toes.You might even see stars. Steve watches—the way he always does because—fuck, your pussy squeezing his fingers as you moan out his name was everything and more.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder before withdrawing his fingers—slick with your release—and bringing them up to his lips. Licking his fingers clean and moaning when he tastes your sweetness. “Best fucking thing I’ve tasted all day.”

“I literally made you breakfast,” you murmur, biting back a smile as you roll over to look up at him—still blissed out, still a little dazed.

“And it was so good, baby,” he tells you, hands finding your hips to tug you closer to him. You feel how his cock was straining against his boxers—feeling that little damp patch from the precum that had leaked from his red hot tip. “But you taste better.”

“How romantic,” you say.

“Baby,” Steve murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck as his other hand pulls down his boxers—his thick cock slapping against his stomach. “There’s nothing romantic about the way I’m about to fuck you.”

You laugh, pulling him down for a sweet kiss.

“Then fuck romance and fuck me Harrington.”

dividers by the lovely @zclhs

[graywrenhart]

SUGAR RUSH

pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader summary: Steve's determined to do Valentine's Day right. You, however, have other plans. tags: MDNI [smut] [valentine's day] [coach!steve] [boyfriend!Steve] [established (new) relationship] [teasing] [begging] [cockwarming] [oral sex] [vaginal sex] [strip tease] [seducing steve is fun] 3k words

“What’s next? Flour? How many cups does it—Jesus, baby…” Steve trails off as his head tips back with a groan.

“What?” You ask sweetly from your tiptoes as you drop hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of his neck.

The counter ledge digs into your back in this position, wedged between him and the cabinets, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

The late evening sun streams in through the window above the sink, casting the kitchen in a warm, pink glow. It cascades prettily over his Adam’s apple, the bridge of his nose, and you can’t resist flicking the buttons of his polo open to see it catch in that patch of chest hair that drives you insane. 

“I’-m sorry I had to work today,” he says, voice vibrating against your lips. “I thought we’d have more time for this Valentine’s Day stuff. I’m—”

“I don’t mind,” you rush to reassure him, teasing his earlobe with your teeth.

Truth is, you love watching him coach the little league baseball team. Seeing him bark encouraging orders while raking a hand through his hair, elbows on his knees in the dugout—it’s like foreplay.

Nothing beats the salty taste of late summer nights on his skin, or smelling the turf in his hair when he’s fresh off the field. And it doesn’t steal a second from you. Because tonight, he’s all soft brown eyes, warm firm hands, and…all fucking yours. 

“We’re supposed to be making cookies,” he reminds. “C’mon, I—mmph.”

You capture his mouth with yours, swallowing whatever he was going to say. His lips part obediently. Instantly. You moan as his tongue brushes yours. Salty from the sunflower seeds he's addicted to eating during games, tangled with that familiar sweetness of him that has you arching into his body, begging for more. 

“You’re a problem. You know that?” He murmurs, dragging his mouth from yours. “Keep this up and I’m gonna accidentally swap the s-sugar for salt or someth-thing—oh shit.”

You hum a sound of false sympathy against his throat as your hand travels the length of his abs, and brushes over the bulge in this khaki pants. 

“Mmm, but you’re so hard,” you sigh. “Here, let me...” 

Before he can protest, your fingers nimbly undo his belt. And as you drop to your knees in front of him, you take his pants down with you. His cock springs free, achingly hard and flushed at the tip. 

Your mouth waters as you look up at him. Pupils blown wide. Pink lips parted in surprise. Hair slightly mussed. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe he’s here right now—that you’re really willingly down on your knees for him like this. 

You’ve only been dating for a few months. But every time without fail, even though you’ve been having regular (amazing) sex, he always looks at you like this. Hesitant. A little guilty, maybe. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it or something. 

Well, that’s bullshit. 

God, he’s pretty like this. Breathing hard, khakis rumpled around his thighs, white polo untucked, and belt hanging loose. This undone, needy version of him turns you on so damn much. An urge to tell him—to show him—grips you by the spine and you lean in to lick a greedy wet stripe up his cock from base to tip. 

A deep groan escapes his chest and his hand slips into your hair, knuckles bumping against the counter behind you.

“Oh fuck,” he whines, his hips chasing your mouth just a little. Just enough to let you know how much he wants it. “No—no, no, no. We can’t—I had whole this plan, and—”

You pull back just enough to murmur, “It’s fine,” around the tip before resuming the warm, wet pressure that’s driving him insane. 

What you really mean is—it’s great. Perfect. Exactly what you want. 

But he must hear something else, because his open palm lands on the sink ledge above you seconds later with a sharp, regretful smack before he pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips. It bobs in front of you, slick with saliva, dripping from the tip like a delicious, ripe fruit. You nearly whine at the loss. 

“Baby—it’s our first Valentine’s Day,” he huffs, “Look. I bought heart sprinkles and everything. This is what you wanted to do, remember?”

He’s right. 

You’d never been a huge fan of the whole fancy, expensive dinner Valentine’s Day tradition. So when you suggested something different, he’d heard you out. 

 ‘I want to do something simple, Steve.” You’d told him. “Let’s just bake some cookies at your place. Oh! And we can decorate them, and then maybe watch a rom-com on the couch? That sounds perfect.’

Well, now, it’s sounding not so perfect. 

Because it’s sounding like entirely too much time standing in between what you really want. Which is Steve’s massive cock inside you. 

You glance through the triangle of space his arm makes with his hand perched on his hip. There is, in fact, a little canister of red and pink heart-shaped sprinkles on the counter. Steve takes advantage of your momentary distraction to put himself back together. 

You swallow your disappointment as he reaches down to help you up. 

“Hey. Don’t worry,” he whispers, lips soft against your neck when you straighten. “I’ll give you everything you want. But first, we do Valentine’s Day right. Like you wanted. Okay?”

You huff, impatient. “Fine.”

You really should go easier on him. He’s trying to make your ideal date night come to life. But you’re a greedy bitch when it comes to him, and the recipe blurs in your vision as you rub your thighs together, seeking friction for your aching clit. 

How long is this going to take? Is he really going to hold out until you make the dough, bake the cookies, decorate them, and then watch the movie? Fuck, it’s going to be like three hours. You can’t do that. 

You can’t.

“Here,” he says gently, handing you a bowl. “You mix this part up, alright? I’ll handle the frosting. Shit. Where are the fuckin’ measuring cups, I just had them…”

You look down into the bowl where a pile of flour, sugar, and baking powder stare back up at you. Spotting the spatula, you reach across the counter for it and the stretch causes your shirt to ride up, baring the curve of your lower back to the open air. 

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Steve’s gaze snap back to his task. 

Suddenly, you get an idea. 

Who says you have to be clothed in order to bake cookies? News flash. You don’t. 

With his back turned, you pull off your shirt and quickly toss it out into the hallway. 

The new lacy set fits well, caressing the contours of your body prettily. When you put it on this morning under your work clothes, you fantasized about Steve finding it in a variety of ways. Like maybe in the car on the way home from the game, his hand would land on your thigh like it always does, and you’d push it up under your skirt. 

Or, on the couch half-way during the movie, when his hands got restless, they’d slip under your shirt and you’d just have to press pause so he could admire you better. 

But, this is good too. 

You turn back to your task and pretend to be very engrossed in the recipe book in front of you. It’s a surprise you can even still read the thing with all the chocolate stains it has on it from the years of it being in your mom’s kitchen. 

Steve didn’t have much when he moved into this apartment by himself. So, little by little, you’ve been bringing things with you and just…leaving them here. Like this recipe book, for one. 

After a minute or so, the soft thwip thwip sound of Steve stirring the frosting stops abruptly. You refuse to turn around, instead carefully measuring out the salt and adding it to your bowl. 

Warm fingers slip under the strap on your shoulder and you barely suppress your shiver at his touch. 

“What—” Steve starts, then clears his throat behind you. “Were you wearing this… during my game?”

You bite your lip, recalling how the metal bleachers pressed the lace against your ass under your skirt in the sticky summer heat. 

You reach for the softened butter on the counter. “Stop distracting me, Steve. I’m baking.”

“Right.” He swallows and his touch disappears. “Sorry.”

You smirk and crack two eggs into your bowl while he measures more powdered sugar with painstaking accuracy into his. When you move over to the sink to rinse your hands, you cast a quick glance around.

The cutout in the kitchen gives you a view of the living room, where quite the assortment of candles is scattered throughout. Several tiny tea lights sit on his brand new TV stand you helped him pick out. A heart-shaped candle drips pink wax all over the windowsill. A stray Christmas candle flickers on the table. They glow brighter now as the kitchen dims, the sun finally sinking below the horizon. 

On the TV screen, your favorite rom-com is cued up and ready to press play. 

The whole thing is so sweet it makes you want to rip Steve’s clothes off with your teeth. 

So, with his back still turned, your fingers undo the zipper on your skirt. As silently as possible, you slip out of it and rejoin him at the counter, now in nothing but your matching set. 

“Anything else I can do to help?” You ask softly. 

“Actually, yeah, can you grab the baking powder from the—” His soft brown gaze turns molten the second it lands on you. “Oh, okay. Would you just—be good? For like, five minutes? Please?”

You blink up at him innocently. “What? I’m helping!”

He huffs out an unbelieving laugh and rakes a hand through his hair. “Oh my God. I’m trying to give you what you…” 

He trails off as you sidle between him and the counter again, slipping your hands up under his white polo. His torso is warm and solid, and your mind blanks a little when your nails scrape through his chest hair and down his happy trail. 

“Please, Steve?” You whimper. 

His throat bobs and his eyes wander your bare skin, snagging on your rosy nipples hardening through the thin fabric. “God, you know I can’t handle it when you beg like that.”

The second his hands clamp down on your hips, the room tilts. Your hands fly out to steady yourself on the marble counter, but balance becomes irrelevant when his hand presses at your shoulders, guiding you forward and forcing your ass back into him. 

His fingers trace the lace of your panties, and you can hear the way his breathing starts to match yours. Heavy. Needy. Thick with anticipation. 

Without warning, he pulls the fabric aside and drags two fingers through your wet slit.

A gasp punches out of you at the the delicious drag of his slightly callused hand. His other arm snakes across your stomach, hauling your back flush against his chest.

“You wanna help?” He whispers in your ear. You nod against him, writhing fruitlessly into his hand, while the other dips into the bowl of pink frosting in front of you. “Taste this.”

His fingers find your mouth sloppily, almost like he’s trying to smear the frosting across your lips. You open for him, earning a groan from his chest as you swirl your tongue around his knuckles as silky sugar blooms over your tongue. He grinds his erection into your hip for all of three heart-stopping strokes before he forces himself to stop. 

“Good?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It's...sweet.”

“Alright. My turn.”

You reach towards the bowl to return the favor, thinking that’s what he means, but when two of his fingers slide inside you crumple against him with a broken moan. A needy sound leaves you when his fingers slip out half a second later. You turn over your shoulder to protest, but the sight of him lifting the fingers from your body to his mouth instead of the ones from the frosting nearly undoes you.

His eyes remind you of the freshly tilled soil from your garden every spring—warm, deep, and rich. They don’t leave yours while his tongue works slowly, savoring the taste of you. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, fingers leaving his mouth with a slick pop. “Sweet.”

Your temperature spikes at the timber in his voice. And the way his tongue darts out over his lower lips sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling low between your hips. But before you can act on it, he steps aside, his touch disappearing from your aching core. 

“Y’know, the faster we get these in the oven, the faster I can make you come.” He says, tipping his head towards the messy countertop. 

You huff a humorless laugh and stare at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow  breaths. “You’re really going to make me wait?”

“It’s supposed to be the…texture of wet…sand?” He ignores you, squinting down at the page, then the bowl. “Does this look like wet sand to you?”

He tilts the dough towards you but you’re not looking at it. Instead, you just pull the lace down under your breasts, exposing your hard nipples to him. 

His lips part and you watch his gaze darken as it snags on you. “Goddamn it. That’s it.”

In a heartbeat, he’s pressing you up against the counter again. His belt buckle clinks, and the sound makes your back arch instinctively. 

Yes. Fuck yes, finally.

“Here,” he grits out just as the head of him presses at your entrance. “Just— keep my cock warm while I read this recipe, alright?”

You nod frantically.

You’ll agree to anything as long as it ends up with him inside you. His hands steady your hips as he slowly works himself inside your slick cunt with short, strong thrusts that have your breath stuttering.

“God, you feel good,” he pants, dropping a kiss to the nape of your neck. 

You’re too blissed out by the stretch of him filling you to even respond. His chin rests on your shoulder, and your eyes flutter open, expecting to see him looking at you. 

But he’s reading the fucking recipe. 

When he reaches for the bowl in front of you, you clench hard around him on purpose. His body responds first, rocking into you and pinning your hips against the counter. 

“Shit,” he rasps, chin dipping, hair falling over his brow. “I can’t f-focus. Okay…what’s next? Can you—just mix that up for me, would ya? It’s almost done…”

You can’t argue with him. Not when he’s asking so sweetly. 

So, you do your best, stirring the dough until it’s soft and smooth, even as his cock drags against that perfect spot inside you, making you see fucking stars. 

The second it looks done, Steve catches your wrist and guides your hand up to the nape of his neck. You know what he wants. 

You slip your fingers through the soft, chocolate brown strands of his hair and tug. Not too hard. Just enough to tell him how badly you want this. Want him. He groans, his head dropping into the tender skin between your neck and shoulder. 

“You know…” he murmurs. “I-I would’ve done whatever you wanted.”

Through the delicious haze of your impending orgasm, you barely hear him. “What?”

“For t-today,” he says, reaching up and pinching your nipple. “If you’d asked for a whole night of me fucking you into the mattress, I would’ve done that. But that’s not what you asked for. Is it?”

You bite your lip as the images flood your mind at his suggestion. He’s right. You should’ve asked for that. 

“I had this whole plan,” he continues, panting as his thrusts grow deeper. Harder. “I set up candles in my bedroom. Rose petals. I was going to take you to bed after the movie. Work you up so slow, kiss you so sweet and go down on you for—oh, shit. Baby. When you move your hips like that I can’t fuckin’ think. Read the—God. Read the next p-part.”

You squint at the recipe through droopy lids, words swimming on the chocolatey page. Please be something easy. Please be the last step. 

“Chill dough for…for thirty minutes.” 

Thank God. 

You feel the shift in him immediately. The way his breath catches against your neck, and his hands start roaming without care, pawing at your breasts, your ass, blunt nails digging into your hip bone. 

“Is this what you really want?” he asks roughly. “Just—getting bent over the counter like this and fucked with your underwear pulled to the side? I’m not supposed to…to treat you like this. It’s Valentine’s Day, I—”

You nod frantically. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes. Steve. Please. I need it.”

“Ah, fuck. Baby.” His chest hair brushes your back as he pulls you closer. “I just want to give you what you want. That’s all I want.”

The depth of this new angle steals your breath. Steve is…well-endowed. You know this. You usually have to work to take him all the way, even with how soaked he makes you. But today, he’s not holding back. Now that you’ve officially declared this is what you want, he’s really giving it to you.

You roll your hips back, arching into him, loving the dull ache against your cervix that only seems to wind you higher. The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room, along with your whimpers and his groans, and the puffs of your breath syncing up as the pleasure spirals to new heights. 

Your orgasm hovers on the horizon, and when his fingers find your clit, you surge towards it at breakneck speed, colliding in a blinding rush of pleasure. You moan his name and writhe against him as it rolls through you. 

“That’s it,” Steve groans. His thrusts get rougher. Heavier. “Just wanna make this perfect for you…”

He swells inside you, and you nearly choke at the blissful stretch. When he follows you over the edge, the low sound he makes into your hair sends aftershocks pulsing around him. 

When you finally come back down to earth, the scent of sugar and vanilla reaches you first. Along with that faint piney smell of the random Christmas candle.

Steve laughs softly as he slips free, pressing a kiss to your sweaty neck. “You’re a dessert first kind of gal, aren’t ya?”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You laugh breathlessly and turn around to face him. “Now, we can do Valentine’s Day right. I promise.”

His lips tilt up in a boyish grin and he leans down to kiss you. His lips are soft and gentle, and he doesn’t waste a second scooping you up into his arms. When he lifts you off the ground you squeal into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist. Then, you’re moving. 

Your mouths part as he carries you into his bedroom. It’s dimly lit with candles, and it smells like him and—oh, he wasn’t kidding about the rose petals. 

“Damn right we will,” he teases, nipping at your ear. “But we’ve still got half an hour to kill.”

Before you can respond, he drops you unceremoniously onto his bed. You laugh, bouncing slightly and reach for him—expecting him to follow you down immediately. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he stays right where he is at the edge of the bed, just looking at you. Softly. Reverently. 

Slowly, finally, he crawls onto the bed, hovering over you for a breath before beginning his descent. His hands glide over your breasts, your waist, memorizing the curves and dragging the lace from your body until you’re naked underneath him. His touch is so firm and unhurried it drags heat down to your core again. 

After he pulls your panties down your legs, his fingers hook beneath your thighs, guiding your legs over his shoulders with a heady confidence. 

His mouth hovers over your pussy, close enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. When he looks up at you in the candlelight, your chest flutters and you can’t resist running a hand through his hair. 

“We did it your way,” he murmurs, breath fanning over your sensitive clit, before pressing a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh. “But this time, we’re doing it mine.” 

a/n: I had to take a break from all the angst I've been writing lately over on The Real Deal and give you a little sweet treat. Hope you enjoyed! Happy Valentine's Day!

masterlist

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

steve harrington is the kind of guy to do things just to piss you off.

kick his feet up on the table during a meeting about tonight's crawl. leave his stupid bopper wrappers in between the sofa cushions. leave empty coffee mugs in the kitchen. spill said coffee over your cassette tapes and refuse to apologise. if it annoyed you, he did it.

but the most annoying thing about steve harrington? he knew exactly how to fuck you.

"that's it, baby," steve grunted in your ear as his heavy cock slammed into you repeatedly from behind. the power behind his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass. the lewd sounds of your soaked cunt sucking him back in made him squeeze the swell of your hips a little tighter. "take it. fucking take it."

sleeping with steve harrington on a regular basis was perhaps not the best idea. but when it felt this good? you couldn’t resist. even if the back of the wsqk van during a crawl was neither the time nor the place.

you moaned out his name as the fat head of his cock kissed your cervix again and again and again. your nails digging into the shag rug beneath you, your breasts bouncing with every movement. pressure builds and builds inside of you until it felt like molten lava.

“steve—oh—fuck, stevie—”

steve groaned at the sound of your voice. how you called him stevie. how your walls pulsed around him. warm. wet. sucking him back in with every snap of his hips. everything he needed and more.

“yeah, baby?” he grunts, adjusting your hips slightly so you arched your back even more—slamming back into you with a punishing pace. his cock dragging through your slick heat like he couldn't get enough (he couldn't—he would never tell you but he hadn't slept with anyone since your little arrangement began). "you need more?"

you can't talk. can only moan. his name and 'fuck' are suddenly the only words. your moans filling the van—becoming higher and higher pitched.

"more. please stevie, more," you gasp out, voice muffled as you buried your face into the rug.

steve obliges, one of his hands slipping from your hips and dipping down until he finds your clit—swollen and begging for attention—applying the perfect amount of pressure. knowing your body like the back of his hand after months of doing this.

the way you whimper—how your pussy starts to flutter around him, it's too much.

"come for me," he murmurs, ducking his head down to kiss your shoulder gently—a stark contrast from the way he was fucking you relentlessly. "come on, baby. i know you can."

you try to hold off. to prolong the pleasure. let him suffer a little. but a touch more pressure to your sensitive bud and you knew you were gone.

steve isn't far behind you. your name is murmured into your skin as he buries himself to the hilt with a final, broken groan before he spills into you, holding you close through every last pulse.

steve could have stayed there for hours. days, even. but he knew only a few minutes was appropriate. he gently—ever so gently—pulls out of you, watching his cum and your release dribbling down your thigh before lowering you back onto the rug.

"you good?" he asks, low voice, careful in a way that told you he cared, despite sometimes fucking you like he didn't.

you roll onto your back and nod. your skin glistening with sweat—the afterglow making you look like a damn goddess. steve tells himself not to stare. to grab a towel to clean the mess between your thighs.

you watch him as he does so. two minutes ago, he was fucking you like a man possessed and now he was all big brown eyes and gentle hands. he seems to sense you looking at him and his eyes find yours. there's a moment there where you just look at each other—where the world feels smaller. where it's just you, steve and the hum of the radio.

until the walkie abandoned in the passenger seat crackles to life.

"steve? (y/n)? you guys copy?"

dustin henderson's voice is like ice pouring over the two of you. steve blinks before he scrambles to answer.

"yeah—" steve says casually into the walkie as his free hands tries to locate his boxers. "we—um, yeah we copy."

and just like that—you and steve were back to it. back to pretending like you weren't wrapped up in each other's bodies every other night. back to pretending like your bickering wasn't something more. back to pretending like just fucking didn't mean something.

because it did mean something.

but neither of you would acknowledge that.

not yet anyway.

dividers by the lovely @zclhs

💌 day three of the valentines day + 500 followers special

i'm still new to writing smut so if it's awful let's pretend it's not, thank u

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[dearkeery]

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