the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
pairing: travis ‘teacake’ meacham x single mom!reader
summary: you hadn’t slept with your boyfriend yet, yes you had been dating for a few months but you were honestly too scared. you hadn’t had sex since before your daughter was born, things were different and travis was gorgeous. but he’s also determined to show you just how beautiful you are to him
warnings/tags: smut, fluff, comfort, little bit of angst??, couple’s first time together, reader hasn’t had sex in a long time so she’s nervous af, oral (f receiving), body worship??, nipple play (like a smidge), creampie, p + v, unsafe sex, mention of having kids some day, travis has a big dick, squirting, beginning of the fic has some fluff with the kid, mention of breasts, vagina, etc, reader is insecure about her mom body and travis fucking loves it, description of said mom body, reader hates her body bad
wc: 6.9k
divider: x
a/n: this is my first time posting smut, i’m honestly so scared and spent so much time working on it. i hope it’s not horrible!! i’ve read this so many times i don’t think there’s any typos or mistakes but if there are yolo at this point. this is technically part 2 of this fic but can also be read as a stand alone. once again a huge thank you to my dear @bairdbesson for her help always always always.
likes, rb, replies etc are always encouraged🩷
It had been about three months since you started dating Travis, three months of giggles and butterflies in your stomach. You felt like a kid again, which was quite an achievement, considering most of your time together was spent with Lucy. Travis never complained; it never bothered him. He did things on your terms, and he understood that a mom would be busy a lot. So instead of trying to force you to just dump Lucy off at the nearest babysitter, he wanted her involved, he wanted to make your days easier in any way that he could. It meant more to you than he could ever imagine.
There was one thing you hadn't done with Travis yet, something that you were both terrified about and also dying to do. You hadn't slept with him.
Sex was a touchy subject, it had been over two years since you slept with anyone, the last person being Lucy's dad. You knew your body could look worse, but you weren't exactly happy with it, you were extra self conscious about showing it to Travis for the first time. Not to mention it was hard to have the alone time, you wanted to do it right, wanted both of you to be as loud and take as long as you want. Obviously, with a toddler in the apartment, things were a little tricky.
After putting Lucy to bed one night, you and Travis quickly move from cuddling and lazy kisses to full blown making out. Messy open mouthed kisses, as his tongue dominates yours, exploring your mouth. Your fingers tangle in his soft hair, tugging him towards you as if he can get any closer while you sit in his lap. His hand just began moving up your thigh when a loud wail comes from down the hall.
You pull away quickly, shifting off of Travis's lap so you can get off the couch.
He's up before you are, already turning on the light in the hallway as you stand behind him.
"I can get her—" you start to protest but your boyfriend gives you a quick kiss, smiling as he pulls away.
"You do enough honey pie…just give me five minutes and I'll be back." The warm light from the hallway casts a golden glow on his hair, "Then we can continue where we were." He says with a final wink before making his way to Lucy's room.
With a hesitant sigh, you sit back down on the couch. "Okay, okay." mumbling to yourself as you grab your phone off the arm of the couch. You weren't used to this kind of help, it made you a little antsy to not go and tend to every cry Lucy made.
You didn't want to get too comfortable just yet, not that you didn't trust Travis but you knew your daughter, and as helpful as he is he'd have to be a miracle worker to soothe her back to sleep in under five minutes on the first try.
"Hey Monkey Lu, what's the matter?" He coos. a soft smile curling up the ends of your lips as you hear him echo on the monitor.
"You look awfully scared, did you have a bad dream?" Travis keeps his voice soothing and light, you can hear the mattress creek as he picks her up.
Apparently your boyfriend is a miracle worker, in less than five minutes Lucy's cries stop, and the only thing you can hear are Travis's sweet whispers.
You quickly get lost on your phone, scrolling through post after post until a whispered "hey" catches your attention.
What you see when you look up should've made you roll your eyes and scold him, but instead you couldn't help but smile.
Travis stands in the entry way, the hall light casting a warm orange shine off his earring, his cheek gently resting on top of your daughter's messy bedhead as she snoozes on his chest.
"Sorry doll, we'll have to continue later." a sheepish grin resting on his face as he slowly makes his way to the couch.
You groan, playfully rolling your eyes. "If I had known my kid would've interrupted our makeouts this much, I never would’ve introduced you two."
A quick dramatic gasp leaves Travis's lips, looking at you with feign horror, "But look at her!"
"Look at me!" you pout, batting your eyelashes. His eyes move back and forth between you and your sleeping angel on his chest, this man was going to make your heart explode you just knew it.
Travis smiles down at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "How can I say no to a mini you?"
You lay your head on his shoulder, brushing your fingers gently through Lucy's curls. You were always told she was your mini me, it made you feel proud, it actually made you appreciate your own features because you saw them differently now. It was also a bit of a relief that she didn't resemble her father, that was one face that you were happy to never have to see again.
The warmth from Travis engulfs your body as you sat there curled into him as best as you could, you take in every detail of his face as he watches whatever old sitcom played on the tv. His honey brown eyes you love so much, one of the first things you noticed about him, aside from his hair and the 'howdy' tattoo on his neck that always makes you giggle. His nose is prominent, easy to kiss, or boop with your finger as you love to do. He laughs softly over something on the tv, his face lighting up into a smile…that damn smile, the same one that makes your heart flutter every time you saw it. You couldn't believe he was yours, regardless of everything that you thought would've made him give up…he stays.
Slowly you lift your head, gently kissing his cheek, jaw, and then neck feeling the goosebumps form under your lips.
"What are you—?" He began, careful of moving too quickly and waking up Lucy.
"Shh…" you hush, continuing to kiss his jaw, each kiss lasting a little longer, a little more tongue playfully swiping at the stubble.
Travis sighs, "Okay okay…" pulling his arm away and getting up from the couch as you grin, "I'll put her back."
About a week later, you decide it was finally time. Despite feeling terrified, there was an opportunity for your friend to take Lucy overnight and you knew you to take advantage of a rare free night. So, you and Travis planned a proper date, which had become a rarity since he met Lucy. You didn't mention the sex part to him; you were honestly too nervous. In your mind, it was a given when you asked if he wanted to spend the night.
Travis had carefully picked the perfect restaurant, a nice neighborhood bistro that was the right balance of upscale enough to feel special, yet relaxed enough that it felt comfortable for both of you. All you had to do was be ready and dolled up for when he arrived at your door, and boy were you ever.
His jaw actually drops when you open the door, revealing the flowing sundress that perfectly hugs your body in all the right places, made of soft chiffon that fluttered with every movement. Perfect for a breezy spring evening like this.
“Wow…" he mutters, swallowing hard as he struggles to keep his gazing from lingering too long on your legs, which were accentuated by the dress and lit by the cotton candy sunset behind him. You could feel the heat rise to your chest as his eyes explore every nook and cranny of your figure.
"A good wow I hope?" you tease, giggling at how quickly he nodded.
"God, yes!" he blurts out, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Everything about the night was incredible, Travis couldn't keep his eyes or hands off you, and it really made you feel good about. His lips found the crook of your neck, sending a shiver through your body as you fumble with the key to unlock your door. You stumble inside, his strong hands gripping your waist and flipping you around so that his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss.
With a swift motion, he kicks the door shut with his foot, then gently guiding you backwards to the couch. As your calves brush against the soft cushions, you sink down with a gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation. Travis had pulled back, then kneels down between your legs, which you spread open eagerly. One of his large hands rests firmly on your thigh as his tongue explores your mouth hungrily, deepening the connection and causing a warmth between your thighs.
You instinctely knew where this was heading and for once, you desperately wanted the voice in your head to shut up. Your desire to be with him was overwhelming, you longed to sleep with him, to feel him close. God, how much you wanted that. Gently your hand lays flat on his chest, pushing just a little, as the two of you pull apart for air. Travis looks up at you, his pupils so blown his eyes almost look black. Your eyes drifting downward, they settle on his swollen lips, your lipstick leaving a smudge of color lingering at the corner of his mouth.
"C-can we go to the bedroom, please? If that's okay with you?" His voice sounds so small it makes your heart ache, like he's scared for some reason you'd say no.
You swallow hard, nodding. "Please…" you whisper faintly, feeling your stomach plummet to the floor. Travis cups your face with one hand, his thumb gently brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, the kiss is so soft, so…chaste, like a fragile promise.
Gently, you take his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm as he responds with a tight squeeze before he gets up off the floor. You lead him into your room, where the bed seems to mock you, when was the last time this mattress was used for anything besides sleeping? Nervously, you begin to chew on your lip as Travis presses his lips into your neck, his fingers tugging cautiously at the silver zipper on your dress.
You think of all the women he's been with—whether they're around your age, younger, or even older. Most probably had little responsibility to anything besides themselves, working their various jobs. Their bodies remain otherwise flawless because they didn't grow a baby. No man had seen your naked body except doctors, which is a completely different situation.
Quickly, you turn to face Travis, your movement causing his hand to slip away from the zipper. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you look into his eyes, dark with hunger and desire. "Why don't you go into the bathroom…I, uh, need to get ready, okay?" you ask, aiming for a calm, seductive tone, disguising your nervousness and the urge to throw up all over your pretty dress.
His eyebrow arches slightly, eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. "Of course, baby. Whatever you need," he replies, his voice smooth and reassuring.
As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut, you begin to scurry around your room, your heart beat pounding faster with each step. You quickly turn off the overhead light, and instead switching on a small bedside lamp that cast a dim glow that you were more comfortable with.
Your hands tremble as you wrestle with the zipper that ran vertically between your shoulder blades. The last thing you wanted was to call Travis back in just to unzip your dress, only to come up with some weak excuse for why he couldn't simply just take the dress off for you.
Your mind wandering to the thought of his warm, gentle hands sliding over your bare skin, lips pressing softly against the crook of your neck as he carefully eased the dress down your frame. You couldn't remember the last time a man's touch had made you feel so alive, the thought of Travis touching you like that, of him exploring your body with such reverence, made your desire flare and pool between your thighs.
God, you wanted him.
A deep breath you hadn't even realized you were holding, pushes out of your lungs. Your fingers successfully find the zipper, gripping it firmly. You sigh with relief as you feel it glide down, the metal teeth pulling apart.
Quickly, you push the dress down to the floor and step out of it, grabbing it like a wad of material and flinging it over the back of a nearby chair. Earlier, you had purposefully picked this matching lingerie set, it's simple but one of your favorites, almost always making you feel good about yourself. Your eyes catch sight of your reflection in the nearby mirror, it feels like someone knocked the air right out of you.
You look at yourself carefully, the stretch marks on your soft belly, the faint silver lines on your breasts, the way your thighs still lack the toned definition they once had, your belly still bears a slight roundness, which at this point you've unfortunately just accepted as your new normal. You hate it. You despise everything about it. The anger it sparks inside you makes your chest tighten, you hate yourself for feeling this way.
So instead of leaving the lingerie on for Travis, you peel it off, squeezing your eyes shut as you caught sight of your reflection in the full length mirror again, You grimace, God. you needed to get rid of this fucking thing. You felt disoriented, unsure of how to sit or lie down, how to pose casually enough for when you call your boyfriend to come back. The mirror seems to mock you, the distorted image of yourself making tears well in your eyes. This was not how you wanted the night to go, you just want to enjoy yourself without these intrusive thoughts loudly echoing in your mind.
As a last resort, you slide under the soft sheet of your bed, pulling it up over your chest, and flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could feel the cold sweat glistening on your skin, your could hear the pound of your heart. "O-oh okay, I'm ready!" you call out faintly, wincing at the crack in your voice.
When the door swings open, a sudden rush of nerves makes your stomach tighten. The nightlight in the bathroom casting light on his strong frame. You could see he was only in boxers, the fabric clinging to his hips, highlighting the muscles in his thighs. Your eyes trace slowly upward, taking in his toned arms, his chest dusted with dark hair that was still visible. His presence was captivating, so much so that your gut twisted into a knot, a mixture of desire and anxiety.
Travis pauses and squints his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden darkness of the room. "Honey pie?" he calls out softly, tilting his head as he looked around. "I can't even see the bed, where are you? Why ya hidin'?"
His voice sounds so sweet and caring, and you could just imagine the furrow of confusion creasing his brow. You open your mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, a small, pathetic whimper slips out as you cover your face with your hands.
A soft click of a switch sounds nearby, and you know that Travis has found the switch for the lamp. A gentle light begins to spread across the room. His eyes immediately flicker toward you, noticing how you're tucked under the thin sheet, trying to hide. For a moment, he assumes you're doing this to tease him about what he's about to see. His gaze lingers on the shadowy outline of your naked body, and he can't help but salivate at the sight of your curves
"There's my baby…" he mutters softly, his voice husky and low, causing your thighs to squeeze together despite the slamming of your heart in your chest.
He stands over you, his hand gentle but steady as it reaches out to grab the edge of the sheet, slowly beginning to pull it down. You tighten your grip on the fabric, a rush of nerves flooding through you. "G-get the lamp," you stammer, your voice trembling as you kick yourself for the hesitation, noticing how his eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern.
"I wanna see you, sweetheart. You're teasin' me like crazy, hidin' under there," he murmurs softly, a playful smile lingering on his lips. Yet, his eyes, fill with tenderness, softening as he looks at your face, searching for some indication for how you're feeling.
Tears well in your eyes, shame tinting your cheeks and shadowing your features. "I-I thought I c-could do this…" your voice soft and cracking with each word.
You watch as Travis presses his lips into a deep frown, concern flickering in his eyes. "Do what, muffin?" he whispers, leaning over you, his hand lightly tracing the curve of your side.
Taking a deep breath, you try to blink the tears away before you speak again. "I got undressed…h-hid under the blanket…and now I-I'm too ashamed to show you.." you whisper, tears stream down your face as you clutch the frayed end of the sheet, unable to bear looking him in the eye.
"Ashamed of what?" Travis asks softly, tilting his head with a concerned frown. His brow furrows as he studies your trembling form, genuinely confused and scared he might have pushed you into something you didn't want.
Bringing your hands to your face, you take a shaky breath. "M-me…" you whimper, voice cracking as sobs wrack through your body. This was not how you wanted tonight to go, not at all. You thought you could handle this.
Travis's heart aches visibly as he looks at you, verging on the edge of tears just from hearing how harshly you feel about yourself. You were truly beautiful, he hadn't even seen you completely naked, yet he knew you were the only girl he could ever want.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress softly dips under his weight. His hand gently slides over the cool sheet and rests on your belly, warm and reassuring in his touch. To him, it feels like a simple, tender gesture until he notices the way your muscles tense beneath his fingertips.
"Oh sweetheart…" he coos, moving his hand from your stomach to gently hold your wrists. He lowers your hands so he can cup your cheek, his thumb carefully catching the tears that slide down your face.
A loud sob rattles out of you, wrenching through your body as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the world. "I don't look like other girls. My body is disproportionate, my stomach isn't flat like it used to be…there's stretch marks, dips a-and-" struggling to speak through your crying. Your breath hitching, you gasp, unable to control your tears.
When you meet his gaze, you're taken aback by how large and glassy his eyes are, as if what you're saying is piercing his very soul, breaking his heart.
You take a deep, quivering breath and try to continue. "No one has seen me, like this since I got pregnant," you whisper, your voice hoarse. "And I know I don't look like all the other girls you've slept with." You pause to draw another shaky breath, locking eyes with him, "It's not pretty…like it used to be. My boobs are shot, my stomach is—" little whimpers and hiccups slip out as Travis briefly interrupts you with a delicate, lingering kiss against your lips. He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"Don't say those things about yourself, sweetheart. You're beautiful, absolutely, mind blowingly beautiful." He looks at you earnestly, each word leaving his mouth in a firm but careful tone, his eyes locking onto yours. He means every single word he says, not just saying it to make you happy but because he truly believes it. "You amaze me every day, you're the strongest person I know. You're stunning, the prettiest thing I've ever seen." His hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing your skin, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on him. "I don't give a fuck what other girls look like. You're here right now, with me, and I am dying to show you just how beautiful you are, inside and out."
His words sit heavy on your chest, as you let out another sob, staring up at him while you try to blink away the tears.
Travis frowns, leaning over to softly kiss the tears away. "Sweet baby, your body has made and pushed out another human; that's nothing to be insecure about.". He presses kisses on each of your cheeks, then on your nose, and finally against your lips. "Lemme see, honey girl. I wanna remind you…"
His voice is calm and soothing, not pressuring or seductive, but soft and understanding. It makes you feel vulnerable, with an overwhelming warmth spreading in your core. Your hands instinctively find his soft, blonde hair, fingers tangling in the curls as you press your lips to his again. This one is different, its hungry, filled with want and need.
Travis gently breaks the kiss just as his hand reaches out to touch the smooth sheet. ""Is it okay?" he asks, voice still soft, waiting for your permission. Taking a deep, steadying, breath you nod, closing your eyes as you feel him delicately peel back the fabric.
"Oh baby," he mutters, in shock. For a second, a wave of panic rises within you and you momentarily panic. "Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God…" he moans…actually moans as his large hands touch your hips, then slide up your waist, over your belly, and settling on your breasts. He presses several kisses onto the valley of your chest before his eyes flash up to your face, "Open your eyes sweetheart."
When you do, his warm loving eyes lift, brimming with tender adoration, as if you're a cherished piece of art.
"Absolutely breathtaking." Travis whispers, a sweet smile spreading across his lips.
His knee nudges your legs apart as he lowers himself down. He groans when he sees how wet you are, pussy glistening in the dim light.
"Baby, when did you get this wet? Was it my words?" He asks, as his fingers massage into your plush thighs.
You smile shyly, slowly nodding as your hands go up to your face again, "That and when I was waiting for you…thinking about what you were gonna do to me when you saw me, and then I panicked."
Travis moves up again, his eyes are a mix of love, longing, and deep sadness. "Baby, I'm obsessed with you. I cant even begin to—fuck baby…"
His gaze wanders down your body, taking in every curve, every inch. You blush so hard that heat blossoms on your cheeks.
Travis chuckles, eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans down to kiss your cheek once more. "Turnin' all pretty and pink on me." he teases warmly, his voice a smooth whisper against your soft skin. The unexpected comment making you giggle, and he follows with a kiss on your nose, then your lips before effortlessly moving back down again.
"You were worried about your boobs? Babydoll, these are…" Pressing a slow, lingering kiss against each one, tongue swiping at your nipples, making you sigh. "Incredible, I'm comin' back here later."
Next, his hands gently touch your belly, fingertips softly caressing the supple skin as he traces the faint stretch marks that map your abdomen. He leaves sloppy open mouthed kisses across your plush flesh, warm and lingering. “This belly grew that beautiful baby," his words softly tremble, bringing tears to your eyes again. "This was her home." he whispers reverently, leaving one last tender kiss, before moving down between your legs.
Your breath hitches as you feel the heat of his breath hitting your core, sending shivers up your body. He bites his lip, jaw clenching tight, groaning softly as his eyes darken with lust.
"And this…this pretty pussy, fuck baby." He leans in, kissing the top of your mound right above your swollen clit. "This is not only the prettiest I've ever seen, but also the strongest." He coos, his thumbs gently caressing your inner thighs.
You feel yourself clench around nothing as you whine softly, he's right he’s truly making you feel beautiful…and undeniably horny.
"I get why someone got you pregnant, this addicting body." He smirks, eyes still locked on your dripping pussy.
You roll your eyes but can't hide a smile as you squint down at him, "Hey, don't get too crazy…not doing that for a while."
Travis lifts his head up quickly, eyes wide. "So you're saying it's in the cards?"
Giggling, you nudge him playfully with your knee. "We'll see how good you make me feel…"
He lowers his head back down, a devilish grin across his face. You can feel his nose lightly nudge against your clit, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you struggle to hold back, resisting the urge to buck your hips against his face.
His tongue drags slowly down your slick folds, exploring every crease with deliberate strokes before darting in and out of your opening. Your whines grow louder, a trembling emotion in the back of your throat as your hands tangle in his hair. He laps up the arousal that's seeping out of you and directly entering his mouth. He moans, lips vibrating against you as you feel him pull you closer.
"T-Trav..need more…" You whimper, and that seems to trigger a reaction inside him. His tongue moves faster, tasting and exploring as he works diligently. His spit and your fluids mingle, spreading all over his face before he takes your clit between his lips.
A passionate cry leaves your lungs, as your hips buck against his face. "S-so good…oh fuck…so good." You moan, your back arching off the mattress as his hands explore every inch of your body, warm and firm against your supple tits and belly. A reminder of his presence and intense obsession with you courses through the moment. Tears prickle at your lash line as the pressure rises in you, you swear you start to see stars.
Travis groans, his voice muffled as he whispers, "So sweet…so beautiful." He slides a finger inside, curling it just right to hit your most sensitive spot, causing you to moan so loud you're convinced the neighbors must have heard.
"Want another, baby?" He asks, tongue swirling around your clit fast enough to make you stop abruptly and gasp for breath.
"Please!" you cry out, nodding frantically as you feel a second thick finger stretch and fill you, the sensation intense and precise in all the right ways.
It doesn’t take long before you lose control, succumbing to his tongue, your body trembling and thighs quivering around his head. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as you soak his chin and hand. Travis laps up every drop, drinking you down with loud greedy slurps as you writhe under him. He moans against your sensitive clit, the sound vibrating through you as he lick you clean, making you whimper and jolt through the aftershocks. You hadn't even noticed Travis had been rutting against the mattress this whole time.
Your body shivers as you pant breathlessly, coming down from your high, the rush gradually fading as your muscles relax. Travis moves back, but not before pressing a soft kiss against your clit before moving up. Your head rolls back against the pillow as he kisses up your body, burying his slick covered face against your belly and then chest.
He's painfully hard, feeling the way his cock strains against his boxers on your thigh but what he says next astonishes you.
"That was just day one baby, I don't wanna overwhelm you." he hums, "Wanna take it slow."
Your eyes fly open, looking at him in disbelief. "You're not gonna fuck me?"
He smirks, giving you a little wink, and then slots his lips firmly against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your belly flutter. You moan in to it, letting his tongue slip past your lips, tasting yourself on him. He pulls away suddenly, just as your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers.
"We need to take it slow, its been so long, you're sensitive." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips grazing your forehead.
You whine, crossing your arms tightly over your chest in a huff. You're touched by how sweet he is, considering the pain caused by the tent in his boxers, but you're also pissed off. The sexual frustration makes you want to scream. You need him desperately, craving the feeling of him deep inside you, stretching and filling your pussy completely.
The mattress shifts as Travis stands up, his feet shuffle across the carpet as he begins to walk toward the bathroom. Your hand quickly shoots out to catch his forearm, stopping him before he got out of your reach.
"No way, mister!" you call out, causing him to spin around, eyes wide in shock.
"Honey, it's been so long I don't want to—" he starts, but soon you cut him off.
You lean up on your elbows, breath shallow as the heat between your thighs screams for attention. "Travis," you say, trying to sound as calm as possible, but your voice wobbles. "I need you…I need you really, really bad." The words escape in a whimper, and tears start to gather in your eyes. You need him.
He freezes, expression softening into an empathetic look. Slowly, he reaches out to put a hand on your cheek. "I don't wanna hurt you, angel."
You wish you had a reply; you really wish you did, but you're desperate. "Travis…I. Need. You." pausing after each word, your eyes fixed on his. "And if you turn me down, you have one miserable night coming because if I wait one more second, I might explode."
With determination you shift on the bed, tucking your legs under yourself so you can kneel in front of him. You eyes grow wide and watery as you focus on him. They linger momentarily on the unmistakable outline of his cock against the stretched material of his boxers, then flick upward to meet his gaze.
"Travis…mama needs your cock, real bad." Sticking your lower lip out as you whisper a final plea. His wrist remains in your grasp as you gently guide it downward between your thighs, the air thickening with tension. A faint whine fills the room as you slide his finger through your soaked lips, "Need your thick cock.."
He shudders, eyelashes fluttering as he rubs the pad of his finger against your clit, you moan in a long exhale.
"Don't wanna hurt you." Travis mutters, you can see how conflicted he feels, your heart skips a beat.
You lazily ghost your lips over his neck, another whine leaving your lips, "You won't, you'll make me so happy…so full of you." you whisper seductively, as you nibble at the shell of his ear. "Unless you don't want that?" Pulling back just enough to look in his eyes, tilting your head to the side, pouting.
Travis shakes his head, swallowing hard. "No, no…I want that," he protests, desire flickering in his eyes. You lean closer to his neck, feeling the warmth of his sticky skin, and lightly drag your tongue over his pulse point, feeling it quicken.
Then laying back down, with a slow deliberate motion, your eyes never looking anywhere but at him. You spread your legs, looking at him with a playful smile. "Then take me…"
You weren't sure if you had ever seen a man pull his underwear off so quick, almost causing himself to stumble as he kicked them to the floor. You try not to giggle, biting your lip as you watch him crawl up the bed, toward you, his bare knee padding against the sheets.
His large cock rests against his stomach, you moan at the sight of his red tip dotted with precum that smears onto his happy trail with each movement. You bite your lip, hips bucking against air. "Oh fuck…I need you."
Grinning, Travis wraps his strong arm around you, his palm pressing steadily against your back as he pulls you closer. He takes his cock, sliding the tip through your slick folds, your juices smearing together on both of you. "Please…please…" you shudder, trembling under him as you grip onto his shoulders.
"Easy sweet thing, I got you." Travis coos, lips grazing over your skin as he leans down to drop a tender kiss to your forehead. His warm breath brushing softly against your skin as he slowly sinks into you.
You mewl, back arching as his thick cock stretches you. Each inch of him gliding against your walls just right as you gasp beneath him, gripping his shoulders. You moan sinfully as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the delicious stretch. "S-so big…need more." you sigh, nails scratching his back as you dig your heels into his waist, pulling him closer,
Travis chokes out a strangled groan, filling you to the hilt. He tightly grips onto the sheet, trying to keep the steady pace as he slow as possible he fucks into you. But you want more, you need more. "P-please…p-please hmmph Trav…need more." You cry pitifully, bucking your hips up against his.
He lets go of the sheet, finding your hand that had flopped next to your head. His fingers lace together with yours as he quickens the pace, grunting as his hips slam into yours. The wet sound of skin slapping fills the room, as Travis lets out a pleased hum. "Taking my cock so good baby…such a good girl…" he pants, squeezing your hand.
"S-so full," needy little whines leaving your parted lips with each thrust.
Travis nips at your neck, moving down to the skin by your collarbone, sucking on the sweet spot, and then running his tongue over it. "You're so tight…fuck." Pressing his forehead against yours, mouth hanging open, his breath ghosts over your lips.
You're stretching with each thrust, crying out while every grind of his hips catches his hair on your puffy clit. Pleasure pulsing quickly inside you, faster than it ever had before. "Travis, I-'gonna…fuck!"
The coil in your belly snaps, dissolving into toe curling pleasure. Eyes rolling back as your climax tears through your body. You tremble in his arms as your muscles tense, clinging to his back as your nails leave dents in his skin. His name rolls off your tongue in loud moans followed by a sharp gasp when you feel your release squirt out of you.
Travis digs his fingers into your hips, "Oh..my God..fuck." His babbles low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes shut tightly, groaning in your ear, as your pussy clenches around him.
Once your haze fades a little, it dawns on you how quickly you came and a blush shrouds your face, "I'm…I-m sorry I came so f-fast, I just haven't done that in a while." you stutter, hiding your face in his neck.
Travis stops mid thrust, still deep inside you, holding off with a shaky breath. Eyes opening as he lifts his head up, gently rubbing his thumb against the spot he had been gripping.
"No, no, that's good baby, that's so good. I wanna make you feel good and that felt like you felt damn good." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder.
You pull away from his neck, still out of breath, face flushed. "You can finish in me." You whisper shyly and his eyes go wide.
"Ya sure?"
You nod, "I've been on the pill since Lucy, might as well make use of it."
Travis smashes his mouth into yours in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clicking as his tongue swirls around yours. His thrusts begin again, rough, and sloppier than before, you can tell he's getting close.
Your fingers tangle in his hair tugging hard, feeling him snap his hips against yours. Panting out little whines every time his cock pulses against your sensitive g-spot, it feels intoxicating.
"You look so pretty…all fucked out…creaming all over me." Travis coos, looking down at where you're connected. Streaks of your cream coating his cock every time he draws back, you feel him twitching inside you.
"Wanna feel you cum in me," You whine softly, "Want you to fill me up…it's been so long Trav. Want you t'claim me."
The little pleads just egg him on, bringing him closer as he shudders out a broken moan, babbling your name as his hips lurch forwards, spilling inside of you with a low breathy growl. Some of his cum drips down his shaft, there's so much of it as he periodically jerks his hips, pushing more inside you just for it to spill back out.
You whimper, body trembling from the warmth as your mouth hangs open, "Fuck, Travis." feeling him smirk against your neck, a low groan rasping from his throat.
"So good, you took me so well, you were so good for me." his babble comes out a little hoarse as he comes down from his high. Breath uneven, his body limp, and boneless against you; making you feel safe.
"Evidently you needed some release too." You tease, twirling his hair around your fingers.
Travis's breath tickles your damp skin as he chuckles, a sigh leaving his lips. He pulls back just enough so he can look you in the eye, nose rubbing against yours. "You did so good for me honey pie." the gentle sound of his voice almost making you want to cry…again.
His lips slot against yours once more, weaving together slow tentative adoration as his hands explore your body. "Feel so good against me, feels so good to be inside you…feels so good to hold you."
Blinking away tears, you cup his face in your hand, "Thank you." you whisper, watching Travis smile wide. His thumbs rubbing up and down your ribs, holding you close to him like if he let go you'd disappear, and he can't have that happen.
The two of you stay in that deep embrace, Travis laying on top of you, head tucked under your chin in sweet contentment. Every few minutes he sprinkles kisses all over your jaw and collarbone, making you giggle.
Your eyelids gradually start to feel heavy under the warmth of his body, but you feel him start to stir. Whining as he pulls out, the emptiness aching more than the fullness did. Keeping your eyes shut you hear him pick his boxers up off the floor, followed by his feet padding against the carpet to head to the bathroom.
The next thing you know he's gently tapping your knee, making your eyes flutter open. He's standing over you with a lovesick smile on his face, a damp cool cloth held in his hand. Shining a sleepy smile, you spread your legs to let him clean you up. A whimper falls from your lips, making him freeze.
"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks hesitantly, carefully searching your face for any sign of discomfort.
You smile, slowly blinking the sleepier you got. "No, no, its just been a long time and we…enjoyed ourselves a lot." Breaking out in a giggle, feeling so giddy it hammers in your chest and you love every bit of it.
Travis takes your hands and carefully pulls you up to a sitting position on the bed, picking up his t-shirt that was thrown on the floor earlier and slipping it over your head. The shirt was big and soft, wrapping your tired muscles in a sense of security.
You began to stand up, feeling your legs start to wobble once you put weight on them.
"Need my help?" He asks, arm instantly wrapping around your waist.
"I think I got it." Taking a small step as you slip out of his grasp, your legs feeling a little more like part of your body and a little less like jelly.
"But if you do need me-"
"You'll be the first to know." Turning to look over your shoulder before entering the bathroom, a smirk toying at your lips.
A soft sigh escapes your lips as you settle back into bed, pulling the cool sheets over your tired legs. Travis presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering, as his arm instinctively pulls you closer.
You curl up comfortably against him, resting your head on his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.
"Thank you for being so good to me." you mumble, eyelids beginning to flutter, as the exhaustion begins to take over.
"Always." He whispers in return, his calloused fingers tracing soothing circles along your arm. The room is quiet and calm, the only sound is your shallow breath as Travis's warmth lulls you sleep.
Soft creaking sounds echo off the dim walls, a small lamp on the bedside table illuminating the room.
Your fingers are carefully twisted in the bed sheets, your face pushed deep into the fluffy pillows. Steve’s large hands are placed on your hips, squeezing tightly as he ruts into you from behind. Your cunt sucks him in, his cock gliding through your wetness effortlessly.
Each thrust sends your body forward, face buried away. Steve can’t get enough of the sight— watching your body jolt with every articulate movement.
His pace isn’t fast. Instead, the grinds of his hips are slow and intentional, his cock scraping every inch of your walls.
Little moans and whimpers gurgle from your throat, the sounds muffled by the pillows that your face was buried in.
Steve’s right hand abandons your hip, sneaking down to firmly grip your throat. He forces you up, not roughly, but firmly—just enough to make you look up. His fingers trail up your throat and grab your chin, turning your head to the right.
Next to your bed, sits a large dresser. A hefty mirror is leaning atop it, giving the two of you a perfect view of the filthy sight.
“See that?” he murmurs into your ear, the deliberate movements of his hips continuing. “See how pretty you look?” His hand wanders back down to your throat, making sure your gaze stays locked onto the two of you.
Your walls clamp down on his length at the sight, the view of him repeatedly thrusting into your cunt causing heat to rush through your body. “S’too good—“ you babble, unable to form complete sentences.
You watch as Steve’s muscles move as he rocks into you, his biceps flexing and thighs bulging. Unable to decide where to watch, your eyes dart all over the different delicious parts of his body.
Eventually, you settle on watching his cock disappear in and out of your cunt.
Steve’s movements pick up, your body welcoming every rut he had to offer you. Your nails dig into the sheets, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight.
You watch as his brows furrow in concentration, signaling his orgasm. Knowing him like the back of your hand, you became exceedingly familiar with his tells.
“M’close, honey.” he warns, his raspy voice crackling into your ear. “Come on, come with me, yeah? I know you got it, you got it, baby.”
The sweet words of encouragement tip you over the edge, the rush of euphoria and heat traveling violently through your body. Just as your cunt begins to spasm, you can feel the familiar warmth fill you up and trickle down your thighs.
Steve’s head tips back, a low groan echoing from his throat. You watch as he comes undone, fucking you through your orgasm and making sure his cum stays buried deep in your hole.
okay, this turned out to be a little different than what you asked but I hope you enjoy it just the same. it may or may not of been inspired by Allie & Dean’s secret fling in Off Campus.
18+ | fem!reader
You told Steve last week that this wouldn’t happen again.
Just like you said two days ago when he had you pressed against the wall in Tina’s upstairs hallway. Your leg hooked around his hip, grinding against what lived up to all the stories and then some while the party raged down stairs.
Now you’re in his empty basement knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips, while his big hands adjust you on his lap.
Steve grabs at your thighs tugging you close enough that your breasts press tight against his chest. He nips just under your jaw before peppering open mouth along the length of your neck. Catching the small roll of your hips with a smile against your skin, he pulls away confidently showing you the whites of them.
Grabbing your chin between two fingers, he tugs your face down just enough for his lips to ghost against yours.
“Let me guess, this is the last time.” He whispers against your mouth with a knowing smirk.
”Yes, I mean it.” You huff, unable to control your own grin, rocking your hips again. “Last. time.”
”Whatever you say.”
Steve snorts, not waiting for whatever smart comeback you have waiting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, he curls his hand around the back of your neck, and catches it on his own.
The moan that escapes out of your throat comes stirring from deep within your chest. He huffs out a small laugh at it before licking into your mouth with the kind of hunger that lights a fire along your already heated skin. Meeting him with equal enthusiasm, you apply more pressure with the next grind of your hips making his confidence stutter.
“Fuck —“ He breathes in between kisses, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
Doing it again, it’s your turn to smile against his mouth, lashes fluttering open to admire the furrow of his brows.
“Better enjoy it while you can.”
His eyes open at that, something darkening the amber that swirls inside of them.
“Who are you trying to convince, honey? Me or you?” Steve smirks with a narrowed gaze filled with determination, the hand on your hip tightening.
“Shut u— ohmygod.”
Your bratty response is cut off, when he drags you over his lap, the seam of your jeans pressing into where you need it most.
“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He chuckles darkly, tearing his lips from your mouth to wrap around your pulse point.
He sucks hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head, leaving a bruise you’ll have to deal with in the morning. But when he drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“Steve, are you down there? I forgot my keys.”
Robin’s voice freezes you in place with fingers curled into the roots of his hair. Steve’s teeth stop right over the already blooming purple mark, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
“Steve —?” The stairs squeak with the first steps she takes, and it’s enough for him to find his voice.
“Y- yeah!” His voice cracks, and your giggle that follows it earns you a glare.
“My keys, are they down there?” She calls out again, another creak following.
“Shit.” He blows out a breath, pulling away to look around the room, groaning quietly when he spots them on the coffee table.
“Yeah, I got them. Give me a second.” He lays back, running both his hands down his face before meeting your playful gaze.
“It’s getting late, I should probably go.” You smirk, using his broad chest as leverage to push yourself off his lap.
“What? No, she’ll be gone in like 2 seconds.” He whispers harshly trying to grab at your hips, but you slip through his fingers just like this moment.
“I said enjoy it while you can.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Steve stares you down, watching you with heated eyes as you straighten out your shirt and tug up your jeans.
“Never been more serious.” You wink, swiping Robin’s keys off the coffee table before calling out to her.
summary: watching other girls think they have a chance with steve hits a nerve inside of you that you thought you buried. looks like you’ll just have to remind him who he belongs to.
warnings: smut, p in v sex, public sex, getting caught during sex, finger sucking, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, tiniest bit of sub!steve - actually maybe just switch!steve, jealousy, cursing, probably more!
word count: 4k
from jen: longer than i hoped but i really love this one and i hope you guys do too. as always, with love <3
The bar was lit up by multi colored flashes. It almost felt like the walls were banging from the loud bass coming from the live band. The floor was full of people dancing, drinking and laughing. There was a smell in the air – cheap vodka, twelve different kinds of perfume and shitty bar food. It was overstimulation thrown into one building.
But it was so much fucking fun.
You, Robin and Nancy were dancing – well, attempting to – in the middle of the dance floor. Eddie and his buddies were to thank for the volume of the music as they played their cover of Enter Sandman.
The three of you were three drinks and two shots into the night and it was obvious Robin was already drunk, Nancy was teetering the line, and you were in a state of blissful tipsy.
It was a three day weekend and for the first time in months, the whole groups schedule managed to align perfectly. While you and the girls danced, Steve and Jonathan were ordering more drinks at the bar.
Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve
As soon as your brain reminded itself of your boyfriend, your eyes began to scan the crowd. You were a clingy girl on a regular day, but adding alcohol into the mix? You were about five seconds from sewing your skin to his.
Nancy and Robin continued to dance together as you stood on the tips of your toes to look for him. He was basically a damn tree, it shouldn’t be hard to find him!
Finally, your eyes graze over the far right side of the bar and you see his beautiful floppy hair. His back is to you on the dance floor, and he stands shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan as they wait for the drinks.
A dopey smile breaks onto your face at the sight of him, your feet are tingling to run to him. Quickly, you turn to the girls and grab their arms.
“C’mon! Steve’s at the bar!“ You urge them and make it a point to ignore the way they playfully roll their eyes. You don’t wait before you’re making your way to him, practically skipping the whole way.
You kept your eyes on him as you approached him. He still hasn’t turned around but with the view of his back, you were not complaining. Steve and Eddie had grown even closer this last year and he wanted to support Eddie so much that he’d bought a brand new outfit for tonight.
He still didn’t quite capture Eddie’s metal style but he tried. He went with an all black outfit: a nicer pair of new black jeans, a plain black shirt – a fitted one. One that clung to his skin so nicely you could see every ridge of muscle he had in his abdomen – and a new leather jacket thrown over it.
Truth be told, you were about five seconds away from devouring him. But tonight was about being with friends and you wanted to spend time with them, even if your boyfriend looked like that.
You were only a few feet away from reaching him when a girl slid into the chair next where he stood. The movement was so slick, effortless – like she fit right next to him. She rested both her elbows atop of the bar, swirling the barstool so her legs were only a few inches from his waist.
She had a look in her eye and you recognized it immediately, because it was the exact one you had. Hunger, desire, want. All aimed at your boyfriend.
Easily, she raised her hand and slid it up his bicep. Steve looked at her then, expecting it to be you but when he saw it wasn’t, his eyes flickered down to her palm on his arm.
Immediately, he dropped his arm from where it leaned on the bar and turned away. He was still looking at her but he pushed himself backwards, almost until his back was fully leaning into Jonathan’s chest. It might have been funny if it wasn’t for the girl touching him.
Still, it didn’t seem to deter her. She smiled up at him, the gloss on her lips glistening under the flashing red lights. You couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying from where you stood and a few seconds later, Robin and Nancy barreled into your back.
Their confusion quickly dissipated when they realized why you had stopped. The girl had leaned even closer into Steve’s spaced, her chin resting in one of her palms. She was still smiling up at him – not a friendly smile, a sultry one. She was a beautiful girl, there was no denying it and you wondered if Steve also noticed.
Jealousy bubbled in your chest. You weren’t worried about him or his loyalty, but there was no reasoning with a drunk version of yourself seeing another girl flirt with him.
Without much thinking, you resumed your walk towards him – Nancy and Robin hot on your tail. Now, you were able to hear the conversation.
“Uh yeah, I’m not sure,” Steve’s voice rang in your ears first. “My girlfriend picked the spot,”
Good. He mentioned me. She’ll get the hint, you think.
“Girlfriend?” The girl echoed, her fingers tapping against the counter top. “Is she here?”
“Yep,” Steve replied. You could tell he was uncomfortable and he was being as dry as he could be without coming off as an asshole. From behind him, you noticed the way Jonathan also seemed to look uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” She hummed. Her eyes raked down his body before looking back up at him. The same hand he shrugged off only a few minutes earlier came back up and landed on him again, her fingers curling around his elbow. Finally, you were right next to Steve, but neither of them noticed yet. “I don’t see her anywhere,”
Before Steve could respond, your own hand raised and you easily grabbed hers and pushed it off him again. You barely glanced at her as you wrapped your own arms around his neck, pushing your chest into his own.
When Steve looked down at you in his arms, you felt his entire body relax. He didn’t spare another glance at the girl before his arms wrapped around your waist and tugged you closer to him.
“Hi baby,” You smiled, leaning on the tips of your toes to kiss him. He smiled into it and you could feel the girls eyes burning into the back of your head. Steve murmured a greeting back against your mouth, but before he could deepen in, you maneuvered your body to lean your back to his chest.
The girl looked at you now, almost glaring at you, but you smirked back at her.
“Thanks for keeping my seat warm. You can go now,” Your voice was syrupy sweet but it was more than clear how little kindness it carried.
Her eyes narrowed just a bit. “I was actually pretty comfortable,”
You sent her a fake sympathetic pout. “I’m sure you were – not anymore though,”
Even if there was a part of you that could have felt even remotely threatened by her, the warmth of Steve’s body behind you and one of his hands holding onto your hips and the other arm wrapped around the front of your shoulders, silenced those feelings immediately.
Her eyes glanced down and she seemed to also notice the way he was holding onto you. She scoffed before reaching over the bar, quickly plucking a pen and a napkin before scribbling over it. When she finished, she hopped off the stool and stood directly in front of you, the napkin in hand.
She looked back at Steve behind you and slid the napkin towards him. You could feel it now – the way you were glaring at her and from beside you, you saw the way Nancy and Robin also were. “Here’s my number,” She glanced back down at you. “For when you get bored tonight,”
The words landed exactly where she intended them to and if it weren’t for Steve’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, you would’ve pounced on her. He felt the way your body tensed and held you closer to his chest.
Before you could react, Steve raised the napkin. Still looking at her, he crumpled the flimsy paper into a ball and threw it over the other side of the bar. You watched the way her expression pinched, and a look you clearly recognized as embarrassment covered her features. “I’m good.” He said simply, both hands sliding down your sides to land on your hips. Easily, he spun your body around so you were facing him again.
Oh, he was so fucking hot.
Neither of you paid any attention to where the girl wandered off to. Steve was smiling down at you and that was enough for you to feel like you were going insane.
The smile on his face, his rejection of that girl, his hair, his fucking outfit. Nope, you were done restraining yourself.
You grabbed Steve’s hand and glanced over at Nancy, Robin and Jonathan. The three of them were looking at you expectantly but you didn’t give them a chance for questions.
“Be right back,” You rushed, tugging Steve along with you. You heard a small surprised sound come from him as you pulled him along.
“Wait! Where are you guys going?” Nancy asked, and Robin snicked beside her. You didn’t respond as you pulled Steve further into the crowd and towards the other side of the bar. But you were able to catch Robin’s last comment.
“Twenty bucks says they’re gonna bone in the bathroom,”
Hopefully no one takes that bet – because she’s right.
Still holding onto Steve’s hand, you approach the women’s bathroom and swing the door open. When you let go of his hand, he stands directly in front of the doorway, still not entering, and you quickly wander through the stalls to make sure it’s empty.
Once you’re sure it is, you turn back to Steve and you twist the front of his shirt in your hand and drag him into the bathroom.
“Woah baby, wh-what are you doing?” He laughs nervously, quickly catching his balance against the porcelain sink. You lock the door behind him and within seconds, your hands are tugging at his leather jacket and shoving it off his shoulders.
Breathlessly, Steve murmurs your name. First and last.
“Hey, this is the women’s bathroom, all of our friends are outside and anybody could walk in right now,”
He’s so damn cute when he tries to be so serious.
Without his help, you’ve managed to strip his jacket off his shoulders and your fingers are working at unbuckling his belt. As you pull the metal away from the buckle, you look back up at him.
“The doors locked. You’re right, our friends are outside and if anybody walks in,” You pause for a moment and pull his belt from the loops of his jeans, dropping it to the ground. “Then they can watch.”
Something in Steve’s eyes switch and within seconds, his mouth is on yours. It’s messy and desperate, and you’re moaning into his mouth immediately. His hands raise, both palms holding your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.
The sound of your lips sloppily meeting his fills the room and the sound of the band playing begins to fade away as he kisses you. Between your bodies, your hands slip beneath his black shirt and trace the skin of his stomach. You can feel the way his muscles twitch under your touch and he begins to walk forward, until your back his pressed against the wall of the stall.
Steve pulls his mouth away from yours and his lips begin a trail from your lips to your jaw and down your throat. He lands on that patch of skin where your neck and shoulder meet and bites.
You whine into the air, palms sliding up his sides and curling around his biceps. His teeth graze against your skin again, but this time his tongue swipes over it right away to soothe it and then he’s sucking that piece of skin into his mouth.
You can feel the mark already beginning to form and your stomach flips. You bring your hand back up to his face and you pull him away from your neck to kiss him again.
One hand continues to cradle his jaw and the other tangles itself in his hair. All the while, Steve brings his hands between your bodies and shoves your skirt up, all the way until it’s bunched around your waist.
Without breaking the kiss, his large hand splays across your thigh, gripping the skin and hikes your leg up until it’s resting over his hip. His other hand curls around your throat, not to squeeze but to keep you grounded to him.
Steve pushes you further back into the wall and grinds his hips forward. You moan is muffled against his mouth when you can feel the clothes outline of his cock grinding into your core. The denim of his jeans slides perfectly against the cotton of your panties, feeding you a delicious feeling of friction.
Your eyes squeeze shut at the way his hips rut into yours and you’re both whining against each others mouths. His hand slips from its place on your thigh and trails up, up, up until the tips of his fingers graze against the wet spot of your panties.
At this point, you’re not even kissing anymore. The rock of his hips and the touch of his fingers knocks all common sense out of you and you’re left breathing against his mouth. His fingers continue to tease you. He runs them up and down your clothed pussy, still not giving you any skin to skin contact.
“Steve-Steve please,” You’re mindlessly begging for more and you can feel the way he smirks against your lips.
“What is it, baby? Tell me what you need,” He murmurs, carefully tracing the hem of your panties. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you break.
“I just – I just want you Steve, please,” You cry out, hands tugging at the ends of his hair.
To your surprise, he doesn’t tease anymore. Two fingers curl around the side of your panties, sliding them over and finally, they sink into the warm heat of your pussy.
Steve’s reflexes are quick – his hand flies to cradle the back of your head when you throw it back with a moan, making sure you don’t slam it against the wall.
Your head thuds against his palm and you’re whining into the air as his fingers thrust in and out of you. While you keep your eyes squeezed shut, Steve keeps his eyes on the way his fingers disappear in and out of you.
The air is filled with the sounds of his uneven breathing, your moaning and the sounds of your slick drenching his fingers. Your wetness leaks down his fingers, all the way down to his wrist.
“Fuck baby, you’re soaking me,” He groans, resting his forehead against yours. You whine incoherently and he feels the way you clench around his fingers at his praise.
It’s almost embarrassing how quick he can get you off but your mind finally came back to you. Steve was always the dominant one and he could so easily turn you into putty in his hands, but you came in here with one purpose – and that was reminding him who he belonged to.
With every bit of strength you had left, you opened your eyes back up and look up at him. He was still so lost in the way you were sucking his fingers in that he didn’t notice the mischievous look in you eyes.
Almost reluctantly, you wrapped one of your hands around his wrist and halted his movements. His gaze flicked up to yours, confusion and concern swirling in his expression.
“Why’d you stop me?”
Wordlessly, you drop your thigh from where it rested over his hip and the clack of your heel slamming back onto the floor echoed in the room. Keeping your eyes locked onto his, your fingers worked fast to pop the button of his jeans and the sound of you pulling his zipper down bounces off the walls.
“What was that girls name?” You asked softly, hand slipping into his jeans. Your palm gently grazed his length, but still not touching - teasing him the same way he did you.
“What?” Steve asked breathlessly. He kept his eyes trained on you and the movement of your hands.
“From the bar. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know baby,” He shook his head, groaning when you tightened your grip on him.
“No? Do you think she’s pretty?” Without waiting for a response, your hand slid beneath his boxers and finally, the skin of your palm met his.
He let out a shuddered breath but quickly shook his head again.
“No! No, f’course not. Barely – barely even looked at her,” He promised, mouth dropping open as your squeezed his length in your hand.
You hummed, leaning up to leave open mouthed kisses across his neck. He smelled so fucking good – a mix of sandalwood, your own perfume and something inherently him. It was intoxicating.
“I believe you baby,” You promised and you felt him physically relax. You smiled against his throat. It was nice to be reminded that even though he could turn you into a mindless mess, you did the same to him. Still, you tsked softly and pulled your face from his shoulder. “But she looked so damn comfortable around you. Touching you,”
You pulled your hand from his jeans and rested them against your own thighs, pulling away all contact from him. He whined softly, pushing his hips into yours but you push your palm back into his chest.
“I don’t care,” He said. “Didn’t matter to me. Only you do, baby. Please let me touch you,”
Maybe if you weren’t in public, you would have prolonged the agony but you knew there was a ticking clock before someone came knocking.
And you just really wanted him to fuck you.
Your hands found his jeans again, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. He groaned as the air hit his skin and his forehead settled against yours.
“Prove it to me baby,” You demanded, voice still soft.
Steve didn’t need to be told twice before his own hands were reaching back under your skirt, yanking your panties all the way down until they were wrapped around one ankle. Within seconds, his palms slid to the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly.
His cock slid between your soaked pussy and you both moaned at the first feeling of real contact of the night. Steve seemed to share the same sense of working on borrowed time and without words, he wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you up while the other gripped his cock in his hand and lined himself up.
You felt that delicious burn you craved all night the moment he began to push in. No matter how many times he fucked you, it almost always felt like the first time. His hand gripped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours.
Steve groaned against your mouth as he bottomed out, and you whined against his when he started his brutal pace. He felt the way you squeezed around his cock and his free hand squeezed your hip hard enough to bruise.
“Were you jealous?” Steve asks suddenly. His mouth was turned up into a smirk now, his hips still thrusting harshly.
“Yeah, I was fucking jealous,” You didn’t hesitate in your response and your forwardness seemed to take him by surprise. Steve reared his head backwards just a bit, careful enough to not lose his pace and let you continue. “Because that girl thought she could have what’s mine,”
Somehow, you find the strength to drop your hips down, meeting each of Steve’s brutal thrusts. He whines aloud at the way you match his speed, his cock twitching inside you.
“Can they?”
The words fall on deaf ears as Steve keeps his gaze locked on the way your pussy stretches to suck him in. His brows are pinched, cheeks flushed and strands of his hair hang over his forehead messily. As sexy as he looks, you’re dissatisfied with his lack of response. Almost meanly, your hand grips onto his jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to regain his attention.
“Can they?” You repeat when his gaze meets yours again.
“N-No!” He says quickly.
You grin and lean down, you hover your mouth over his – not quite a kiss yet. “Good. You’re mine, Steve. Nobody else gets to have you like this.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement and you both know it.
He nods feverishly and you can feel the way his thrusts begin to get sloppy. He’s close, and you’re right behind him. His fingers dig into the bare skin of your thighs as he pushes his cock deeper into you.
“Nobody else. Just you baby, just - just you,” He blubbers and you’re quickly whining into his mouth again. He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, one hand sliding between you two to rub circles into your clit.
Your orgasm is fast approaching – you’re almost across the finish line when you suddenly hear the sound of a key sliding into the lock and the door swings open.
But instead of feeling embarrassed or worried, you feel so fucking smug.
Because standing in the doorway is the girl from the bar, a customer key to the restroom in her hand, and her eyes locked on the way Steve fucks you into the wall.
Heat rushes to her face and a blush to intense, her entire face is red. She looks something like embarrassed, mortified and humbled all in one.
Thankfully, Steve hasn’t noticed – or doesn’t care – her interruption and continues fucking you until you’re both teetering the edge of release.
Your arms wrap tightly around Steve’s back and you pull him close to your chest. As you look into her eyes, you give her one final smirk – one that reads: Good. Look at what you’ll never have.
Just as quickly as she entered, she stumbles backwards and slams the door shut.
You let yourself get lost in the feeling of Steve again.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna – fuck,” Steve curses, teeth sinking into the skin of your throat and spills inside you. He keeps his pace as even as possible with the movement of his thumb over your clit and only seconds later, he pulls you over the edge with him.
“SteveSteveSteveSteve,” You whine. His thumb continues moving over your swollen bud, helping you ride out your orgasm entirely.
Once you reach the point of overstimulation, you gently push his hand away from between your thighs. Steve watches the way your head lolls to the side and despite the fact that you had damn near all the power barely five minutes ago, you’ve effectively turned into jell-o.
With a smirk on his face, he raises his two wet fingers and brings them to your mouth. Instinctively, you part your lips when he taps them and he easily slides them into your mouth. You moan around his fingers, the taste of yourself filling your senses.
He groans quietly, gently thrusting them in and out of your mouth. “That prove it to you, baby?”
With your mouth full from his fingers, you give him a nod.
one of the older kids (boy ot girl), one of their friends hits on reader? or maybe a dad from daycare or something!
wanna see if Steve would agree and then get angry that the friend/man is flirting with his wife
write it however you like! and how you think Steve (and kids maybe) would react!
Summary: Steve knows you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t stop him from being all pouty when other men (and one bold teenager) who aren’t him flirt with you.
WC: 4.7k
Warnings & What to Expect: hargrove!fem!reader, jealous & possessive Steve (in a healthy way), men/ teenager flirting with reader (which reader pointedly ignores), protective husband trope, kids teasing Steve for being down bad for reader.
Harrington Household Masterlist
currently writing this series based on requests, so if you have any ideas - please feel free to send them my way 🫶🏻
Main Masterlist If Interested
Peach’s Note: hiii anon!! what a fun request!! i included that, but also added in some other flirting scenarios. also kind of added part of this request. hope you enjoy lovie 🩷
tysm to everyone showing love on my works - it means the world. requests are open! feel free to send anything Steve or Gator Tillman related and I can certainly try my best 🫡
need a man like steve to call me gorgeous ⤵️
“Damn, you’re looking fine, Mrs. Harrington,” a voice calls out from the living room as you make your way down the stairs.
Your eyes widen at the words; left hand pausing mid air while attempting to put your last earring in since your toddler is being firmly held up with your right hand - propping her up on your hip.
You’re completely caught off guard from what the teenager sitting on the couch next to your oldest son just said to you.
There’s a collective intake of breath around the lower level of the house - all eyes flashing to Steve for his reaction, who’s frozen by the front door - looking like he’s absolutely ready to strangle the kid.
Your eldest boy looks horrified at his friend’s comment while your oldest girl who’s sitting at the kitchen island working on homework looks disgusted. Your ten year old twins who are lounging on the living room floor pause the board game they’re playing - sensing the sudden tension in the room.
Your four year old boy who was trailing the stairs behind you slams into your legs- not expecting you to have stopped. It causes you to stumble as you’re still two steps above the floor.
You panic instantly, worried about face planting with your youngest babe in your hands - but Steve’s there in a heartbeat, hands slithering around your waist to steady you. The movement forces you into his chest, lone earring clattering to the floor and your boy falls to his butt behind you.
“You alright, baby?” Steve murmurs gently by the shell of your ear, and you nod slightly - pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss of thanks.
Your boy that’s fallen on the stairs starts crying at the impact, and Steve carefully lets go of you to scoop him up into his arms.
“Why are you crying buddy? You’re the one who nearly steamrolled into Mommy,” Steve teases lightly, thumbs already brushing away his boy’s tears.
“That scared you, huh?” You ask him tenderly, rubbing at his back - knowing he’s physically fine, just startled.
He sniffles and nods, hiding his face in his daddy’s neck.
Your middle girl pushes herself off the floor, comes over and grabs the earring you dropped, “Do you want me to put this in for you?”
“That would be great, babe, thanks,” you smile at her, and she climbs the stairs to stand behind you - securing the piece of jewelry in place.
She steps back before grinning, “You look beautiful, Mommy.”
“She always does, doesn’t she?” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss to your jaw.
Your girl nods before hugging you from behind, “Do you have to go tonight?”
You pat her hands that are linked around your middle, “We shouldn’t be out too late, sweetheart.”
You and Steve were headed to Hawkins High for a banquet that the graduating class of ‘85 was hosting. You’d honestly rather stay in and spend time with your babes, but with Steve being a teacher at the middle school, it was expected that he be in attendance.
Steve looks particularly handsome in his dress pants that hug his legs perfectly, paired with a white long sleeve button up and black tie wrapped loosely around the neckline. If you were alone, you wouldn’t have let him leave the house without getting a taste of the skin that’s exposed at his neck.
You’re practically drooling over him, and the reality of the moment comes crashing back when your oldest boy’s friend stands up from the couch, hands tucked into his pockets and compliments your appearance again.
“I mean really, that dress is killer on you,” he smirks, and Steve’s mouth drops open at the audacity.
You put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to ground him - reminding him not to make any rash decisions.
Steve clears his throat, “I’m sorry, what did you just say about my wife?”
You bite your lip in amusement, because he’s defending your honor against a hormonal teenager that can’t get his emotions in check.
At Steve’s voice, the kid looks a bit meek, but not lacking total confidence when he says, “Like you look great, Mrs. H, stunning even.”
Steve turns to you with a baffled expression before whispering, “Is he serious right now?”
You huff out a disbelieving laugh, “Steve, he’s a child.”
“Bullsh-,” he cuts himself off, remembering the two littles in both of your arms, “He’s seventeen. He’s old enough to know what he’s saying, baby,” he grumbles quietly.
His eyes flick over to the boy - standing there awkwardly now, since it’s obvious that you’re purposefully avoiding his praises, “Ought to teach him a lesson about how to treat women since his parents clearly haven’t done it.”
But Steve doesn’t need to do that, because your oldest boy is already on it, “Dude, are you, are you flirting with my mom?”
“No! No, definitely not,” but the way he’s spluttering the words proves otherwise.
“You totally were,” your girl calls out from the kitchen.
Your twins start giggling at the absurdity of it, and Steve watches proudly as his son reams into his friend.
“That’s my mom, man. Have some respect,” he chides angrily, folding his arms across his chest.
The boy’s mouth flounders, embarrassed now at being called out, “Uh, sorry Mrs. H, Mr. H. I’m just, yeah, I’m gonna go.”
He scrabbles for the exit, leaving the rest of you stunned at the ridiculousness of what just happened.
“Great choice in friends,” Steve quips, raising his eyebrows at your boy.
Your boy defends himself, “How was I supposed to know he was going to say that? You do look really pretty, by the way, Mom.”
You smile, “Thanks, hun.”
“Seriously though, don’t think I want you inviting him back over here,” Steve mumbles, and you laugh lightly before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
With your free hand, you reach up to brush back some of the strands of hair fighting to fall into his eyes, “No need to be all pouty about it, baby.”
“I’m not being pouty, I just don’t need a bunch of teenage boys thinking it’s okay to hit on you,” he says with a frown still on his face.
You smile fondly at him, swiping your thumb over the creases that his drawn in eyebrows are making.
“Whatever you say, babe,” you tease, before walking into the kitchen.
Steve falls quiet as his eyes wander the expanse of your legs as you move, appreciating the view of the tight dress hugging your curves.
“Dad,” your oldest scolds when he realizes what Steve’s doing.
“What?” Steve snaps out of it, recognizing that he’s been caught, “Don’t give me that look. I’m allowed to check out my wife.”
You hand your toddler off to your oldest girl, who puts up a brief fight at you letting her go. You watch your girl bounce and console her younger sister easily - effectively distracting her.
“Are you sure you and your brother got this? The babysitter said she was free tonight,” you ask again, wanting to double check.
The plan was never to purposefully have children with such large age gaps.
Steve’s plan was to always have six if you’d let him, but yours was to take it one at a time before deciding if you wanted more since you had once been unsure about children. When you had your oldest though, you immediately knew you wanted another when you took one look at him - at seeing this perfect little being that you and your husband had created together.
Then your eldest girl came next, and you were pretty sure two was enough - but life happens, and years later your twins came along with the rest of the littles; and soon six Harrington children were filling up the space in your home and the crevices in your heart.
People often joked that the age gap meant free babysitting services - which never failed to make you frustrated for your oldest two, because that was definitely not their responsibility.
You were grateful however, that you had children who loved their siblings deeply. It meant that sometimes your teenagers wanted to take care of the younger babes for you without you having to ask.
“We’ve got it, Mom,” your oldest boy confirms, who’s now holding your youngest boy after taking him from Steve.
Steve catches the emotion clouding your eyes at seeing them together and curls you into his chest - giving you a tight squeeze of affection.
“See, baby? Told you they’d be fine,” Steve hugs you closely, before steering you towards the door - trying to get you out before you change your mind about leaving them. You hug the twins goodbye, pressing a kiss to each of their heads.
“Call us if you need-,” you start, but are interrupted by your oldest girl.
“Anything, we know. Now go, before she starts throwing a hissy fit about you two leaving,” she jokes, stroking softly at her sister's hair.
You finish saying goodbye to all of your kids, and Steve starts tugging your hand to pull you into the night air.
“Really, if you need anything, call,” Steve echoes your previous words.
Once you’re settled in Steve’s truck, you watch as your babes wave to you through the front window, and you lean over the middle console to place a hand lovingly on Steve’s knee.
“God, how did we get so lucky, Steve?” You wonder out loud.
“You mean how did I get so lucky? Shit baby, have you looked in the mirror today?” He says playfully, grabbing your hand that rests on his knee to bring it to his lips.
“Steve,” you smile warmly, feeling the familiar flush of heat creep up your neck.
“Kinda just wanna rip that dress off you and skip this damn thing,” he kisses the palm of your hand, before littering kisses up the span of your arm.
“That would be a lot more fun,” you hum out, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin.
Steve turns to face you, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey.”
He drops his head into the crook of your neck, gently nipping at the skin there and you whimper at the touch.
“Probably shouldn’t be on the verge of making out when our kids are still watching,” you tease, eyes cutting to the window to see the oldest two trying to shield the eyes of your youngest ones.
You cup Steve’s chin, tilting his head so he can look at the sight, which makes laughter spill from those pretty pink lips of his.
“You’re right, we should probably go park down the street first before making out,” he smiles coyly at you.
You push lightly in jest at him, “Just start the car, babe.”
Steve places one last kiss at the sweet spot below your ear before backing out the driveway, “Yes, ma’am.”
The banquet was in full swing, and you and Steve were currently taking a break from the buzz of constant socializing when you make eye contact with Tommy Hagan from across the gym.
“Oh, god,” you mumble under your breath.
Neither of you had seen him since senior year, as Steve had cut off contact with the guy completely, but heard that he left Hawkins and dropped Carol Perkins along the way.
Tommy immediately grins wickedly, before stalking closer to you and Steve.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Steve inquires, arm tightening around your waist.
Your hand that’s hooked around his bicep grips a little tighter, “Incoming.”
Steve follows your gaze and groans in annoyance - doesn’t want to have to deal with the onslaught of surface level questions Tommy will have.
“Harrington! Good to see you, man. What’s it been, like twenty years since graduation? And Hargrove, looking good as always,” Tommy sends a wink your way.
You smile tightly, pressing yourself closer to your husband - uncomfortable with the way Tommy’s eyes drag up and down your figure.
“Hey, Tommy. Yeah, it’s been a while,” Steve forces a small smile, hand that’s on your hip holding you a bit more protectively.
“Didn’t realize the two of you were together,” Tommy notices the way Steve’s arm tucks you towards him.
You hum in acknowledgment, before flashing your left hand at him, allowing him to see the rock next to the wedding band that rests on your ring finger.
“Oh shit, so you’re like together, together,” Tommy’s eyes widened.
The phrase makes you want to laugh, because not only have you been married for seventeen years, but you’ve got six children at home to show for the life you’ve built together.
“Mhmm,” you nod politely, and Steve can’t help but place a possessive kiss to your temple at seeing the way Tommy’s eyes linger on you.
They catch up briefly - jobs, sports, reminiscing about high school. The topic of kids doesn’t come up, which isn’t surprising because Tommy has been droning on and on about his bachelor lifestyle in Indianapolis.
There’s a sudden commotion as a few of Steve’s previous students run up to him; in high school now themselves and are at the event to get volunteer hours with their clubs.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt Coach Steve, but Ms. Kelley asked us to move some tables and we could use help,” one of the boys asks.
It’s clear Steve’s fighting an internal battle, doesn’t want to say no to the kids but also doesn’t want to leave you alone.
“You good, honey?” Steve checks with you.
Tommy answers for you, “She’ll be fine, man. I’ll keep her company.”
Which is exactly what Steve doesn’t want. He ignores the comment, staring intently at you.
“Go help, babe. I’ll be okay,” you assure him, lifting your hand to cup his jaw - thumb brushing delicately against his cheek.
His eyes close briefly at the touch, still hesitating - not sure what to do.
“Come on, don’t leave them hanging, Stevie,” Tommy throws the nickname in as a jab - knew that Steve hated it in high school; which he still does, unless you’re the one saying it.
Steve’s decidedly ticked off with Tommy and makes a point to shut him up by kissing you. He leans forward to slot his lips with yours, pulling you to him by clasping his hands behind your lower back.
You instantly wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the feel of him pressing his mouth eagerly to yours which makes your head fizzy - bubbles of want pooling in your stomach.
“I’ll be right back, baby,” he breathes out, nose nudging yours, kisses you one last time before going to help the high schoolers.
Tommy stands there a little awkwardly, and you hoped maybe he’d scram after that public display of affection, but he seems to be like a roach you can’t squash.
You watch Steve hopelessly from across the room, desperate for him to come back to you quickly - tired of making small talk with Tommy.
“You and Harrington are pretty serious then?” Tommy wonders.
“Yep,” you reply, tone clipped.
“But I mean, you know he was never the settle down type of guy, right?” Tommy goads, referring to the “King Steve” era.
You huff a breath of irritation - hating that people still put Steve in a box when they know nothing about him anymore, “He was never like that, Tommy. He just needed the right person to love him.”
Tommy barks a laugh, “And that’s you?”
You narrow your eyes into slits at him, blood starting to boil at his flippancy, “Why don’t you ask my six children?”
He chokes on his drink, inhaling it wrong at the shock of that information, “And you’re sure they’re all his?”
“Oh my god, you’re still a pig you know that?” You lash out, turning to storm away, but he follows you.
“Come on, didn’t mean it like that, princess,” he calls out, and you freeze at the name he once taunted you with.
You whip around and seethe, “Do not, ever, call me that again.”
Tommy raises his hands up, “Woah, just trying to make conversation. No need to be so defensive.”
You glare at him, arms crossed, breathing angrily.
“I’m sorry, really. I guess I’m just a little envious," he shrugs.
“Envious?” You ask in disbelief.
“I mean, yeah. Being honest with you, I totally had a thing for you in high school. I just never acted on it because of you know, Billy,” he trails off before continuing, “And seeing you here with my old best friend of all people, guess it just shocked the hell out of me.”
He actually kind of looks bummed out, which makes you feel just a tiny bit guilty - but then he instantly ruins it when he takes advantage of your quietness.
Tommy steps forward, “Don’t you ever think about it?”
“Think about what?” You inquire, confusion lacing your tone.
“Me and you?” He asks smugly, obviously out of touch with reality.
“No, I don’t. I’m happily married,” you refute.
“Sure, but like don’t you ever get bored?” He tries to get you to crack.
You grit your teeth, “Steve loves me, and I love him. What are you not getting about that?”
Tommy steps into your personal bubble, hand sliding down your arm, grabbing onto your wrist, “You know, if I had the balls to ask you out back then, things would’ve been different.”
Your jaw drops at his gall, “They would not be, now let go of me.”
“Admit it, Hargrove. I could’ve made you just as happy,” he replies cockily, and you just about slap him in the face for that when you thankfully feel Steve’s arm snake around your shoulder.
“It’s Harrington, now get your hands off my wife,” Steve roughly bites out, thoroughly done with Tommy’s gross behavior after watching him stalk you from across the gym.
Tommy drops your arm swiftly, “Just making sure she was okay, man.”
“No, you were trying to make a move on a married woman, real classy,” Steve snorts in aggravation.
Steve doesn’t give Tommy the opportunity to reply, simply guides you away - heading straight for the exit sign.
“Wait, Steve, don’t you have to be here?” You ask, trying to get him to stop.
“Don’t care. Not letting you stay anywhere near that pathetic creep any longer,” Steve breathes out sharply through his nose.
He shoves the doors open, hightailing it out of the school, and you’re struggling to keep up in your high heels.
“Babe, slow down, please,” you plead, clutching onto his arm.
Steve notices you’re straggling behind, and he makes the split decision to haul you up in his arms.
He crouches slightly, swiftly brings his left arm up and under your thighs, while his right arm secures itself around your back.
Your arms scramble for purchase around his neck at the sudden movement, “What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?”
“Shouldn’t have left you alone,” he fumes.
You understand then that he’s blaming himself, “Steve, it’s not your fault.”
“He put his hands on you,” Steve grates out, holding you closer to him.
Your legs sway in the air as he furiously makes his way through the parking lot to get to the car. You hate seeing him upset, but can’t lie that it doesn’t turn you on with how territorial of you he’s being.
One of your hands moves to card through the back of his hair, “You don’t need to be jealous, baby.”
“Oh, I’m jealous all right. But I’m more pissed off that he thought it was okay to touch you, and livid with myself for leaving you with him,” his breathing is erratic from how upset he is.
“Then make it up to me, we don’t have to be home for another hour,” you remind him, tucking your head into the junction of his collarbone.
That’s how you found yourself curled up next to him in a booth at Mel’s Diner, the place you used to frequent when you were still just dating.
You were sharing your favorite - breakfast food for dinner, chatting about Steve’s summer baseball league he was coaching. Your legs are pulled up sideways on the leather seat, and Steve has a hand hooked under the back of your knees.
You were letting him vent to you - loved that you had the privilege of being his safe space to do so, when you’re interrupted by one of the fathers of the children that your son goes to Pre-K with.
He’s a single dad, and you can’t deny that he would boldly flirt with you when your paths crossed - which you were always honest with Steve about.
“Hey! It’s so good to see you outside of day care pickup,” he says enthusiastically, seemingly to purposefully ignore Steve.
Steve swallows harshly, picking up on the fact that this must be the guy who’s trying to weasel his way in between your marriage.
“Um, yeah. Good to see you too. This is my husband, Steve,” you introduce him, and the guy visibly deflates at that, even though he already knew you were married.
“Right, you’re the husband,” he trails off, avoiding eye contact.
Steve rolls his eyes, “Of seventeen years.”
You softly hit him with your elbow, because you don’t want things to be weird when you see the man at your son's school.
“Anyways, you look beautiful, by the way,” the guy tries, even though Steve’s right there.
“Oh, thanks,” you reply cordially, trying not to be rude but also are a little irked that he’s blatantly making a move in front of your man.
Steve clears his throat and makes it obvious he wants him to leave, “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”
“Sorry, my bad. Nice to meet you, man. See you later, beautiful,” he bids you goodbye arrogantly.
Steve’s got a sulky look on his face as he watches the guy leave.
Your lips pull in an amused smile, “What’s wrong, Stevie?”
He groans at the teasing, turns back to you and drops his head into the crook of your neck.
“Baby, you realize that was the third time,” he whines.
You giggle lightly at the feel of his lips on your skin, “Third time for what?”
“The third time you’ve been hit on in one day by someone that wasn’t me,” he grumbles.
“And none of them mattered, because they weren’t you,” you remind him, gently playing with the wedding band on his hand.
Steve sighs in frustration, “Did you see the nerve of that guy though? It’s like I wasn’t even sitting here.”
“Steve,” you say calmly, “I don’t even remember his name, honey.”
He pulls his head up, “Really?”
Your hand comes up to fiddle with his tie, and you yank him closer to you, “Only got eyes for you, baby.”
Steve’s eyes drop from your eyes to your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them, desperate to get you out of the public view to be able to ravish you.
You have the same idea - glancing down at the watch on your wrist before asking, “We still have twenty minutes. Wanna go makeout in your truck?”
“God, yes,” Steve breathes out excitedly, throwing down a wad of cash and nearly trips over his own feet as he books it out the diner with you on his heels.
When you get back home, you find your children spread out on the living room floor, back to playing the board game.
Your toddler is sleeping though - curled up in the lap of her ten year old brother, while his twin has her head resting against your oldest girl's stretched out legs. Your oldest is staring intently at the game - determining his next move, and your four year old is the only one with enough energy to get up and throw himself at you.
You swing him up easily, kissing his check, “Hey, buddy. Missed you.”
He mutters out a reply, and as you and Steve move into the room, your children clock Steve’s attitude right away.
“Dad, why do you look grumpy?” your ten year old boy asks him quietly, not wanting to wake up his sister.
Steve looks offended at the comment, “I do not look grumpy.”
“You do,” your oldest chimes in, before scratching his head - still deciding what to do about the game.
“Well apparently, Mom’s got more than just teenage admirers,” Steve says, looking over at his oldest son.
“I swear I didn’t know he had a crush on Mom,” your boy groans.
“Dad, I feel like you should’ve already known that. Mom’s gorgeous,” your eldest girl says it like a well known fact, fingers working on braiding her sisters hair.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” you smile, a little shy at all the compliments you’ve been receiving from your children today.
“I know Mom’s gorgeous, believe me,” Steve smiles, then mumbles something about that being the reason there’s six of them.
“Ugh, Dad, that’s revolting,” your eldest girl complains.
“Why’s Daddy revolting?” Your middle girl asks curiously, blinking sleepily from her spot.
Your oldest boy laughs, “He’s not revolting, he’s just in love with Mom.”
Your children continue to poke fun at their father when you join them on the floor, and you can tell Steve’s mood lifts at the lighthearted atmosphere.
You’re resting against Steve’s bare chest later that night in bed, fingers trailing through the coarse hair there when he finally asks you what’s been bugging him all evening.
“You sure you don’t get bored?” Steve asks you with a trace of worry behind his eyes.
Your lips part in shock, “You heard that?”
“Tommy’s voice carries, unfortunately,” Steve gripes.
You’re about to respond, when your door slowly creaks open, and it’s your youngest babe - clattering in with your high heels on her tiny feet that you’d kicked off in the hallway earlier.
You giggle affectionately at watching her stumble in - hands planting on the floor to catch herself from falling.
“What are you doing out of bed, sweet girl?” You ask her.
You had to get her a floor bed since she was actively climbing out of her crib once she learned how to, which meant she frequently found her way to your room in the evening.
“Mommy, shoes,” she pushes herself back up, smiling cheekily at you.
“Wow baby, you look beautiful in Mommy’s shoes,” you coo at her, sliding off the bed to pick her up - the high heels stay hooked on her toes, dangling from the edges.
She points to them, “Daddy, shoes.”
Steve gets up to join the two of you, “Gorgeous baby, just like your Mama.”
She starts babbling, trying so hard to form full sentences and your heart squeezes at the sight of Steve nodding along, gazing adoringly at her.
You slip your free arm around his naked back, traveling your arm up and down the warm skin in assurance, “Could never be bored with the life we have, Steve.”
Steve leans his forehead against yours, “Thank god, gorgeous.”
There’s a gentle knock that interrupts you, turning to see your oldest, who looks a little guilty.
“Hey, Dad?” He says.
“Yeah, bud?” Steve replies.
Your boy shifts his feet, “I just wanted to apologize for before. I don’t wanna be friends with anyone who’s going to be disrespectful towards you and Mom’s relationship, so he won’t be coming over again.”
You smile sweetly at your boy, knowing he’s got a heart that’s just like his dad’s.
Pride washes over Steve’s face, “That means a lot to me. Thanks, bud.”
“Even though it’s a little crazy that you were jealous over a literal teenager,” he ribs his dad, and it makes you cover your mouth in amusement at the witty remark.
Steve scoffs in jest, “Great, I’m being targeted in my own home.”
“Only because we love you,” you hug him with your toddler squished in the middle, and Steve rests his head against your own.
Your oldest bids the two of you goodnight, and you let yourself melt into Steve’s arms - thankful for a love that still warrants petty jealousy and soft declarations of assurances that you’ll forever be each other’s.
Taglist: I’ve gotten some requests to get a tag list going for this series, so if you’re interested lmk in the comments section or message me!
Softdom!Steve maybe? I feel like even in his King Steve S1 days, he was still pretty vanilla and romantic. What's he like when he's a bit older and even more confident in what he wants, in even more of a KING Steve way?
i am not the best with this kinda thing but hey i tried
talk about kinks before you do them guys please
MDNI//SMUT- softdom!steve, praise kink, pussy spanking, vaginal sex, undernegotiated kink (but they do talk about it and it works out), clothed(steve)/unclothed(reader) sex
&&
A man can change, can grow out of a certain mentality. An attitude, a cockiness. A way of life, a way of interacting. But you can’t always rid him of it, not entirely.
They called him King Steve for a reason—maybe even rightfully so. You knew of him, of course—it was impossible to live in Hawkins and not know his parents, at least, and then Steve himself when he ruled the school.
You were a little older, but your younger sister had the world’s biggest crush on him, so you got to hear all about who he was dating this week and her play by play reports of every single basketball game she went to, until she finally grew out of it and got a real boyfriend, who actually paid attention to her. You were all too proud when she told you that she’d come to the realization that she only liked him because everyone else seemed to like him.
Things were different now—he’d graduated, worked an assortment of odd jobs around town, until finally landing a gig as a teacher at your collective alma mater.
Meaning he was now a colleague.
Meaning you now walked the same halls, ate in the same faculty cafeteria, taught the same students.
You had to admit you’d given him the cold shoulder at first. Even though your sister had gotten over him fairly quickly, you were the type to hold a grudge where she wouldn’t—and a thought-who-he-was pretty boy like King Steve definitely deserved your ire.
Except he didn’t.
He was polite, almost to a fault. He held doors for you. He asked if you wanted coffee if he happened to be blocking the pot when you walked into the teacher’s lounge, and handed you the cup he’d just poured for himself if you said yes. He always, without fail, greeted you (Ms., not Mrs.), with such a bright smile that you’d taken to replying “Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” while harboring a secret smile of your own.
So maybe you could see why your sister had been so smitten.
“Hypothetical question,” you asked her, one evening after Steve had ‘accidentally’ (he’d apologized for it, anyway) let his fingertips drag along your back as he held a door open for you.
“Shoot,” she said, and you heard a pan clatter on the other end of the line. You were glad you were on the phone for this.
“Say I… maybe… got reacquainted with someone you, possibly, had a thing for in high school,” you began.
“Uh huh…” she prompted you to continue.
“And say I, maybe, was considering… pursuing, um, him,” you went on.
“Yeah…?” she said. “Who is it? Not Robby?”
“No, not Robby,” you answered—her first actual boyfriend, the replacement she’d found for Steve. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Someone else.”
“I didn’t date anyone else in high school,” she said. The pan clattered again, and then, she gasped. “Oh my god, do you mean Steve?”
“Well,” you said, but she cut you off with a laugh.
“You mean Steve Harrington?” she asked, fully laughing now. “The boy you said you wanted to kick in the nuts for not giving me the time of day?”
“I was just asking you to be—respectful,” you said, now wishing you’d just opted to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.
“I was never with him!” she said, still laughing as the pan clanged again. “Damn it. Yeah, it’s fine—go have the ride of your life and don’t get too upset when he ‘forgets’ to call. Guys like that don’t change.”
“All right, thank you sissy,” you said, rolling your eyes as she laughed again, but you knew if you did get involved with Steve and things went badly, she’d still be there for you, just like you’d been there for her.
“I’ll kick him in the nuts for you,” she said. And there it was.
&&
You’d thought that asking Steve out on a date would be harder than it ended up being. You’d asked him at the coffee pot in the staff lounge, saying that maybe you two could meet for coffee somewhere that wasn’t in the school, and he’d just met your eyes, smiled, and agreed. Easy as pie. Just like that.
“My treat,” he insisted, when you met at the bakery the next Saturday morning, the only place in town that also sold hot drinks along with their baked goods.
“I asked you here,” you said, and he just laughed. Just like your goddamn sister. What the hell was with people laughing in your face?
“That’s very forward-thinking of you,” Steve said, “but I’m a little old fashioned, if you don’t mind.” He gestured at the cashier, waiting for your order. “What would you like?”
You looked at the display cases, biting your lip. “A hot chocolate and, um… oh!” You pointed to one of the pastries. “Pain au chocolat.”
Steve quirks an eyebrow at your pronunciation as the girl working the register goes to plate your order. “Sweet tooth?”
“Oui,” you reply, and he smirks.
“Where’d you learn French?” he asks, as the bakery employee places a small plate with your dessert on it, then looks expectantly at Steve. “I’ll have a coffee—milk, no sugar—and one of those…big sugar cookies.” He pointed to the row of perfectly browned cookies, sprinkled with sanding sugar.”
The cashier left again, and you turned to Steve. “I learned French at Hawkins High,” you said, laughing. “You can actually do well in school if you apply yourself.”
“Hey, I graduated,” Steve said, leaning against the counter and pulling out his wallet, flicking through the bills to be ready to pay.
“I guess I can’t refute that,” you said, and Steve held your gaze, as he was served his cookie on a plate that matched yours, and then your hot cocoa and his coffee were also placed on the counter, large mugs on saucers.
He rushed to pay the total before you could protest about him paying again, and then you carried your drinks and snacks over to a table near the window, the morning sun shining through and warming you, even though you had steaming drinks in front of you.
The chatter was slow, but easy. You commiserated about students; you commiserated about pay; you complimented his baseball team, who were doing well, and he beamed as he thanked you.
The date—well, the coffee part of it—ended too soon, and you found that as much as you wanted to harbor some kind of irritation toward him, you simply couldn’t. He was too sweet, too cute, no longer the King Steve of adolescent female nightmares or desires (depending on your popularity status); no, Steve Harrington did, apparently, grow into a really nice fucking guy.
“Do you have to get home?” you asked, because normally, for you, Saturdays were prime errand-running days. But there was something about him, something about the energy between you, that you didn’t want to cut short.
“No,” he said. “I cleared my schedule for you.”
You scoffed in disbelief. “Your whole day? For me?”
He smirked—that felt more in line with his past self. “Not to…brag, but dates with me usually… well. Last. And last.”
You huffed a little. “That’s quite the attitude.”
Steve grinned at you, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to play myself up,” he said. “But it’s true. I know how to treat a woman.”
You met his eyes, but there was nothing reflected there but honesty, earnestness…and maybe a little mischief. But that had been there since you’d asked him out three days ago.
“So…if you were expecting this date to continue past coffee,” you said. “Then what’s next?”
“I thought maybe a movie,” he said. “And if it’s not too forward, and you feel up to it, dinner.”
You cocked your head to the side. “Where? Enzo’s?”
“A classic,” he said, pointing to you with both hands. “But no. Um… my place. I like to cook.”
You couldn’t help it—you stared at him. A man offering to cook you dinner at his home on your first date—when your first date was only supposed to be coffee? Who was this guy? How could he have done such a 180 since high school?
Unless your read on him had been completely wrong.
…
No fucking way.
&&
He hadn’t even made a pass at you at the movies. He’d sat with his hands in his lap the whole time, until you reached over and took his hand in yours, because it felt right and also your hands were a little cold. You cradled his large hand in both of yours, letting his skin warm your own, smiling a little when you glanced over at him the same moment he chanced a look at you. This wasn’t what you’d expected when you’d asked him out. Though, now that it was happening, you had no idea what you had expected. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t actually liking him enough to consider going to his house and letting him cook you dinner.
The drive to his apartment was a little longer than you expected—he lived a bit out of town, on the edge of Hawkins, in a quiet building that he said was way better than he’d thought when he first started renting. No pets, no kids—he was the youngest tenant, at least that he was aware of—and when he brought you up to his unit, you were just a little charmed.
It was sparsely decorated, but cozy; very much a bachelor pad, but quaint. He took your coat and gestured to where you could kick your shoes, padding into the kitchen in his socked feet, so you followed. He refused to let you help him in the kitchen, so you hopped up on the far end of the counter to watch him cut vegetables and season chicken, measure out rice and water, and then cross over to the fridge.
“Wine?” he asked, and you laughed at him this time—finally, your turn to laugh at someone.
“Wine?” you countered. “You had wine?”
Steve shook his head. “I bought wine.”
“You bought wine, for this?” you specified.
“Yeah.”
“So you expected me to come back here with you.”
And the mischief returned to his eyes. “Well, kind. Like I said, dates with me usually—” he said, but you cut him off.
“You are such a cocky son of a bitch.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I mean…” He laughed, shrugging like it simply couldn’t be helped. “Like I said—the other time, I mean—I know how to treat a woman.”
You hesitated, because this could go one of two ways. The way your brain was telling it to go: Where you laughed it off, ate dinner, and asked him to drive you home after.
But the way you were leaning toward was the way your body wanted it to go. And that was what you went with.
“Prove it, then,” you said. And the mischief in his eyes gave way to something a little harder, a little more raw. A challenge, rising to the one you’d just given him.
“Well, if you want me to.”
“I do,” you said.
And your smirk matched his.
&&
Dinner was, unfortunately, delicious and he knew it. Everything about him had surprised you, so when he cleared the table, turned to face you at the sink, and met your eyes, you knew you were in for another surprise, though just what it would be—you weren’t sure yet.
You stood to meet him as he crossed the room back over to you, eyes half-lidded as he approached, and then he had an arm looped around your waist. He tugged you close, your hips against his, and he was holding you in such a way that, even though he was soft, you could still feel the thick line of his cock against your thigh.
“Still want me to prove it?”
And it was like night and day. The kind, somewhat bubbly Steve had been changed out for—whatever this version of him was. He wasn’t cocky. He was confident. Not smug; self-assured.
Not vain.
Just sure.
“Yes,” you said, already losing yourself in the headiness of his stare.
“This way,” he replied, guiding you with his arm still around you, down the short hall to his bedroom.
It was, in the most obvious ways, a guy’s bedroom. Cologne on the dresser, a few discarded ties beside them. One of the bifold closet doors stood open. The bed was made, but messily, like he’d just thrown the duvet back over the sheets without a care.
Steve stepped around you, turning the bed back down, then gesturing for you to follow him; you did. He leaned in close to you, and you turned your face toward his, and his lips met yours because he could tell that was what you wanted.
You melted into the kiss right away, his arms moving around you again, pulling you close again, your front flush with his as he pressed a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your clothed pussy as he licked the seam of your lips. You let him in with a sigh, and his hands moved over your back, tugging your shirt up with them as they did.
Steve undressed you slowly, his mouth exploring every inch of skin that he revealed as he took your clothes off, lips trailing over your stomach and your chest and then your thighs, lingering a moment with his nose against the front of your panties, tipping his chin forward to lick at you through the thin fabric covering you, sucking at you through your underwear.
“Steve,” you gasped, and he looked up at you, the same glint of trouble back in his eyes.
“Lie down,” he said, and you fell back from him, sitting on the edge of his bed, before you scooted yourself back, reclining on the pillows.
A smile spread across his lips as you did what he told you, and then he was bent over you, licking back into your mouth as his hand explored down your front, kissing you gently, his fingertips pressing between your legs, against your heat as you whimpered softly against his lips.
“This ok?” he asked, and you nodded. “Need an answer.”
“Yes,” you replied, and you felt him smile against your mouth.
“Good girl,” he whispered, at the same moment he slipped his hand inside your panties, not from the waistband but from the side, just pushing the gusset over and letting his fingers slide through your folds.
“Steve,” you said, a little confused at how good you felt at being praised for doing next to nothing, just giving him permission—but also beyond aroused. He was clothed—you weren’t—and he hadn’t even taken your underwear off before he started fingering you.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked, and you looked down at him, your hands moving over your front, not sure where to keep them.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding.
He leaned in closer to you, his fingers moving over your clit now, rubbing it in wet circles. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and you shivered.
“Can I spank your pretty little pussy?”
You looked over at him, shocked—you’d never expected him to speak to you that way, but at the same time…
“...Yeah,” you replied.
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
You licked your lip, tongue also brushing over his as you did. “Yeah.”
He kissed you, almost as thanks, and then spoke against your lips, asking you another question. “How do good girls ask for something they want?”
“Steve,” you said, almost indignant.
Immediately, he broke character. “Too much?”
You almost laughed, his hand stilling between your legs—because of course he wasn’t just secretly the sexiest man alive. Or was he?
You shook the thought from your mind. “No, it’s—um, no it’s not too much.”
“We can stop.”
That, you did laugh at. “Your fingers are inside me,” you said, and he pulled them out.
“I just—I,” you said, taking a deep breath as you trailed off. “I didn’t know… I would like it.”
“I should have—explained better.”
“You should have explained at all,” you said. “But…I was enjoying it.”
He paused, cocked his head a little to the side. “Ok. If you want to stop, we’ll stop.” He kissed you again. “So—how do good girls ask for something they want?”
You giggled nervously, still not quite back in it yet, not like he was. “Jesus, I never thought I’d—like that.”
He didn’t laugh, he just looked down at you, waiting for an answer, and kept his hand over your cunt, your underwear pushed to one side, half of your pussy exposed, the other hidden beneath fabric.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you spoke. “Please.”
“Please what?” Steve prompted you.
A shaky breath from you, and then—“Please sp-spank my,” you said, voice low. “Pussy.”
“Good girl,” Steve said, and lifted his hand before bringing it right back down onto your cunt, not hard, but enough to make your body twitch at the feeling of it, his fingers landing right where he wanted them despite the fact that he didn’t look away from your face.
“Oh my god,” you uttered, and he leaned in to kiss you, swallowing your sighs and whimpers as he lifted his hand and did it again, this time a touch harder, and you moaned into his mouth, desperate. You tried to spread your legs farther apart, and when Steve felt that he had more room—because he hadn’t broken eye contact, still—he rubbed his hand over your whole mound, tugging your underwear even further to the side, exposing your labia entirely.
“You want more?” he asked, his hand still moving over your whole cunt, his middle and ring fingers in between your lips, pinky and index on the outside.
“Yes,” you said, then added on, “please.”
Steve took your lips in another kiss and spanked your pussy again, breathing in each whine and moan you loosed for him, muttering how good you were being, just for him, what a good girl you were, and every time he said that to you, you felt your cunt clench down on nothing.
“Would you,” you breathed, “Steve, would you—go inside me, again, please?” He pulled back. “Please.”
He pulled back from you entirely, wiping his fingers on your underwear leaving you on the bed as he rolled to stand up. “Since you asked like such a good girl,” he said, and curled his fingers into your underwear, sliding them down your legs, over your thighs and knees and calves, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. “Just be patient,” he said, caressing the side of your face with the hand that had just been inside you; it made you shudder, especially as he trailed his fingertips across your lips, your scent and your fluids still clinging to him.
“Fuck,” you muttered, as he dug around in the bedside table for a condom, handing it to you as he untucked his shirt, undid his belt and slid it from the loops. He slipped the button of his jeans, tugged down the zipper; you watched, worrying the corner of the condom wrapper between your fingers, as he pushed his jeans and briefs down just enough to get his cock out. He was already hard, and your mouth watered at the sight of him, wanting to taste him, feel him—you were so wrapped up in him now, that yes—you wanted to be a good girl for him and make him feel good the way he’d made you feel good.
But that, maybe, was for another time, because he clambered onto the bed to settle between your legs, and looked at you expectantly. You tore the condom wrapper, rolling the rubber onto him and then settled back against the pillows, looking up for him, reaching up toward him, feeling even more exposed since he was still clothed and you weren’t, his shirt pulled up just enough that you could see his stomach, some of the hair on his torso, and his pants pushed down to allow part of his thighs to be visible. His cock was hot and heavy in your hands, twitching a little as you touched him, stroking him with both hands through the condom, fingertips trailing over his length and then he was surging forward to kiss you again, and you were guiding his cock to your dripping slit, and he was pushing into you and you were moaning into his mouth and he was moaning back into yours and your tongues were moving together and he was biting at your lower lip and then he was fully sheathed in you and you shuddered.
“Steve,” you simpered against his lips, and he met your eyes, his hands gentle on you as he held you in place, pulling out and fucking back in roughly, enough that you moaned brokenly, wanton, your voice cracking. “Fuck—yes, yes, ok, oh my god.” Your body took him in as he fucked you, quick, hard, the bed creaking underneath you as you clung to him, your hands tangling into the front of his shirt before you took it upon yourself to push it up as far as you could, up to his underarms, letting your hands explore his front, threading through the hair on his chest, skimming over his nipples, his own whimpers landing on your tongue as you touched him everywhere you could.
“Being so good for me,” Steve muttered, “right?”
“Yes,” you answered him, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts, wanting to feel him as deep as you possibly could, beyond aroused at the way he kept calling you a good girl, his good girl. He’d completely won you over, and it was in the basest, sickest way possible, and you still loved it.
“Say it,” he said, and you didn’t play coy, didn’t fuck around—you did what he told you.
“I’m your good girl,” you said, and he nodded, keeping his eyes on yours, making everything all the more intense—the eye contact, his hands on you, your hands on him, the wet slide of his cock into your pussy, the slap of his hips against yours as your body opened for him, as your walls clenched down on him each time his cock pressed back against them. “Please you—say it too?”
Steve laughed, not derisively, but like you were finally getting it, finally understanding his reputation, how he treated women. “You’re so good, baby,” he said. “So good for me. Good girl.” He kissed you again. “My good girl, right? All mine?”
You weren’t—but god, weren’t you?
“Yes,” you moaned, nodding, sucking his tongue when he kissed you again. “Would you—” you started to ask, gasping instead of finishing the question.
“Would I what?” he asked, fucking into you and then holding there, keeping you poised on his cock, his length stretching you around him.
“Touch me,” you finished, and he broke the eye contact for the first time, glancing down between your bodies, where he was disappearing into you, at where your swollen clit was hidden, nestled between your lips.
“For you?” he said. “Anything.”
You arched up off the bed as he ran his fingers back down through your folds, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing over it in small circles.
“How do you like it? Like this?” He changed to move up and down, a straight line. “This, maybe?”
Inside you, his cock throbbed, your walls fluttered.
“Maybe this?” He changed, not a circle again but a longer oval, adding a bit of depth to just moving his fingers back and forth.
“Yes, yeah, yeah—that,” you nodded, and he smirked, continuing what he’d been doing.
“Are you close?” he asked, and you nodded again.
“Please,” you said, answering his next question before he even asked it.
“So good,” he muttered against your lips, lowering himself down onto you as he kept touching yout clit, kissing you deeply as he started fucking into you again, longer, drawn out thrusts this time, slow, earthshaking. You were about to snap, and he knew it. “Be a good girl and come when I tell you to, ok?”
“Ok,” you agreed, though you had no idea if you could even hold back.
“You gonna come?” he asked, not quite taunting you, but almost.
“Yeah,” you said, head a little fuzzy with it, ready to come, trying to keep yourself steady.
“Not yet,” Steve said, slowing his hand on your clit, but keeping the pattern the same. Just below, he was still fucking you languidly, deep, feeling every bit of you tighten around him. “Not yet.”
“Steve—” you squeaked out, because you were right on the edge, right there and fucking ready.
He said nothing, just kept moving, kept feeling your body milking it from him, and it was when he finished, filling the condom inside you, snapping his hips forward into you and burying his cock into you as far as he possibly could, he managed to mutter, “Go ‘head, good girl,” and you were finished too.
Your tensed muscles all released at once and your back arched up into Steve, fingernails cutting half-moons into his arms as you spasmed around his cock, your clit jumping beneath his fingers, swollen and sensitive, your breath catching in your lungs as your body forgot, momentarily, how to inhale, and when he pulled out of you, you were still shaking with it, still feeling it, the muscles in your legs twitching, your fingers shaking, and then Steve was laying beside you, kissing you eagerly, his hand rubbing your cunt through the aftershocks.
“You ok?” he asked, his nose against your cheek.
“Yeah,” you sighed, relaxing back into the pillow.
“Gonna get you some water,” he said, kissing your temple. He was back before you really even came down from your afterglow, and as you took the cup from him, sipping it, he took off his shirt and jeans, but left his briefs on as he settled down beside you.
“So what the fuck was that, Harrington?” you asked, almost laughing.
“The right way to treat a woman,” he said, and you gave him a sidelong look at which he just grinned.
“You need to learn to ask about boundaries,” you said, almost scolding him.
“You are… right,” he conceded.
“Maybe next time I’ll need to slap some sense into you…down there,” you said, pointing to his cock, flagging inside his underwear, but still tenting them a little.
Steve looked over at you, holding eye contact, just as intensely as he had all evening. Then, a grin split his face.
Sheltered farmboy Clark hates doggy with a passion. He thinks it’s degrading to women, and he hates it because he can’t see your pretty face. He wants to see your hazy eyes after a good fuck, wants to kiss you when he cums.
But you beg and plead and even cry. He trusted you for everything else, why not this?! You even give him the silent treatment for exactly 18 minutes. That’s enough to break him.
So Clark bends you over on your bed, apologizing profusely. His mama would smack him over the head for treating his girl like this. But he can’t deny how good you look, ass perked up in the air. You wiggle impatiently too.
Clark can see everything as he nudges your lips apart with the tip, how it glistens with each pass. He can watch as he slowly presses in, your puffy pussy struggling to take every thick inch. Your cute hole back there winks back at him too.
Clark settles his hands on your waist, slowly pushing into you. You gasp at the feeling; he’s so thick and long, and this position has him in your lungs. But when you nod weakly and tell him to move, all that blurs along with your vision.
It’s perfect, the angle hitting the right spots just enough to have you keening. You push back against his every thrust, your pussy soaking everything. There’s soft little plaps as his balls smack against your clit, and each one has your breath catching. Clark shifts his angle, just to get a better seat on his knees.
“Right there!” You cry out in a strangled whimper. You can feel his tip pressing on a new spot, right against the back. You go boneless and collapse face first. “There, Clarkie!”
Your desperate whimper has Clark whimpering too,. You can feel his hands tight on your waist, bringing you back. Clark’s staring at that little frothy ring around the base of his cock, and something snaps. He goes harder, knocking each whimper out of you with a groan of his own. Clark’s hand drifts to your clit, rubbing soft circles and sending you flying into your orgasm. Usually this is when Clark would stop .
But Clark’s too entranced with how your pussy nearly refuses to let go as he pulls back. He’ll even brush a thumb over your spread folds, and come at the sight of your pussy fluttering.
Later, when you’re spent with his seed dripping outof you, Clark will fuss over you. He’ll apologize for going too hard and too long.
“Next time, pull my hair,” You mumble .
Clark turns bright red at that, and protests amidst gasps and sputters. But the twitch of his cock against his thigh means you’ll get your way once again.
steve had been going at it for hours, it felt like, strong thrusts turning into puppy ruts as he fucked into you. your pussy squelched and sucked him in, making it clearly difficult for him to stop. his low moans turned into whines as he fucked himself towards his third orgasm. your body started to ache everywhere under him, legs feeling like putty as they went limp around his waist. steve, on the other hand, showed off his undeniable strength as he hovered over you without so much of a wiggle. you mewled as he hit that sweet spot over and over again, nearly making you black out. he brought a hand down to your clit and furiously rubbed circles on your clit, sticky arousal making it easier for him to maneuver your pussy. you clenched around him with a plea, begging him to go easy, “steve fuck–i can’t ‘s too much.” the bed shakes as he moves you around like a rag doll, bringing you closer and swinging your leg over his shoulder, all without pulling out. faux sympathy spreads from his face to his tone as he pouts before cooing at you, “that’s too bad, cause i haven’t cum, and i know this pretty pussy isn’t done with me yet. you can take it, i know it, so be a big girl.” he leaves no room for complaints or talk back as he fucks you like nothing happened, like you weren’t a few thrusts away from blacking out. the time to dwell escaped you as he leaned down to kiss you, whispering how good you were for him between smooches. soothing you enough so you wouldn’t utter a word until you were making a mess on his dick.
Summary: Scott has something way better than those cherry suckers you’re obsessed with. Shame you’re such a sweetheart.
Pls take my phone away GSGSG
Contents : Reader is aware of sex ! But a virgin , AGE GAP! (Reader is 23. Scott is 30) , Mentions of corruption . Jerking off, oral fixation, PERVY GENTLE MANIPULATIVE SCOTT , Blowjob, facefuck , praise , degrading. Inappropriate use of a lollipop?? , swearing , implied training ???, use of the nickname “kid ,baby”
( if I’m missing anything else I beg you let me know cuz this One is a LOT and I’m still new to writing on here IM SCARED TO POST THIS ONE)
Word count 2.6k
INCLUDES SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW THE CUT
MDNI
🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆ 🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆
You were 23 and still new to storm par team, you were the biggest sweetheart there was. Everyone on the team knew that. Always so friendly , happy to help , incredibly fucking smart (most of the time) and always had a cherry sucker between your lips.
Javi and Kate noticed. But said nothing about it , Scott on the other hand picked up on it real fast., after all he had practically been mentoring you.
You were sat at your desk reading over storm data from the last few chases , sucker already in your mouth humming softly minding your own business. Scott comes over chewing his gum as always arms crossed. You thought he was attractive. But you were a rookie and he was older.
"Whatcha got there kid?, you always got one of them huh?" His voice was almost taunting and sickly. But you hardly noticed pulling the sucker from your mouth , it was oozing slightly from your spit and something darkens in his eyes.
"Cherry!! S'good, I like having something to keep me grounded !! You wanna try?" You offered and he chuckled snapping his gum leaning forward to ruffle your hair. "No no you enjoy that kid, keep up the good work on the data f'me!"
"Oh! Okay! Thanks Scott" Him being nice was weird. He was an asshole to everyone else. "Where'd you get em?" He asks almost plotting something.
"Oh! This gas station downtown ! The one by the Bar our team goes to!" He had already made a mental note.
Every time he saw you with one of those stupid cherry suckers. He wound up in his motel room at night jerking off to the thought of you and how you would look sucking on his dick. It was disgusting. Part of him felt disgusting. He was 30. You were 23 all doe eyed. But fuck you were so fucking innocent. So that night when he once again came into his hand and all over his chest? He rapidly scrambles to grab his phone and find that gas station. He was already in his van.
The next day you were back to your sweetheart self helping him out with the equipment for the next upcoming Chase , he knew exactly what he was about to do. "Hey kid!" He calls you arms crossed and you turn around and look up at him heart racing a little at how he towers over you.
"Hi! What's up" You beamed at him and watch as he pulls something out of his pocket and passes it over to you.
"You've not got one in your mouth! Can't have that can we?" He chuckles and you raise an eyebrow at him unwrapping it.
"Did you go to the gas station" You tilt your head at him confused and he nods really smug "yeah! Gotta make sure our favourite girl has a backup sucker, you did good today " He ruffles your hair and watches you put it into your mouth with a soft sweet hum.
"Thanks Scott" You beamed and Javi raises an eyebrow at him to which he gets flipped off. He knew you were innocent. But what's the harm, he sees the way you look at him with those sweet little doe eyes. Oh he was absolutely determined to ruin you by using that oral fixation against you.
And so it went on over the next few days. You did something good? Predicted something with the storm? , He would instantly pull out a cherry sucker and ruffle your hair. Javi had even pulled him over about it.
"Scott! Quit training the rookie like a fucking dog! What the hell man?" Scott just scoffs with that signature grin chewing his gum .. straightening his cap back to that asshole tone.
"The fuck are you talking about Javi! I'm just trying to make her comfy. She said she likes having something to keep her grounded. So I got her more? Gotta keep our star girl focused right?" Oh he was such a bastard and he knew it.
"Keep her grounded ? The fuck are you talking about" Javi wasn't backing down on this one. But Scott had all the right cards to play.
"Look at it this way Javi .. it's like me and my gum chewing habit.. , for her it's her suckers... just trying to be the nice guy s'all" And Javi raises an eyebrow once more.
"I suppose that makes sense. But just be careful with her man, she's younger than you. Don't give her the wrong idea." But Scott knew. It was way too fucking late for that. Even you had started to notice how he looks at YOU. Or maybe. He was just being nice to you .. right?
A few days later you were sat with Kate after a chase reading over data once again when you hear someone clear his throat and you knew it was Scott.
"Hey kid! Can I have a word?" You instantly stood up and followed him. Heart racing. What if you did something wrong. What if you broke some of the equipment?? That shit was so expensive. He guided you to the back office where he stayed and you panicked.
"Wait! I thought you said rookies couldn't go in here. Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble, am I going to be in trouble for coming in here?" Cheeks flushed Red and the low chuckle leaves his throat so fast looking at you.
"Not at all kid, I said you could come in here because I need a word , don't worry your pretty little mind about it Kay?" He places a hand on your back guiding you into the room closing the door and locking it behind him.
You stood practically shaking in your boots face red as you fidget with your hands. Being alone with him on top of the stress of whatever was about to happen had you hot.
"Scottamigettingfired" you asked so fast to be met with his deep laugh again and shakes his head "kid i already told you! You're not in trouble, here quit stressin!" He passes you a sucker from his pocket and you carefully unwrap it placing it between your lips. His eyes don't leave your face.
He sits on his desk chair spreading his legs slightly and you stand still waiting to be scolded by him despite him saying you weren't going to be.
"Just wanna say you've been doing a real good job for us kid..heck! You're still new but it's like you've been here forever , you catch on fast and we're all grateful to have you on the team s'all" he twiddles his thumbs chewing his gum more.
You went even more red in the face and oh he was loving it. Watching you stood there quivering in your boots getting all shy. "Oh! Thank you sc..Scott! I'm trying my best" You beam still swirling on the sucker. Oh he was a filthy bastard for getting hard over this.
"However .. there's something I want to discuss with you kid ..." Oh you were fucking done for.
A soft gulp and you look at him with sweet eyes.
He uses his fingers to gesture you to come closer so you do until you're almost standing between his legs.
"Need you to be real honest with me here , because I've noticed some things ... and I think you might have a little crush on me.. is that right?" His voice is taunting and you could've asked the ground to swallow you at that very moment.
"W..what! I- but-" you stammered out but he interrupts you "cmon.. you're good.. need your honesty baby" He tilts his head now trying to hold back a smug grin taking the sucker out of your mouth.
"I.. I maybe.. a little ! Yes!" Your heart was pounding out of your chest and his smug grin slips through slightly his gum in the corner of his mouth as he chews it , he gently pulls you between his legs. He places the sucker back in your mouth.
"Well baby I think you're real pretty too.. but .. you know I'm older right ? Wouldn't want you thinkin im taking advantage of you... you don't think that do you?" He hums brushing his thumb across your wrist
You rapidly shake your head sucker still in your mouth.
"Good.. you ever been with anyone baby?" He asks and again you shake your head. "No! Never Uhm.."
Oh he was getting more smug by the minute. Not to mention his dick bulging out of his pants. He was disgusting.
"Hm... ever done anything with anyone baby?" He coos hands now stroking your hips gently and again a shake of the head.
"I.ive kissed someone ! Wanted to focus on studies and and meteorology ! And too shy to.." He was like the cat that got the fucking cream.
"Good girl ! Really are a fucking star aren't you? You wanna sit on my lap baby? Be more comfy for you?" And the panic is back "aren't I gonna get in trouble with everyone?I don't wanna get in trouble" another shake of his head and a soft tut noise.
"Baby you don't gotta do anything, you're not in trouble. I'm asking you for consent. No harm in that?" And it works a fucking treat. "Yes please" He allows you to straddle him and you go red feeling him hard against you.
"Now.. can I kiss that pretty fucking mouth or is it too busy sucking on that hmm?" He taunts and you slowly take out the sucker before leaning down to kiss him, the taste of the cherry mixing with his spearmint , it was like fire to the fuel and he was going to take it all.
He slowly grabs your hips rocking them against his hardened clothed dick making you whine into his mouth and he glides his tongue into your mouth swallowing every noise.
When you pull away you were red in the face. Throbbing between your legs and look at him even more shy.
"Baby, I know you said you've never done anything with anyone.. wanna try something f''me... ? A blowjob?" You were redder than the sucker and nod again.
"No no.. come on kid.. need words. Don't want cha thinking I'm corrupting you" but he was. That was the thing. "Wanna try it!" You squeaked out. You were more eager for his praise that felt so wrong but so comforting.
"Atta girl! Get on your knees for me" He ruffles your hair the second you get on your knees and he undoes his belt , you still had your sucker put back in your mouth nervously and he makes another tsk noise taking it from your mouth and placing it in his own.
"No need for that baby. Got something better to put in your pretty mouth.. and Fucking hell i can see why you like them" He takes his dick out watching your eyes widen even more, He was big. Especially considering this was the first dick you had actively been in front of.
"You okay baby, you can back out if you want.. you scared ?" He chuckles gently sucking on your cherry sucker and reaching his hand down to lift your chin brushing your cheek gently.
Another shake of your head , your heart thumping and pussy throbbing. "No! No! S.. just.. big!" You giggle shyly and his head falls back with a gentle laugh as he starts stroking his dick slowly.
"Baby you've chased tornadoes bigger than this and you're scared of my dick? God what the fuck am I gonna do with you" He suddenly pulls the sucker from his mouth dragging the sweet sugar across his tip coaxing it.
"There y'go baby.. now it'll be familiar for ya, put your pretty mouth around it. He coos tauntingly at you. So you hesitate.
"S'gonna be sticky" you whine softly and his voice is low "so make it even stickier for me baby" you gulp slowly wrapping your mouth around his swollen sticky oozing tip humming at the taste of the sweet cherry mixed with his salty precum earning a deep groan from him only confirming you were doing this right as he throws his head back.
Your confident grew slowly bobbing your head and taking him a little deeper into your mouth whimpering slightly and he's groaning more looking at you , Jesus he almost came at the sight.
"Fuckin hell baby! Sure you've never done this before ?" A flutter of your eyes and your shaky hands wrap around him stroking as you bob your head.
"Oh you fucking slutty little star .. such a fucking star , making me so happy" He groans even more slightly pushing down on your head making you gag around his size in your throat , a deep breath through your nose and you hallow your mouth for him.
He carefully pulls you off for a moment watching the spit slobbering with his precum stringing from your mouth shoving the sucker in your mouth smearing it with precum rubbing it back on his tip before putting it back In his mouth.
"Mind if I try something baby? S'okay if you don't like it just tap my thigh f'me?" He coos.
"O.of course!" You gasp for air but nod at him. He pushes himself back into your mouth and grabs the sides of your head fucking up into your mouth making you gag around him , the sound was vulgar and you look up at him, pussy throbbing brutally. You breathe through your nose as your eyes water.
"Fuckin hell! S'good baby! Oh fuck you're so good. Fucking state of you." He grunts fucking into your mouth more watching spit slobbering around your mouth getting messier by the second. He bit down on the sucker completely crushing it and his eyes roll back.
"You look so much fucking better with my dick in your mouth" He was getting closer. He was making a fucking mess of you. You hum and whimper gagging around him , your shaky hands reaching out to massage his balls and he's grunting like a wild animal.
"FUCK- baby I'm gonna cum down you- " He can hardly finish spluttering ropes of cum down your throat keeping your head pushed down.
After a few moments he allows you to pull your mouth off watching you and your sweet little gasps.
"Did so good f'me kid..,, clean Scotty up a little?" He coos with a smug grin. So you slowly lick the tip again licking some of the cum off looking at him, he reaches his thumb down wiping your mouth before pushing his thumb inside your mouth letting you suck it slowly.
“You’re act pretty slutty for someone who’s so fuckin sweet huh?” He taunts pulling you up into a kiss , he tastes himself on your tongue along with the cherry sucker. “You okay kid? You did good” he murmurs against your swollen lips.
“I’m okay!” You smile sweetly and he stands up towering over you again.
“Good good. Hey uhm .. keep this on the low yeah? Im already in trouble with Javi , he thinks im training you or some shit” he snorts and you shake your head at him.
“No! You’re just being nice! Didn’t have to get me suckers!” Oh you were so fucking stupid.
“If you want I can slip you my motel key later …. Can give you a little something back for being so good for me?” He says as he’s crouching down a little for you kissing your forehead.
“Yeah sounds great Scott!” You smile at him oh so sweetly. Until he calls you again.
“Kid Wait a sec!” You turn around. And the bastard pulls out a sucker from his pocket and takes the wrapper off putting it in your mouth for you.
A ruffle of your hair again.
“Atta girl, need that to keep you focused and ready for the next chase okay?”
🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆ 🍒 ☆🍒 ☆🍒 ☆
Yeah I’m going to hell for this.
HI! as always please let me know what you think !! I’m always terrified of posting HSSGSG
Thank you as always for the support :)) <3 and as always if you wanna be tagged LMK!
hihihi!! i’m gigi!!! i am 19 and im majoring in music performance!
(@/ djotime im coming for ur gig👀)
I love djo!! and all things olivia rodrigo, dominic fike & ethel cain, i honestly love most music as it’s been my hyperfixation since i was practically out of the womb. don’t even get me started on concerts, other than writing they are my past timeee
I also LOVE steve harrington <— clearly as he is pretty much the only character i write for, although on the topic of that im definitely going to start writing more for elliot from euphoria because there are NOT enough fics for my liking and also blonde dominic fike genuinely stopped my world
————————
gigi’s current music recommendations⬇️⬇️
i saw slayyyters coachella set, trust im a changed woman and so i’ve gotten DEEP into her music (im seeing her at leedsfest too!!)
but also staying tried and true to my homegirl ethel cain…this song has been on REPEATTT
this isn’t necessarily an 18+ blog BUT i advise minors to stray away from my nsfw fics, there are warnings!!
i’m lowkey the most bipolar when it comes to writing SORRY! (i’m always busy with work and uni but trying to write as often as i can—) and so yes a lot of these are still WIP and there aren’t many fics BUT i figured i may as well make a masterlist for the future stuff that’s to come👀👀—> and to keep everything in one spot
requests are open!!
———————
series::
love like it’s ending (WIP…) — stranger things rewrite, henderson!reader x steve harrington, SLOWburn, enemies to lovers, smut to come
wc:: 36.5k
dorm 218 (COMPLETE) (18+) — shorttt series, stranger things college au, king/frat!steve harrington x reader, car sex, unprotected piv
wc:: 19.1k
the first rule (ONGOING) — stranger things x society au, summer camp aesthetic, king!steve harrington x reader kinda?, enemies to lovers, yellowjackets vibe if you squint, future smut
wc:: 5.1k
———————
oneshots::
gator girl (18+) — gator tillman x stripper!reader, angst, slowburn, there’s a lot of dirty ass smut in this so just click on your own discretion
wc:: 11k
just play along (18+) — steve harrington x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, cute clay date, unprotected piv, virginity loss, all that good stuff, fluff y aftercare
wc:: 6.9k
to be close (18+) — season 5 spoilers!! steve harrington x wheeler!reader, unprotected piv, cockwarming, emotions, brief fingering
wc:: 1.9k
still the one (REQ) — steve harrington x reader, angst, fluff, near death, intimacy
wc:: 2.1k
bah humbug — steve harrington x grinchy!reader, fluff, treefarming, just cute christmas vibes
wc:: 1.9k
landslide — season 5 spoilers!! steve harrington x pregnant!reader, FLUFF, one nsfw mention, kissing
wc:: 2.3k
keep them on (REQ) (18+) pt2 — sub!steve harrington x softdom!reader, freaky as lord (just check content warnings), mmmm sexy teacher steve with his reading glasses on
wc:: 2.2k
your kidding right? (18+) — is this kind of a crazy plot twist because wdym i’m not writing this for steve, UGH I LOVE ELLIOT FROM EUPHORIA and he needs more fics sorry lock in… high smuttttt, childhood best friends
intimacy and fragility (OTW) (18+) - eddie munson x henderson!reader, injury detail, unconfessed feelings, unprotected piv, riding, soft sex
silver spoon(OTW) - steve harrington x reader, angst, pregnancy mention, talks about future, childhood trauma and neglect, cute resolution
summary: gator's sick of people pushing him about settling down. you'd understand a little better if he didn't take it out on you. and, well, if there's one thing the two of you know how to do, it's have a good fight-- and it's a good thing gator always knows how to make it up to you.
tags/warnings: gator x reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, suggestive content, grumpy x sunshine, hurt/comfort, possessive!gator, domestic!gator, manhandling, elements of casual sub/dom, overuse of pet names (baby, doll, mama), couple fights, drinking, unpacking trauma, gator is a sweetie but he still got issues, but lowk so do you, let's yell at each other with mama!
wc: 6.6k
---
You’re sitting at a picnic bench outside your church, and the bridge ladies won’t quit jabbering.
The coffee hour has been moved outside to take advantage of the spring sun, and a balmy wind is kicking up napkins and delighting screaming kids across the grassy expanse. You’re really only here to maintain appearances, donate some baked goods, and chat with the few parishioners you can actually stand. Church isn’t really something you love– at least here in North Dakota. It’s something you do for your boyfriend’s benefit, at his dad’s insistence, and because in some ways, as Gator’s girlfriend, it matters what these people think of you.
You smile politely as the women drone on about neighborhood gossip and recipes they simply have to send you and how they dropped off a snickers salad for the preacher’s wife last night ‘cause she’s had so much trouble cookin’ lately. They’re old women, and they’re multitasking between their card game and keeping you shackled to their conversation. It’s like this every Sunday they can get their hands on you.
Sometimes you think it’s no wonder you and Gator were drawn to each other– despite how much better you mask it in public, you both share the affliction of being easily frustrated by nosy small-town people who won’t shut their traps. And speaking of your boyfriend…
Gator seems trapped in a dialogue of his own across the lawn, Roy standing before him, so clearly laying another lecture onto his son’s shoulders. Gator squirms like a kid when his dad yells at him, and you can see it now, that lack of attention span from the ADHD you keep telling him to get tested for driving Roy even crazier than he already is. Finally, Roy makes his point and relents, and Gator makes his way across the lawn toward you, the set of his shoulders still tense.
“Hey, baby,” he mumbles as he nears, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He smiles tightly and nods to the bridge ladies, who coo over his arrival, and slides onto the bench beside you, straddling it to face you. One of his hands goes immediately to your lower back like he needs the contact, or maybe an excuse to cop a feel in the modest sundress you’ve donned for church today.
“Gator, honey,” one of the ladies– Mrs. Pearson, whose husband runs the hardware store near the diner where you work– greets him. “We were just tellin’ your little missus here ‘bout some recipes she should get her hands on.”
Gator nods and doesn’t reply further, unamused. You press your thigh into his leg, telling him silently to play nice. You know he’s only over here because you are, and that he’d always rather be long gone once the church service ends, but this is what it takes to be a part of a community, and even grudgingly, he knows that. Still, his constant frustration with these people is part of the reason they’ve always liked you more than they like him. He is the town bully who barely grew out of it, still brash and impulsive and rude at times, still hiding that sweetness behind his tough-guy face except when it comes to you. You are the town darling, the one who runs Sunday school when the preacher’s daughter can’t, the model future wife for the sheriff’s son. You always wear your church skirts to your knees, and from your pretty smile, no one can tell it’s Gator who’ll bunch them up to your waist when he bends you over later.
“She’s such a nice girl,” one of the other ladies croons, smiling widely at you. There’s pink lipstick on her teeth. “You know she’ll do a bang-up job as your little wife, mister.”
“That’s right!” Another one chimes in, placing down a card with a wrinkled hand. “I mean, geez Louise, forget about the cookin’! She’ll have that house spick and spam for ya, isn’t that right, sweetiepie?”
You laugh indulgently, although everything in you wants to roll your eyes and find a way to escape this table. Sure, you can cook, and you’ve always kept the house far cleaner than Gator cares to, but you don’t need these women telling him that. If he hasn’t figured out the virtues of keeping you around already, he’s certainly not gonna listen to them tell it.
“I’d say, with how handsome a couple you two are, you’d better get movin’ on those little ones!” Mrs. Pearson adds.
“Little ones?” Gator repeats flatly, and you step on his toe under the table.
“Well, I betcha your daddy wants another baby in the family soon,” Mrs. Pearson explains laughingly, then leans over to touch your cheek. “It’d be a shame to waste those cheekbones, anyway. You two better get crackin’ on those kids before the sheriff has to tell ya to!”
You hear more than see Gator’s jaw grind. He opens his mouth to say something you’re sure won’t be too flattering, but you cut in before he can, slipping your hand over his on his thigh. “You know, you ladies are too right. In fact, I think we’ve got a little business to attend to at home, come to think of it. Can’t let that house go too long without a cleaning, can we?”
The ladies laugh at the scandalous joke, waving you off.
“You kids!” Mrs. Pearson smiles. “Go, enjoy the day, sweeties!”
You rise to your feet, smiling back at them, and pull Gator up by the hand, dragging him away from the table before he can say something the both of you will regret. He follows behind you, one of his hands sliding over your waist as you cross the grass again. You can tell he’s angry by how quiet he’s gone, the way he tugs at the collar of his crisp black button-up.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he mutters in your ear. “You put in your damn time.”
“Let me grab my purse,” you tell him gently, smoothing a hand down his chest— already having guessed from his mood you’d be taking off early. “You grab the tupperware from the scones, and I’ll meet you by the truck.”
“Don’t stop to chat,” he says gruffly, hand tightening on your waist. “I’ll blow my brains out if Mrs. Pearson finds me again.”
You bite back a smile and kiss his cheek, heading off swiftly to gather the rest of your belongings.
You intercept him on the way back, two more of his shirt buttons already undone and his sleeves pushed up to the elbow. You slip your hand into his as you walk back through the parking lot together, not daring to check behind you to see if anyone’s noticed your early exit.
Gator opens your door for you and waits for you to get in, a muscle in his jaw twitching. You worry about that expression on him– about what his father might have said to him to get him so fired up.
It’s only when you’re speeding back down the dirt road from the church that you finally ask, reaching over and squeezing his arm as you do.
“Gate.”
“Hm?” he replies, eyes on the road.
You keep your hand on his forearm, thumb brushing up and down
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’,” he mutters.
You snort. “Convincing.”
He shoots you a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. “Will you leave me alone, woman?”
You roll your eyes, removing your hand and shifting back to your side of the car with a quiet sigh. When he gets grumpy like this, you’ve found over the years it’s best to just leave him to mope.
You drive in silence for a while, staring out the windshield and not bothering to keep your face polite. Eventually, you hear Gator muttering to himself, and your attention snags on the noise.
“Nosy old hags.”
“What?” you ask, brow crinkling.
Gator doesn’t repeat himself, but you heard him clearly enough the first time.
“You’re upset about Mrs. Pearson and the ladies?” you surmise, voice flat. For goodness’ sake, he could have just told you that.
“They’re sticking their damn noses where they don’t belong,” he finally snaps, the one hand he has on the steering wheel gripping the leather.
“That’s just what they do, Gator,” you say mildly. “That’s who they are. They gossip about everyone in town, not just us.”
“Yeah, well, they can say what they want about all those other assholes, but not about me ‘n you,” he bites, his jaw ticking again.
You fight another sigh and take his free hand in both of yours, squeezing it. “They’re not being nasty. They’re just old women.”
The words have the opposite of their intended effect of calming him. Gator’s voice rises as he snaps, “Well, what goddamn business of theirs is it when we’re havin’ any fuckin’ kids? We’re not even hitched yet, and they’re breathin’ down our necks.”
You exhale through your nose, wishing silently he wasn’t so sensitive when it came to what other people thought. “Well, when you’ve been together for three years, those are the kind of questions people ask, Gate. Marriage, kids. I mean, we live together, baby. It’s not totally crazy.”
“So you’re on their side, then?” he demands, head whipping between you and the road.
You stare back at him, starting to be irritated. “I’m on your side, always. You know that.”
“Then why are you fuckin’ defending them?”
“I’m just saying they didn’t do anything wrong, Gator,” you huff, withdrawing your hands again. “They’re just nosy. If you don’t wanna hear any gossip, we’re gonna need to find another place to live.”
“Like hell they aren’t doin’ shit wrong,” he fires back at you. “Draggin’ themselves into our business like that, basically asking when I’m finally gonna man up and knock you up–”
“Well, you don’t seem to mind the idea so much when you’re inside me, now do you?” you cut in flatly.
Gator whips his stare to yours. “The hell’s that s’posed to mean?”
You look back at him coolly, your displeasure evident. “I just didn’t think you found the idea of settling down with me so terrible. My mistake.”
“Don’t be like that,” he grunts.
“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Gator?” you challenge him. “You’re practically jumping down my throat for suggesting people aren’t totally crazy when they ask if we’ll ever have kids.”
“They’re not askin’, they’re tellin’.” Gator snaps. “And I’m sorry, but I happen to think a man has a right to privacy ‘bout a few things, and puttin’ a baby in his woman is one of ‘em.”
Your lips tighten, and you look back out the windshield. “How romantic.”
“A man should get to decide when he wants all that shit to happen, alright?” he repeats himself loudly. Y’should get to do it in your own time.”
“Fine,” you cut in, now more than a little pissed with him. “Next time, I’ll just tell sweet old Mrs. Pearson to fuck right off.”
“Now that would be bein’ on my fuckin’ team,” he bites.
You shake your head, knowing arguing with him again about how disagreeing doesn’t diminish how you feel about him would be a moot point. “Whatever.”
“Y’could drop the attitude, you know,” he adds bitterly. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me.”
“Well, I guess I’m not your fuckin’ wife, so there’s no sense in me being all respectful and proper, now is there?” you spit back at him, crossing your arms.
Gator seethes to himself as you pull into your driveway, not looking at each other.
“I’ve got a shift at the diner,” you inform him flatly, jumping down from the truck without waiting for him to open your door for you– something you know full well will piss him off even more. “I’m off at six. Don’t wait on me to eat dinner.”
“Really?” he snaps, following you into the house. “That’s it?”
“Guess so,” you toss over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to actually settle anything, would we?”
Gator lets you slam the door to the bedroom, changing swiftly into your work uniform. As you throw on your clothes, still steaming with anger at your mule-stubborn boyfriend, you can hear him mutter something unflattering at you through the door.
You’re still wearing a frown while pouring coffee three hours later, and nothing at work is helping to lighten your mood.
Two of your regulars have already told you to put a smile on your face, but you can’t help it. You hate fighting with Gator. As much as things have calmed down in recent years between the two of you, as much as you’ve settled into each other and smoothed over so many dangerous cracks, every now and again, something like this will come up and you’ll feel like the two of you are right back to square one.
You move back through the diner and behind the counter again, coffee pot in hand. Your eyes sweep the tables for empty cups, which means you catch it when the door opens and the tiny bell above it rings, announcing the presence of your newest customer just as surely as the heavy tread of his combat boots.
Eyes pointedly cast down, you focus on refilling three more mugs as Gator strides up to the counter, sliding into a barstool and leaning on his elbows over the table.
“Hey, mama,” he greets you, and you can tell from his voice alone he’s already over your fight. He’s grinning, actually, just like he always is when he stops in mid-patrol for a quick pour and a kiss or two from you. He’s always been so good at putting arguments like this behind him– like whatever tiny thing had had him cursing and spitting a few hours ago had faded completely to the back of his mind. You hate that he does that. It’s like he can’t understand how not to move on without resolution.
“Hey, yourself,” you toss back flatly, still not meeting his eyes. You ignore the way he’s clearly leaned toward you and refill the coffee of the customer to his right.
Gator’s eyes track you, scanning over your face. “What, you’re not gonna greet your boyfriend?” he asks, that shit-eating grin still painted on his lips. “Gimme a kiss.”
“I only kiss my boyfriends who are nice to me,” you intone, sliding the coffee pot back into the machine. It’s a low blow, and you know it– alluding to your made-up other boyfriends. But it still gets under Gator’s skin every time, that jealousy he can’t seem to stifle.
“So you’re still pissed at me, then,” he surmises, leaning back and digging in the pocket of his tactical vest for something.
You point a finger at him, that heady anger rushing back to you. “Gator Tillman, if you pull that disgusting vape out of your pocket–”
He pulls free a different pen– one of the fake ones you introduced him to when he finally gave into all your pleading for him to quit nicotine. He holds it up as if in surrender. “Relax, babe. It’s just the bullshit one.” He takes a hit off of it, though if it actually calms him down, you wouldn’t know.
Unimpressed, you move over to the cash register, counting and stacking your receipts just to have something to do.
“So, what, you never gonna talk to me again?” he teases you, clearly nonplussed by your bad mood.
It works to piss you off even more– the fact he’s brushing off your annoyance like it means nothing. Like there was no reason for it in the first place.
“Depends, are you gonna apologize for losing it on me earlier?” you muse, flicking between receipts.
Gator’s amusement finally fades, and he slips off the barstool to come around the cash register. “Don’t see what I’ve gotta apologize for.”
You huff a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you never really do, do you?”
“Hey,” he cuts in, “You were the one defending those old bags.”
You scowl, rounding on him. “Oh, will you just drop that? I wasn’t defending anyone.”
“Yes, you fuckin’ were,” he argues, glaring down at you.
“Why can’t you ever just admit you were too harsh and apologize?” you demand, shooting daggers at him with your eyes even as he towers over you.
“Maybe I would if you quit flappin’ your fuckin’ mouth!” he fires back. “God, d’you have to be such a bitch about it?”
Shock flashes through you, and you scoff, bewildered. Dangerously, you ask him, “You wanna rethink a couple of those words?”
“Nah, I don’t think I do,” he spits, looking you up and down.
You clench your jaw, fighting back the sting in your eyes that’s telling you tears are coming whether you like it or not. God, this man frustrates you so much sometimes you could scream. “Great. Then I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about.”
“Great,” he says back, tone nasty. “I’ll finally get some peace and goddamn quiet.”
You huff an incredulous laugh, turning away. “Have a great shift, Gator,” you tell him bitterly, not meaning a word.
“I’ll see you at home,” he promises, stalking away.
You don’t check behind you after the bell rings– you know he’s gone. And you know he won’t look back.
Perched on a stool at the counter of the least shitty dive bar in town, you clutch your drink, the ice biting against your fingers.
You’ve been here almost an hour, and your mood hasn’t significantly lifted, despite how you’ve been faking smiles with your friends and tossing down liquor to try and stifle the endless repeat track of your boyfriend’s callous words. It’s almost 7:30. He’ll be waiting up at home for you when you get back, and if you know anything about Gator, you know he’ll be furious.
You don’t care. Let him have a taste of his own medicine– let him be the one getting hurt for a change. If he didn’t care to communicate like an adult, then you shouldn’t have to, either.
“Babe,” one of your friends calls to you, voice raised over the blaring music. “You’re being a total buzzkill. You sure you don’t wanna just head home?”
In times like these, even in your dismal mood, you can’t help but consider yourself exceptionally lucky for your friends. When you pulled the group of waitresses aside after Gator left the diner and asked if they wanted to grab drinks after work, they must have seen your expression and knew you needed it more than you let on. They agreed instantly, and now here you are– utterly failing at distracting yourself despite their best efforts.
You shake yourself, trying to escape your self-pity and lingering resentment. “No, no– sorry. Those shots just haven’t kicked in yet.”
Your friend’s face tells you she sees through it, but she just sips from her colorful drink with a rueful smile. “That handsome boyfriend of yours isn’t gonna show up and kill us for stealing you away tonight, is he?”
Knowing Gator, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. You smile behind your glass as you tell her, “Don’t worry about it. If he’s got something to say, he can say it to me.”
“I hope I didn’t just hear the word boyfriend.”
A voice from behind you makes you twist slightly in your seat, and a man you’ve never seen before sidles up to you and slides into the barstool to your left. “Never seen you before, gorgeous. Where’d you come from?”
You flatten your eyes slightly, hoping he’ll take the hint you’re not interested. While you’re usually alright pushing your limits with Gator, appearing to flirt with another clueless guy at a bar would be about four steps over the final line. “My gunowner boyfriend’s house,” you supply mildly. “How ‘bout you?”
The guy points back to the other side of the room, unphased. “I came from over there once I saw that pretty little skirt on you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Pretty sure my tag says ‘property of Gator Tillman’,” you tell him. The name alone should put some kind of nerves into this guy if he has any sense at all. “If found, please call 1-800-bite me, I’m taken. Nice meeting you.” You turn back to your friend, hoping he’ll just cut his losses and move on.
“Well, hang on a second, sweetheart–” the man goes on, reaching out and grabbing your forearm.
Your head whips back to him, brows raising in shock he actually touched you. You make to rip your arm away from him, but it turns out, when you’re Gator Tillman’s girlfriend, you don’t have to.
You watch as the man is yanked forcefully off his barstool and pulled to his feet. Gator’s standing there like an apparition, fury contorting his face as he grips the man’s shirt in his fist and shoves him up against the bar before he can regain his balance.
“You heard her, shitbird,” he tells him, voice low and face inches from the poor idiot’s. “Now get lost before I put you in the fuckin’ ground.”
The man pales, nodding once. Gator releases him with one last shove, watching as he hurries back across the crowded bar. And then he turns back to you, and all that fury finds a new target.
Between the booze and your lingering anger, seeing him again is a head rush. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for the intervention or annoyed he’s here or anxious about the fight that’s building between you like an oncoming storm.
Your friend must sense the tension, because she squeezes your shoulder and slips off her barstool with a farewell smile. You can’t bring yourself to care too particularly much when Gator’s still looking at you like that.
“Been all over fuckin’ town lookin’ for you,” he starts, barely-controlled anger in his voice. “You don’t come home, and this is where you’ve been all night?”
“The girls and I were just getting some drinks after work,” you explain, a little quieter than you mean to. Oh, he’s mad– just about as angry as you’ve ever seen him. You can’t help the little thrill it sends through you.
“And you didn’t think to call and tell me that?” he challenges, towering over you where you still sit on the barstool, muscles tight with anticipation. “Didn’t think you’d let me know you weren’t fuckin’ kidnapped? You know how worried I’ve been?”
“It’s been an hour,” you drawl, sipping from your drink. “I’m hardly a missing person's case.”
You can tell from the deepening scowl that that was the wrong answer. Gator points to the bar door, eyes not leaving yours. “Get your ass in gear. Let’s go.”
“I’m not done with my drink,” you tell him stubbornly, fingers tight against the glass.
He rips it out of your hand and knocks the rest of it back, the ice reverberating through it as he slams it back down on the counter. “And now you are.”
You scowl at him, the liquor finally giving you some courage. “I’m not through here, Gator. I want to stay.”
He takes a shallow breath through his nose, in and out. “I wasn’t askin’, mama. Now get in the fuckin’ car.”
“No,” you tell him, firing the word between you.
His brows lift, and he laughs humorlessly, low and harsh. “Some fuckin’ attitude on you tonight. I ain’t gonna say it again, baby. Get in the car.”
The pet name in contrast to the sharp tone does what it always does and riles you. As you stare down your boyfriend, you decide that, today, you might just be angry enough to push back. “No,” you say again, plain and stubborn.
The corner of Gator’s mouth twitches up, his face still hard and set. There’s no humor to be found there, and that particular fact feels more thrilling than the liquor does.
“I warned ya,” he sighs, like he’s giving in— as if he’s ever once done that.
And then his hands are on you, pawing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.
You yelp at the sudden movement as he lurches you both to his feet, gripping your thighs as he hauls you back through the bar.
“Gator!” you yell in shocked protest, not caring how badly the two of you are making a scene. “Put me down, you asshole!”
“Since you don’t wanna listen, guess you need a little help,” he tells you, his voice gratingly calm. His hands are a vice grip on your bare legs, even while you thrash around. You beat at his back, your hair getting in your face and the buzz of alcohol not helping with keeping your head straight any more than the rapid motion. “Gator, I swear to God, if you don’t let me go–”
“Yell all you want, mama,” he muses as he directs you both through the crowded bar tables. “These assholes aren’t gonna do shit. They know you’re with me.”
As arrogant as the statement is, he’s probably right. If they didn’t recognize Gator’s face and know better than to interject already, they’d sure recognize the Stark County Sheriff's Deputy badge pinned to his chest. Deep-rooted frustration roils in you, and you squirm even more against the arm he has pinning your legs.
“You’d better knock that off, pretty,” he tells you, a warning in his deep voice.
“Or what?” you spit.
You can almost hear the wicked smile in his voice as he replies, “Or I might just have to take you to the bathroom and fuck that attitude outta ya.”
“Pig,” you hiss at him, scowling even as warmth coils in your gut at the words– at what’s probably waiting for you at home as a punishment for your misbehavior.
He doesn’t set you down until you’re right next to his truck, haphazardly parked in one of the first open spots in the bar parking lot. You wonder how long he drove around looking for you before he thought to come here– wonder how long he waited in the house pretending old wounds weren’t being poked by your absence. For a second, a flicker of guilt runs through you. Sure, your boyfriend isn’t exactly a paragon of emotional stability. But you could have done better than you have tonight to fight that.
Gator releases you and reaches around you to yank open your door.
Your cheeks flushed, you stand before him stubbornly and cross your arms, refusing to move. He’s placed himself in between you and any possible escape, fencing you into the truck.
“Get in the car,” he orders you again, face entirely uncompromising.
You’re a little drunk, and your resolve is cracking, but you still manage to glare up at him. “Isn’t there something you wanna say first?”
“You want an apology outta me after the shit you just pulled?” he demands, brows shooting up. “You’re lucky I don’t lock you up after a stunt like that.”
“You don’t own me, Gator,” you remind him, scowling into his stern face.
“That’s not what you were saying to that idiot back there,” Gator challenges, his dangerous voice purring.
You flush harder, wishing you had more faculty over your words. “I’m not going with you until you apologize.”
His eyes flash, all the pushback getting to him. “We’ll talk when you’re safe at home. Now get in the fuckin’ car.”
You falter slightly at the offer to talk. He’s learning– you know he is. A year ago, he’d have brushed this whole thing under the rug, chalked it up to some kind of female dramatics. But now, even if your ‘talking’ is probably gonna amount to another screaming match and some makeup sex… well, you suppose communication takes many forms.
He sees your hesitation and settles slightly, jerking his head to the seat. “Don’t make me throw you in there.”
You shoot him one last dirty look and relent, climbing into the truck and taking your seat indignantly.
Gator slams the door behind you, telling you through the open window, “S’like wrangling a fuckin’ bobcat with you.”
You’re still sulking when you pull into the driveway of your home, the lights in the living room still on like Gator didn’t bother turning down the house before he left. He must have been worried. That guilt flips through you again.
Gator walks behind you into the house, and although he doesn’t say it, you know it’s probably so he can catch you if you drunkenly stumble. Always so protective, this one– even when he’s infuriated with you.
You sigh as you pad through the entryway, tossing the bag stuffed with your work clothes by the shoe rack haphazardly. You hear Gator’s keys hit the dish, but you don’t turn back to look at him– just make your way to the kitchen and pull a water bottle from the fridge, drinking from it deeply to clear your throat.
Gator sheds his leather jacket and throws it over the hook by the door before stalking into the kitchen after you. You eye him coolly as he comes up to the counter, his hands resting on it as he watches you back.
“So, you gonna tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing tonight?” he starts, his voice already harsh.
“Drinks,” you tell him again, taking another swig of water. “With my friends. Told you.”
Gator runs a hand through his hair, mussing it. Out of his heavy uniform, when he’s as rumpled as he is now, he’s nowhere near as intimidating as most people find him. “You told me you were off at six,” he barks. “I get home, no call, no text, and you’re out with your fuckin’ girlfriends like it’s goddamn mardi gras.”
“It was one fucking hour,” you gripe, fingers locked around the plastic of your water bottle.
“I don’t give a damn,” Gator snarls, planting his hands on the counter and leaning toward you. “You don’t just run out on me. Plans change, then you call me and let me know and then I come and haul your ass out of the bar.”
You know where this fear comes from– know what he’s getting at, know why he’s ordering you so uncompromisingly. But maybe you’re too drunk and heady with anger to care, because once again, you can’t help but keep pushing. “Maybe I just didn’t want to talk to you, ever think about that?”
“You’re the one always harpin’ on me about communicating, aren’t ya?” he drawls, that dangerous edge still in his tone.
“Well, forgive me if I don’t have a strong interest in sitting here and letting you call me names over things that aren’t my fault,” you spit, and to your frustration, you feel your eyes start to prick again at the memory of what he called you this morning.
His jaw ticks, his lips pressing together. “You know damn well I didn’t mean that.”
“I have yet to hear you say so,” you challenge, face twisting. “I guess it’s just fine that you call me a bitch and tell me to shut my mouth? That’s just fine now?”
You see his hackles raise– see frustration and aggression fight for dominance in his expression before he finally relents– retreats just an inch for you. “I’m sorry,” he says firmly. “You bring it outta me when you push me like that. You know that.”
You shake your head, still not satisfied. “You can’t just lash out at me ‘cause you’re pissed with someone else. I’m not your proxy for the bridge ladies, Gator.”
“I know that,” he snaps, some of the softness fading. “I know you’re not sayin’ what they’re sayin’!”
“Then why are you yelling at me?” you spread your hands, incredulous.
He drags his hand through his hair again, aggravated. “I’m not–”
“You are,” you argue. “You are, Gator. I mean, why can’t you just talk to me about it?”
“I’m sick of fuckin’ talkin’ about it!” he yells. “I’m sick of all these people and their pushin’– all the little hints and nudges and tellin’ me what to do!”
“Who’s been saying that?” you plead with him, shaking your head. “It’s a couple of old ladies, Gator. It doesn’t matter what they think.”
“It’s not just them, it’s everyone!” he argues, still steaming. You can almost see that anger bubbling up in him– though, once again, you can tell you’re not its intended target. “Roy was on my ass about it this morning, too,” Gator spits out bitterly. “Talkin’ about makin’ an honest woman outta you. Carryin’ on the family name and all that horseshit.”
You fall quiet, the pieces clicking into place; the true reason for Gator’s bad mood this morning, his reason for coming over to sit with you in the first place. The pressure you can almost see in the set of his shoulders, the burdens he doesn’t realize he willingly takes on, the impossible expectation you’ve tried so hard to teach him to forget. But as long as Roy is here, some things will cut too deep into Gator for even you to mend. And this, the ‘pushing’ he keeps bucking, is about something bigger than the words you’ve thrown at each other tonight.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and for the first time tonight, you really mean it. “He shouldn’t have said that. You’re right, it’s none of their business.”
You watch as Gator deflates slightly, the calmness of your voice finally working on him.
“You can’t let it get to you like this,” you go on, brow creasing. “You can’t let him get in your head, baby, it’s—“
“You fucking try it,” he fires at you.
Your expression hardens again. “You don’t see me losing my shit when those people say I'm nothing more than a good housewife in the making.”
“That shit is different and you know it,” he says, thrusting a finger at you. “You know that’s not you. You play that game, but you know that’s not you.”
He’s still pushing— still fighting you. And, just now, it feels as heartbreaking as anything else he’s done, especially when it comes to this— to the little hopes you've fed each other, the plans you’d thought were in the making. That’s what finally gets you— finally makes you blurt it out. “Why is this such an issue for you?” you make out, and your voice cracks as you say it. You're reminded of the fact you’re still a little drunk as tears pool in your eyes, threatening to spill down your face.
Gator sees it, too. His expression creases, and he tears his eyes away, his resolve all but completely breaking. It’s the one thing he’s never been able to stand— you crying. The second he sees he’s pushed you there, the second your voice starts to wobble, he can’t take it– he always relents.
He heaves a sigh, his face falling and his shoulders drooping. “Baby– baby, why are you crying? Come on, don’t– don’t cry.”
The words do nothing to help matters. Tears fall swiftly down your cheeks, and you reach up to brush them away just as quickly. “Do you–” you take a breath, your voice weak with emotion. “I mean, do you… not want that with me?” You feel idiotic– naive. That quiet dream you keep locked away in your chest, that fantasy of a rowdy reception hall blaring music and a carseat in the back of the truck and tiny, sticky hands gripping a camo pant leg… maybe it was only ever that: a beautiful, foolish dream. But after three years, what else could you expect? How could you not have pictured it all with this boy who’s taken possession of you?
His expression contorts, confusion flashing in his eyes. “That’s what you think?” he demands.
“That’s how you make it sound, Gator!” You cry, hands flying to wipe furiously at your face. “That’s what it sounds like when you act like it’s so offensive that people think we’re gonna be a family one day!”
You watch as that one word– family– hits him square in the chest. “You’re not gettin’ it,” he shakes his head, his voice infinitely quieter. “You don’t get it, doll.”
“You’re damn fucking right, I don’t!” you snap back, sniffing.
“I just–” Gator turns from the counter again, frustration choking his voice. “I just can’t listen to any more of these fuckers tell me what to do. Not about this. Not about you.”
You shake your head, tears blurring your vision.
“Listen,” he tells you, suddenly insistent. Like he can’t stand it any longer, he rounds the counter toward you, stopping just before you. His hand comes up to fit over your jaw, almost covering the lower part of your face. He’s holding you there, forcing you without pain or aggression to look up at him. It’s possessive in its utter gentleness. “I don’t have a lot ‘a shit that’s mine,” he tells you, and something in his eyes shifts, melts a little. “But you? You and me, baby? That’s just mine. That belongs to me, you understand?”
A pathetic noise, a tiny gasping sob, works its way out of your mouth. Gator’s fingers are firm and warm on your face as he holds you, rooting you in place with that one hand.
“I want this because I want it,” he says, low and clear. “Not ‘cause I'm told to. Not as somethin’ my dad’s makin’ me do for him. I want you ‘cause I love you like nothin’ I’ve ever felt.”
You’re trembling, heart stuttering at the admission. Your hands come up to grip his arms, needing something to stabilize you.
“No one else gets to tell me to love you,” he says fiercely, staring down into your face. “No one gets to tell me what to want. I pick you.” His hand slips into your hair, cupping the back of your head, and he pulls you into him, crushing you into his chest.
You let out another sob, arms coming around him immediately. You clutch him back, your feet nearly lifted off the ground by the strength of his embrace. But you need it– you’ve always needed Gator’s force, his violence. You need his hands, his words, his love imprinted onto your skin in red lines like sleep marks, the intensity existing as the proof that it’s real.
“I love you,” you choke out, eyes fluttering shut.
Gator’s fingers scratch at your scalp, his strong arms tight around you. “Don’t you ever run out on me again.”
You hear the desperation in his voice, much as he might try to hide it. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” you whisper, drawing back to look up at him.
He’s so serious when your eyes meet again– his face drawn and pensive. One of your hands comes up to brush over his cheek, marvelling at the unexpected softness of his skin. “Fuck ‘em all,” you tell him, a smile flitting across your lips. “You and I are on our own timeline.”
He turns his head into your hand, nuzzling your palm. “I love you,” he says again, the words a grumble in his chest.
That naive, perfect dream is back in your chest, stronger and more insistent than before. As you stare up at Gator, his face softer than you might ever have hoped, you feel it softly glow.
---
a/n: I really do love this but it was a bitch and a half to edit. going to reward myself by writing some truly vile smut about this man
mmfmfghgfffff waking up to him inside u 😵💫😵💫 murmuring a groggy “‘s goin on?” to which he hushes w a small peck to ur shoulder n “shh, jus go back to sleep baby, gonna make you feel real nice.” 😵💫😵💫😵💫 he’s lazily thrusting into ur heat, the squelching sounds contrasting the serenity of early dawn 😵💫😵💫😵💫 n just as u feel urself drifting back to sleep, smthing warm, much warmer than ur used to, fills ur womb, the excess dribbling out ur pussy and down steve’s balls 😵💫😵💫😵💫 ur mind is still too fuzzy with sleep to coherently grasp what’s just happened, but steve’s whispering hurried apologies into the crook of ur neck, saying he “couldn’t-aah-wait honey, fuck-‘m so sorry” 😵💫😵💫😵💫 ur answering with a kiss that leaves drool sliding down his chin when ur brain eventually catches up, hoping he picks up the hint buried within it that lets him know how much u fucking loved that 😵💫😵💫😵💫 spreading ur legs softly to let him gently clean u with a warm cloth, placing soft pecks up ur thighs when he’s done 😵💫😵💫
summary: gator's sick of people pushing him about settling down. you'd understand a little better if he didn't take it out on you. and, well, if there's one thing the two of you know how to do, it's have a good fight-- and it's a good thing gator always knows how to make it up to you.
tags/warnings: gator x reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, suggestive content, grumpy x sunshine, hurt/comfort, possessive!gator, domestic!gator, manhandling, elements of casual sub/dom, overuse of pet names (baby, doll, mama), couple fights, drinking, unpacking trauma, gator is a sweetie but he still got issues, but lowk so do you, let's yell at each other with mama!
wc: 6.6k
---
You’re sitting at a picnic bench outside your church, and the bridge ladies won’t quit jabbering.
The coffee hour has been moved outside to take advantage of the spring sun, and a balmy wind is kicking up napkins and delighting screaming kids across the grassy expanse. You’re really only here to maintain appearances, donate some baked goods, and chat with the few parishioners you can actually stand. Church isn’t really something you love– at least here in North Dakota. It’s something you do for your boyfriend’s benefit, at his dad’s insistence, and because in some ways, as Gator’s girlfriend, it matters what these people think of you.
You smile politely as the women drone on about neighborhood gossip and recipes they simply have to send you and how they dropped off a snickers salad for the preacher’s wife last night ‘cause she’s had so much trouble cookin’ lately. They’re old women, and they’re multitasking between their card game and keeping you shackled to their conversation. It’s like this every Sunday they can get their hands on you.
Sometimes you think it’s no wonder you and Gator were drawn to each other– despite how much better you mask it in public, you both share the affliction of being easily frustrated by nosy small-town people who won’t shut their traps. And speaking of your boyfriend…
Gator seems trapped in a dialogue of his own across the lawn, Roy standing before him, so clearly laying another lecture onto his son’s shoulders. Gator squirms like a kid when his dad yells at him, and you can see it now, that lack of attention span from the ADHD you keep telling him to get tested for driving Roy even crazier than he already is. Finally, Roy makes his point and relents, and Gator makes his way across the lawn toward you, the set of his shoulders still tense.
“Hey, baby,” he mumbles as he nears, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He smiles tightly and nods to the bridge ladies, who coo over his arrival, and slides onto the bench beside you, straddling it to face you. One of his hands goes immediately to your lower back like he needs the contact, or maybe an excuse to cop a feel in the modest sundress you’ve donned for church today.
“Gator, honey,” one of the ladies– Mrs. Pearson, whose husband runs the hardware store near the diner where you work– greets him. “We were just tellin’ your little missus here ‘bout some recipes she should get her hands on.”
Gator nods and doesn’t reply further, unamused. You press your thigh into his leg, telling him silently to play nice. You know he’s only over here because you are, and that he’d always rather be long gone once the church service ends, but this is what it takes to be a part of a community, and even grudgingly, he knows that. Still, his constant frustration with these people is part of the reason they’ve always liked you more than they like him. He is the town bully who barely grew out of it, still brash and impulsive and rude at times, still hiding that sweetness behind his tough-guy face except when it comes to you. You are the town darling, the one who runs Sunday school when the preacher’s daughter can’t, the model future wife for the sheriff’s son. You always wear your church skirts to your knees, and from your pretty smile, no one can tell it’s Gator who’ll bunch them up to your waist when he bends you over later.
“She’s such a nice girl,” one of the other ladies croons, smiling widely at you. There’s pink lipstick on her teeth. “You know she’ll do a bang-up job as your little wife, mister.”
“That’s right!” Another one chimes in, placing down a card with a wrinkled hand. “I mean, geez Louise, forget about the cookin’! She’ll have that house spick and spam for ya, isn’t that right, sweetiepie?”
You laugh indulgently, although everything in you wants to roll your eyes and find a way to escape this table. Sure, you can cook, and you’ve always kept the house far cleaner than Gator cares to, but you don’t need these women telling him that. If he hasn’t figured out the virtues of keeping you around already, he’s certainly not gonna listen to them tell it.
“I’d say, with how handsome a couple you two are, you’d better get movin’ on those little ones!” Mrs. Pearson adds.
“Little ones?” Gator repeats flatly, and you step on his toe under the table.
“Well, I betcha your daddy wants another baby in the family soon,” Mrs. Pearson explains laughingly, then leans over to touch your cheek. “It’d be a shame to waste those cheekbones, anyway. You two better get crackin’ on those kids before the sheriff has to tell ya to!”
You hear more than see Gator’s jaw grind. He opens his mouth to say something you’re sure won’t be too flattering, but you cut in before he can, slipping your hand over his on his thigh. “You know, you ladies are too right. In fact, I think we’ve got a little business to attend to at home, come to think of it. Can’t let that house go too long without a cleaning, can we?”
The ladies laugh at the scandalous joke, waving you off.
“You kids!” Mrs. Pearson smiles. “Go, enjoy the day, sweeties!”
You rise to your feet, smiling back at them, and pull Gator up by the hand, dragging him away from the table before he can say something the both of you will regret. He follows behind you, one of his hands sliding over your waist as you cross the grass again. You can tell he’s angry by how quiet he’s gone, the way he tugs at the collar of his crisp black button-up.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he mutters in your ear. “You put in your damn time.”
“Let me grab my purse,” you tell him gently, smoothing a hand down his chest— already having guessed from his mood you’d be taking off early. “You grab the tupperware from the scones, and I’ll meet you by the truck.”
“Don’t stop to chat,” he says gruffly, hand tightening on your waist. “I’ll blow my brains out if Mrs. Pearson finds me again.”
You bite back a smile and kiss his cheek, heading off swiftly to gather the rest of your belongings.
You intercept him on the way back, two more of his shirt buttons already undone and his sleeves pushed up to the elbow. You slip your hand into his as you walk back through the parking lot together, not daring to check behind you to see if anyone’s noticed your early exit.
Gator opens your door for you and waits for you to get in, a muscle in his jaw twitching. You worry about that expression on him– about what his father might have said to him to get him so fired up.
It’s only when you’re speeding back down the dirt road from the church that you finally ask, reaching over and squeezing his arm as you do.
“Gate.”
“Hm?” he replies, eyes on the road.
You keep your hand on his forearm, thumb brushing up and down
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’,” he mutters.
You snort. “Convincing.”
He shoots you a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. “Will you leave me alone, woman?”
You roll your eyes, removing your hand and shifting back to your side of the car with a quiet sigh. When he gets grumpy like this, you’ve found over the years it’s best to just leave him to mope.
You drive in silence for a while, staring out the windshield and not bothering to keep your face polite. Eventually, you hear Gator muttering to himself, and your attention snags on the noise.
“Nosy old hags.”
“What?” you ask, brow crinkling.
Gator doesn’t repeat himself, but you heard him clearly enough the first time.
“You’re upset about Mrs. Pearson and the ladies?” you surmise, voice flat. For goodness’ sake, he could have just told you that.
“They’re sticking their damn noses where they don’t belong,” he finally snaps, the one hand he has on the steering wheel gripping the leather.
“That’s just what they do, Gator,” you say mildly. “That’s who they are. They gossip about everyone in town, not just us.”
“Yeah, well, they can say what they want about all those other assholes, but not about me ‘n you,” he bites, his jaw ticking again.
You fight another sigh and take his free hand in both of yours, squeezing it. “They’re not being nasty. They’re just old women.”
The words have the opposite of their intended effect of calming him. Gator’s voice rises as he snaps, “Well, what goddamn business of theirs is it when we’re havin’ any fuckin’ kids? We’re not even hitched yet, and they’re breathin’ down our necks.”
You exhale through your nose, wishing silently he wasn’t so sensitive when it came to what other people thought. “Well, when you’ve been together for three years, those are the kind of questions people ask, Gate. Marriage, kids. I mean, we live together, baby. It’s not totally crazy.”
“So you’re on their side, then?” he demands, head whipping between you and the road.
You stare back at him, starting to be irritated. “I’m on your side, always. You know that.”
“Then why are you fuckin’ defending them?”
“I’m just saying they didn’t do anything wrong, Gator,” you huff, withdrawing your hands again. “They’re just nosy. If you don’t wanna hear any gossip, we’re gonna need to find another place to live.”
“Like hell they aren’t doin’ shit wrong,” he fires back at you. “Draggin’ themselves into our business like that, basically asking when I’m finally gonna man up and knock you up–”
“Well, you don’t seem to mind the idea so much when you’re inside me, now do you?” you cut in flatly.
Gator whips his stare to yours. “The hell’s that s’posed to mean?”
You look back at him coolly, your displeasure evident. “I just didn’t think you found the idea of settling down with me so terrible. My mistake.”
“Don’t be like that,” he grunts.
“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Gator?” you challenge him. “You’re practically jumping down my throat for suggesting people aren’t totally crazy when they ask if we’ll ever have kids.”
“They’re not askin’, they’re tellin’.” Gator snaps. “And I’m sorry, but I happen to think a man has a right to privacy ‘bout a few things, and puttin’ a baby in his woman is one of ‘em.”
Your lips tighten, and you look back out the windshield. “How romantic.”
“A man should get to decide when he wants all that shit to happen, alright?” he repeats himself loudly. Y’should get to do it in your own time.”
“Fine,” you cut in, now more than a little pissed with him. “Next time, I’ll just tell sweet old Mrs. Pearson to fuck right off.”
“Now that would be bein’ on my fuckin’ team,” he bites.
You shake your head, knowing arguing with him again about how disagreeing doesn’t diminish how you feel about him would be a moot point. “Whatever.”
“Y’could drop the attitude, you know,” he adds bitterly. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me.”
“Well, I guess I’m not your fuckin’ wife, so there’s no sense in me being all respectful and proper, now is there?” you spit back at him, crossing your arms.
Gator seethes to himself as you pull into your driveway, not looking at each other.
“I’ve got a shift at the diner,” you inform him flatly, jumping down from the truck without waiting for him to open your door for you– something you know full well will piss him off even more. “I’m off at six. Don’t wait on me to eat dinner.”
“Really?” he snaps, following you into the house. “That’s it?”
“Guess so,” you toss over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to actually settle anything, would we?”
Gator lets you slam the door to the bedroom, changing swiftly into your work uniform. As you throw on your clothes, still steaming with anger at your mule-stubborn boyfriend, you can hear him mutter something unflattering at you through the door.
You’re still wearing a frown while pouring coffee three hours later, and nothing at work is helping to lighten your mood.
Two of your regulars have already told you to put a smile on your face, but you can’t help it. You hate fighting with Gator. As much as things have calmed down in recent years between the two of you, as much as you’ve settled into each other and smoothed over so many dangerous cracks, every now and again, something like this will come up and you’ll feel like the two of you are right back to square one.
You move back through the diner and behind the counter again, coffee pot in hand. Your eyes sweep the tables for empty cups, which means you catch it when the door opens and the tiny bell above it rings, announcing the presence of your newest customer just as surely as the heavy tread of his combat boots.
Eyes pointedly cast down, you focus on refilling three more mugs as Gator strides up to the counter, sliding into a barstool and leaning on his elbows over the table.
“Hey, mama,” he greets you, and you can tell from his voice alone he’s already over your fight. He’s grinning, actually, just like he always is when he stops in mid-patrol for a quick pour and a kiss or two from you. He’s always been so good at putting arguments like this behind him– like whatever tiny thing had had him cursing and spitting a few hours ago had faded completely to the back of his mind. You hate that he does that. It’s like he can’t understand how not to move on without resolution.
“Hey, yourself,” you toss back flatly, still not meeting his eyes. You ignore the way he’s clearly leaned toward you and refill the coffee of the customer to his right.
Gator’s eyes track you, scanning over your face. “What, you’re not gonna greet your boyfriend?” he asks, that shit-eating grin still painted on his lips. “Gimme a kiss.”
“I only kiss my boyfriends who are nice to me,” you intone, sliding the coffee pot back into the machine. It’s a low blow, and you know it– alluding to your made-up other boyfriends. But it still gets under Gator’s skin every time, that jealousy he can’t seem to stifle.
“So you’re still pissed at me, then,” he surmises, leaning back and digging in the pocket of his tactical vest for something.
You point a finger at him, that heady anger rushing back to you. “Gator Tillman, if you pull that disgusting vape out of your pocket–”
He pulls free a different pen– one of the fake ones you introduced him to when he finally gave into all your pleading for him to quit nicotine. He holds it up as if in surrender. “Relax, babe. It’s just the bullshit one.” He takes a hit off of it, though if it actually calms him down, you wouldn’t know.
Unimpressed, you move over to the cash register, counting and stacking your receipts just to have something to do.
“So, what, you never gonna talk to me again?” he teases you, clearly nonplussed by your bad mood.
It works to piss you off even more– the fact he’s brushing off your annoyance like it means nothing. Like there was no reason for it in the first place.
“Depends, are you gonna apologize for losing it on me earlier?” you muse, flicking between receipts.
Gator’s amusement finally fades, and he slips off the barstool to come around the cash register. “Don’t see what I’ve gotta apologize for.”
You huff a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you never really do, do you?”
“Hey,” he cuts in, “You were the one defending those old bags.”
You scowl, rounding on him. “Oh, will you just drop that? I wasn’t defending anyone.”
“Yes, you fuckin’ were,” he argues, glaring down at you.
“Why can’t you ever just admit you were too harsh and apologize?” you demand, shooting daggers at him with your eyes even as he towers over you.
“Maybe I would if you quit flappin’ your fuckin’ mouth!” he fires back. “God, d’you have to be such a bitch about it?”
Shock flashes through you, and you scoff, bewildered. Dangerously, you ask him, “You wanna rethink a couple of those words?”
“Nah, I don’t think I do,” he spits, looking you up and down.
You clench your jaw, fighting back the sting in your eyes that’s telling you tears are coming whether you like it or not. God, this man frustrates you so much sometimes you could scream. “Great. Then I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about.”
“Great,” he says back, tone nasty. “I’ll finally get some peace and goddamn quiet.”
You huff an incredulous laugh, turning away. “Have a great shift, Gator,” you tell him bitterly, not meaning a word.
“I’ll see you at home,” he promises, stalking away.
You don’t check behind you after the bell rings– you know he’s gone. And you know he won’t look back.
Perched on a stool at the counter of the least shitty dive bar in town, you clutch your drink, the ice biting against your fingers.
You’ve been here almost an hour, and your mood hasn’t significantly lifted, despite how you’ve been faking smiles with your friends and tossing down liquor to try and stifle the endless repeat track of your boyfriend’s callous words. It’s almost 7:30. He’ll be waiting up at home for you when you get back, and if you know anything about Gator, you know he’ll be furious.
You don’t care. Let him have a taste of his own medicine– let him be the one getting hurt for a change. If he didn’t care to communicate like an adult, then you shouldn’t have to, either.
“Babe,” one of your friends calls to you, voice raised over the blaring music. “You’re being a total buzzkill. You sure you don’t wanna just head home?”
In times like these, even in your dismal mood, you can’t help but consider yourself exceptionally lucky for your friends. When you pulled the group of waitresses aside after Gator left the diner and asked if they wanted to grab drinks after work, they must have seen your expression and knew you needed it more than you let on. They agreed instantly, and now here you are– utterly failing at distracting yourself despite their best efforts.
You shake yourself, trying to escape your self-pity and lingering resentment. “No, no– sorry. Those shots just haven’t kicked in yet.”
Your friend’s face tells you she sees through it, but she just sips from her colorful drink with a rueful smile. “That handsome boyfriend of yours isn’t gonna show up and kill us for stealing you away tonight, is he?”
Knowing Gator, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. You smile behind your glass as you tell her, “Don’t worry about it. If he’s got something to say, he can say it to me.”
“I hope I didn’t just hear the word boyfriend.”
A voice from behind you makes you twist slightly in your seat, and a man you’ve never seen before sidles up to you and slides into the barstool to your left. “Never seen you before, gorgeous. Where’d you come from?”
You flatten your eyes slightly, hoping he’ll take the hint you’re not interested. While you’re usually alright pushing your limits with Gator, appearing to flirt with another clueless guy at a bar would be about four steps over the final line. “My gunowner boyfriend’s house,” you supply mildly. “How ‘bout you?”
The guy points back to the other side of the room, unphased. “I came from over there once I saw that pretty little skirt on you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Pretty sure my tag says ‘property of Gator Tillman’,” you tell him. The name alone should put some kind of nerves into this guy if he has any sense at all. “If found, please call 1-800-bite me, I’m taken. Nice meeting you.” You turn back to your friend, hoping he’ll just cut his losses and move on.
“Well, hang on a second, sweetheart–” the man goes on, reaching out and grabbing your forearm.
Your head whips back to him, brows raising in shock he actually touched you. You make to rip your arm away from him, but it turns out, when you’re Gator Tillman’s girlfriend, you don’t have to.
You watch as the man is yanked forcefully off his barstool and pulled to his feet. Gator’s standing there like an apparition, fury contorting his face as he grips the man’s shirt in his fist and shoves him up against the bar before he can regain his balance.
“You heard her, shitbird,” he tells him, voice low and face inches from the poor idiot’s. “Now get lost before I put you in the fuckin’ ground.”
The man pales, nodding once. Gator releases him with one last shove, watching as he hurries back across the crowded bar. And then he turns back to you, and all that fury finds a new target.
Between the booze and your lingering anger, seeing him again is a head rush. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for the intervention or annoyed he’s here or anxious about the fight that’s building between you like an oncoming storm.
Your friend must sense the tension, because she squeezes your shoulder and slips off her barstool with a farewell smile. You can’t bring yourself to care too particularly much when Gator’s still looking at you like that.
“Been all over fuckin’ town lookin’ for you,” he starts, barely-controlled anger in his voice. “You don’t come home, and this is where you’ve been all night?”
“The girls and I were just getting some drinks after work,” you explain, a little quieter than you mean to. Oh, he’s mad– just about as angry as you’ve ever seen him. You can’t help the little thrill it sends through you.
“And you didn’t think to call and tell me that?” he challenges, towering over you where you still sit on the barstool, muscles tight with anticipation. “Didn’t think you’d let me know you weren’t fuckin’ kidnapped? You know how worried I’ve been?”
“It’s been an hour,” you drawl, sipping from your drink. “I’m hardly a missing person's case.”
You can tell from the deepening scowl that that was the wrong answer. Gator points to the bar door, eyes not leaving yours. “Get your ass in gear. Let’s go.”
“I’m not done with my drink,” you tell him stubbornly, fingers tight against the glass.
He rips it out of your hand and knocks the rest of it back, the ice reverberating through it as he slams it back down on the counter. “And now you are.”
You scowl at him, the liquor finally giving you some courage. “I’m not through here, Gator. I want to stay.”
He takes a shallow breath through his nose, in and out. “I wasn’t askin’, mama. Now get in the fuckin’ car.”
“No,” you tell him, firing the word between you.
His brows lift, and he laughs humorlessly, low and harsh. “Some fuckin’ attitude on you tonight. I ain’t gonna say it again, baby. Get in the car.”
The pet name in contrast to the sharp tone does what it always does and riles you. As you stare down your boyfriend, you decide that, today, you might just be angry enough to push back. “No,” you say again, plain and stubborn.
The corner of Gator’s mouth twitches up, his face still hard and set. There’s no humor to be found there, and that particular fact feels more thrilling than the liquor does.
“I warned ya,” he sighs, like he’s giving in— as if he’s ever once done that.
And then his hands are on you, pawing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.
You yelp at the sudden movement as he lurches you both to his feet, gripping your thighs as he hauls you back through the bar.
“Gator!” you yell in shocked protest, not caring how badly the two of you are making a scene. “Put me down, you asshole!”
“Since you don’t wanna listen, guess you need a little help,” he tells you, his voice gratingly calm. His hands are a vice grip on your bare legs, even while you thrash around. You beat at his back, your hair getting in your face and the buzz of alcohol not helping with keeping your head straight any more than the rapid motion. “Gator, I swear to God, if you don’t let me go–”
“Yell all you want, mama,” he muses as he directs you both through the crowded bar tables. “These assholes aren’t gonna do shit. They know you’re with me.”
As arrogant as the statement is, he’s probably right. If they didn’t recognize Gator’s face and know better than to interject already, they’d sure recognize the Stark County Sheriff's Deputy badge pinned to his chest. Deep-rooted frustration roils in you, and you squirm even more against the arm he has pinning your legs.
“You’d better knock that off, pretty,” he tells you, a warning in his deep voice.
“Or what?” you spit.
You can almost hear the wicked smile in his voice as he replies, “Or I might just have to take you to the bathroom and fuck that attitude outta ya.”
“Pig,” you hiss at him, scowling even as warmth coils in your gut at the words– at what’s probably waiting for you at home as a punishment for your misbehavior.
He doesn’t set you down until you’re right next to his truck, haphazardly parked in one of the first open spots in the bar parking lot. You wonder how long he drove around looking for you before he thought to come here– wonder how long he waited in the house pretending old wounds weren’t being poked by your absence. For a second, a flicker of guilt runs through you. Sure, your boyfriend isn’t exactly a paragon of emotional stability. But you could have done better than you have tonight to fight that.
Gator releases you and reaches around you to yank open your door.
Your cheeks flushed, you stand before him stubbornly and cross your arms, refusing to move. He’s placed himself in between you and any possible escape, fencing you into the truck.
“Get in the car,” he orders you again, face entirely uncompromising.
You’re a little drunk, and your resolve is cracking, but you still manage to glare up at him. “Isn’t there something you wanna say first?”
“You want an apology outta me after the shit you just pulled?” he demands, brows shooting up. “You’re lucky I don’t lock you up after a stunt like that.”
“You don’t own me, Gator,” you remind him, scowling into his stern face.
“That’s not what you were saying to that idiot back there,” Gator challenges, his dangerous voice purring.
You flush harder, wishing you had more faculty over your words. “I’m not going with you until you apologize.”
His eyes flash, all the pushback getting to him. “We’ll talk when you’re safe at home. Now get in the fuckin’ car.”
You falter slightly at the offer to talk. He’s learning– you know he is. A year ago, he’d have brushed this whole thing under the rug, chalked it up to some kind of female dramatics. But now, even if your ‘talking’ is probably gonna amount to another screaming match and some makeup sex… well, you suppose communication takes many forms.
He sees your hesitation and settles slightly, jerking his head to the seat. “Don’t make me throw you in there.”
You shoot him one last dirty look and relent, climbing into the truck and taking your seat indignantly.
Gator slams the door behind you, telling you through the open window, “S’like wrangling a fuckin’ bobcat with you.”
You’re still sulking when you pull into the driveway of your home, the lights in the living room still on like Gator didn’t bother turning down the house before he left. He must have been worried. That guilt flips through you again.
Gator walks behind you into the house, and although he doesn’t say it, you know it’s probably so he can catch you if you drunkenly stumble. Always so protective, this one– even when he’s infuriated with you.
You sigh as you pad through the entryway, tossing the bag stuffed with your work clothes by the shoe rack haphazardly. You hear Gator’s keys hit the dish, but you don’t turn back to look at him– just make your way to the kitchen and pull a water bottle from the fridge, drinking from it deeply to clear your throat.
Gator sheds his leather jacket and throws it over the hook by the door before stalking into the kitchen after you. You eye him coolly as he comes up to the counter, his hands resting on it as he watches you back.
“So, you gonna tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing tonight?” he starts, his voice already harsh.
“Drinks,” you tell him again, taking another swig of water. “With my friends. Told you.”
Gator runs a hand through his hair, mussing it. Out of his heavy uniform, when he’s as rumpled as he is now, he’s nowhere near as intimidating as most people find him. “You told me you were off at six,” he barks. “I get home, no call, no text, and you’re out with your fuckin’ girlfriends like it’s goddamn mardi gras.”
“It was one fucking hour,” you gripe, fingers locked around the plastic of your water bottle.
“I don’t give a damn,” Gator snarls, planting his hands on the counter and leaning toward you. “You don’t just run out on me. Plans change, then you call me and let me know and then I come and haul your ass out of the bar.”
You know where this fear comes from– know what he’s getting at, know why he’s ordering you so uncompromisingly. But maybe you’re too drunk and heady with anger to care, because once again, you can’t help but keep pushing. “Maybe I just didn’t want to talk to you, ever think about that?”
“You’re the one always harpin’ on me about communicating, aren’t ya?” he drawls, that dangerous edge still in his tone.
“Well, forgive me if I don’t have a strong interest in sitting here and letting you call me names over things that aren’t my fault,” you spit, and to your frustration, you feel your eyes start to prick again at the memory of what he called you this morning.
His jaw ticks, his lips pressing together. “You know damn well I didn’t mean that.”
“I have yet to hear you say so,” you challenge, face twisting. “I guess it’s just fine that you call me a bitch and tell me to shut my mouth? That’s just fine now?”
You see his hackles raise– see frustration and aggression fight for dominance in his expression before he finally relents– retreats just an inch for you. “I’m sorry,” he says firmly. “You bring it outta me when you push me like that. You know that.”
You shake your head, still not satisfied. “You can’t just lash out at me ‘cause you’re pissed with someone else. I’m not your proxy for the bridge ladies, Gator.”
“I know that,” he snaps, some of the softness fading. “I know you’re not sayin’ what they’re sayin’!”
“Then why are you yelling at me?” you spread your hands, incredulous.
He drags his hand through his hair again, aggravated. “I’m not–”
“You are,” you argue. “You are, Gator. I mean, why can’t you just talk to me about it?”
“I’m sick of fuckin’ talkin’ about it!” he yells. “I’m sick of all these people and their pushin’– all the little hints and nudges and tellin’ me what to do!”
“Who’s been saying that?” you plead with him, shaking your head. “It’s a couple of old ladies, Gator. It doesn’t matter what they think.”
“It’s not just them, it’s everyone!” he argues, still steaming. You can almost see that anger bubbling up in him– though, once again, you can tell you’re not its intended target. “Roy was on my ass about it this morning, too,” Gator spits out bitterly. “Talkin’ about makin’ an honest woman outta you. Carryin’ on the family name and all that horseshit.”
You fall quiet, the pieces clicking into place; the true reason for Gator’s bad mood this morning, his reason for coming over to sit with you in the first place. The pressure you can almost see in the set of his shoulders, the burdens he doesn’t realize he willingly takes on, the impossible expectation you’ve tried so hard to teach him to forget. But as long as Roy is here, some things will cut too deep into Gator for even you to mend. And this, the ‘pushing’ he keeps bucking, is about something bigger than the words you’ve thrown at each other tonight.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and for the first time tonight, you really mean it. “He shouldn’t have said that. You’re right, it’s none of their business.”
You watch as Gator deflates slightly, the calmness of your voice finally working on him.
“You can’t let it get to you like this,” you go on, brow creasing. “You can’t let him get in your head, baby, it’s—“
“You fucking try it,” he fires at you.
Your expression hardens again. “You don’t see me losing my shit when those people say I'm nothing more than a good housewife in the making.”
“That shit is different and you know it,” he says, thrusting a finger at you. “You know that’s not you. You play that game, but you know that’s not you.”
He’s still pushing— still fighting you. And, just now, it feels as heartbreaking as anything else he’s done, especially when it comes to this— to the little hopes you've fed each other, the plans you’d thought were in the making. That’s what finally gets you— finally makes you blurt it out. “Why is this such an issue for you?” you make out, and your voice cracks as you say it. You're reminded of the fact you’re still a little drunk as tears pool in your eyes, threatening to spill down your face.
Gator sees it, too. His expression creases, and he tears his eyes away, his resolve all but completely breaking. It’s the one thing he’s never been able to stand— you crying. The second he sees he’s pushed you there, the second your voice starts to wobble, he can’t take it– he always relents.
He heaves a sigh, his face falling and his shoulders drooping. “Baby– baby, why are you crying? Come on, don’t– don’t cry.”
The words do nothing to help matters. Tears fall swiftly down your cheeks, and you reach up to brush them away just as quickly. “Do you–” you take a breath, your voice weak with emotion. “I mean, do you… not want that with me?” You feel idiotic– naive. That quiet dream you keep locked away in your chest, that fantasy of a rowdy reception hall blaring music and a carseat in the back of the truck and tiny, sticky hands gripping a camo pant leg… maybe it was only ever that: a beautiful, foolish dream. But after three years, what else could you expect? How could you not have pictured it all with this boy who’s taken possession of you?
His expression contorts, confusion flashing in his eyes. “That’s what you think?” he demands.
“That’s how you make it sound, Gator!” You cry, hands flying to wipe furiously at your face. “That’s what it sounds like when you act like it’s so offensive that people think we’re gonna be a family one day!”
You watch as that one word– family– hits him square in the chest. “You’re not gettin’ it,” he shakes his head, his voice infinitely quieter. “You don’t get it, doll.”
“You’re damn fucking right, I don’t!” you snap back, sniffing.
“I just–” Gator turns from the counter again, frustration choking his voice. “I just can’t listen to any more of these fuckers tell me what to do. Not about this. Not about you.”
You shake your head, tears blurring your vision.
“Listen,” he tells you, suddenly insistent. Like he can’t stand it any longer, he rounds the counter toward you, stopping just before you. His hand comes up to fit over your jaw, almost covering the lower part of your face. He’s holding you there, forcing you without pain or aggression to look up at him. It’s possessive in its utter gentleness. “I don’t have a lot ‘a shit that’s mine,” he tells you, and something in his eyes shifts, melts a little. “But you? You and me, baby? That’s just mine. That belongs to me, you understand?”
A pathetic noise, a tiny gasping sob, works its way out of your mouth. Gator’s fingers are firm and warm on your face as he holds you, rooting you in place with that one hand.
“I want this because I want it,” he says, low and clear. “Not ‘cause I'm told to. Not as somethin’ my dad’s makin’ me do for him. I want you ‘cause I love you like nothin’ I’ve ever felt.”
You’re trembling, heart stuttering at the admission. Your hands come up to grip his arms, needing something to stabilize you.
“No one else gets to tell me to love you,” he says fiercely, staring down into your face. “No one gets to tell me what to want. I pick you.” His hand slips into your hair, cupping the back of your head, and he pulls you into him, crushing you into his chest.
You let out another sob, arms coming around him immediately. You clutch him back, your feet nearly lifted off the ground by the strength of his embrace. But you need it– you’ve always needed Gator’s force, his violence. You need his hands, his words, his love imprinted onto your skin in red lines like sleep marks, the intensity existing as the proof that it’s real.
“I love you,” you choke out, eyes fluttering shut.
Gator’s fingers scratch at your scalp, his strong arms tight around you. “Don’t you ever run out on me again.”
You hear the desperation in his voice, much as he might try to hide it. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” you whisper, drawing back to look up at him.
He’s so serious when your eyes meet again– his face drawn and pensive. One of your hands comes up to brush over his cheek, marvelling at the unexpected softness of his skin. “Fuck ‘em all,” you tell him, a smile flitting across your lips. “You and I are on our own timeline.”
He turns his head into your hand, nuzzling your palm. “I love you,” he says again, the words a grumble in his chest.
That naive, perfect dream is back in your chest, stronger and more insistent than before. As you stare up at Gator, his face softer than you might ever have hoped, you feel it softly glow.
---
a/n: I really do love this but it was a bitch and a half to edit. going to reward myself by writing some truly vile smut about this man
Word Count: idk yet, typed right into Tumblr, but <0.5k
Content: rough oral sex (m receiving), mean!Scott but a touch of aftercare, p0rn no plot, seriously 18+ under the cut, photos just for aesthetic (reader’s looks not described in fic)
Synopsis: Down on your knees in the Oklahoma dirt, Scott teaches you a thing or two.
A/N: NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED - I have a Scott Miller brainworm and need him so bad. Shoutout to @rynwritesstuff @avastarred @corens0ups @madefrom-stardust for your delish Scott fics I’ve been reading lately. I needed to write him being mean to the reader 🧍🏻♀️
His hands are huge on either side of your head as he guides you down his length.
You gag reflexively, and your eyes begin to water.
“Mmm,” he groans. “You can’t take it all?”
You just whimper in response, mouth still full of his hard heat, as you shake your head.
“Pathetic,” he sighs, pulling his cock out and rubbing the tip over your lips. “If this pretty mouth can’t handle me, how d’you ever expect your little cunt to take me?”
“Scott, please,” you whisper, looking up at him.
“Please what?” He asks, tapping his cock against your cheek. “Please what?” His eyes darken as he looks at you on your knees in the dirt for him.
“Let me try again,” you mutter.
“You’re just gonna choke,” he says with a disappointed frown.
“So, let me learn.”
“Yeah?” He says, parting your lips again with his flushed tip. “You want me to train your throat to take it all?”
You open as wide as you can, feeling it hit the back of your mouth as he presses in harshly. You swallow around it and try not to gag. It’s so much. Too much.
“If I don’t see it right here,” he whispers to you sternly as he traces the delicate skin at the column of your throat, “then you’re not doing it right. Got it?”
You nod as he fucks your mouth - harder and rougher this time than before. You find purchase on his strong thighs and try to ignore the want pooling between your legs as the field you’ve parked in is filled with the lascivious sounds of you taking all of him down your throat.
He pulls out sharply and starts pumping his length. “Stick your tongue out,” he grunts. “Now!”
You do as he says and taste the hot salt of him in your mouth. He shudders above you and pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now swallow.”
You shut your mouth and swallow his spend down with a quiet “mmm”.
“Now come on, your knees are muddy and your cheeks are tearstained. Let’s clean you up before the storm rolls in.”
The End
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