the drunk steve touching himself in the car fic you all have been waiting for…
contents: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; drunk, needy, desperate steve; steve masturbating in the damn car; mouthy and pathetic steve; sort of cocky steve also!; spit
this is also kind of sort of part of the august writing challenge with the addition of the word shelf because i am a cheater <3
i hope u enjoy!!
Steve’s in the late-stage part of his drunkenness. He’s slurring, giggling nearly nonstop, uneasy on his feet. His cheeks are dark pink and there’s sweat forming on his brow. And it seems that all he wants to do is dance, even though the music playing is really not danceable. It’s some chilled out music that Robin selected.
He’s also the only one dancing.
You finally get him off of the makeshift dance floor, which is the middle of Robin’s living room. You have to manhandle him on to the couch.
You stand in front of him, scolding softly. “Steve, you’re drunk.”
He furrows his brows and shakes his head at you. “Uh, I don’t think so, baby.” He tugs on your hand and pouts. “And why aren’t we dancin’?”
You roll your eyes and sit beside him. Someone makes a comment and he scoffs, leaning his body into yours.
Five minutes pass and he lifts his head, cupping his hand around your ear.
“I have a secret.”
Your lips curl into a smile. “What is it?”
He giggles. “i’m drunk.”
“I already knew that.”
“Wanna know another secret?”
You try to bite back your smile. “Sure.”
He giggles again, but this time, it’s breathy. Makes your skin prickle at your neck and shoulder. The hand not dramatically cupped at your ear rests on your thigh.
“I’m really hard.”
“Okay,” you say, face hot.
When you turn to look at him, he’s staring intensely. Licking his lips.
“Let’s get you home, alright?”
His hand squeezes your thigh again. “‘s a great idea.”
You have to pull his shoes on for him while he gently pats your head, leaning against Robin’s front door. She’s half awake and half asleep, stumbling towards you.
“Make sure he’s safe,” she says, poking her finger a little to hard into your chest.
“I promise. He’s going right to bed.”
Steve snorts. “Yeah, we are!”
You and Robin both scoff. You wrap your arm through Steve’s to support him as you walk onto her porch. Robin bids you farewell, and you turn to guide Steve towards his car. You already have his keys.
He giggles beside you, squeezing your arm in his.
“Has too much today, huh?” you ask, approaching the passenger door.
“Not too much of you.”
“Aren’t you sweet.”
“Y’gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it?” Then he gasps and spins around. “Think I left my beer on the shelf by the —“
You turn him back around. “Uh-uh, baby, we’re not taking it home.”
He nods slowly. “Right. We have beer at home.”
You do not have beer at home, but you still say, “Right.”
“Y’so smart, baby.”
You smile at him, opening the door, leading him into his seat.
You press a kiss to his cheek and pull away before his lips could chase yours.
“You’re such a charmer, Steve.”
He smiles up at you, eyes and face glowing.
You love him.
You shut his door gently and make your way into the driver’s side. The moment you shut it, Steve’s big hands reach for your face. He cups your cheeks and pulls you in, pressing his mouth to yours.
You let him kiss you. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and very strongly of mint, like he might have snuck one while you were lacing up his shoes.
You appreciate the effort.
He giggles against your lips with his forehead pressed against yours. You giggle, too, because his joy is simply infectious.
“Wanna fuck you,” he murmurs, “right here.”
You really almost let him, but you know better, and so you pull away and slide the keys into the ignition.
He’s devastated.
“Huh?” he asks. “What? Why not?”
“It’s one in the morning and you’re going to have a killer headache tomorrow. You need to sleep.”
Like a petulant child, he scoffs, throwing his head back and stomping a foot.
“But you love car sex.”
You laugh, pulling out onto the road. “You’re drunk, sweetheart.”
“‘s that the problem?” he asks, sitting up and leaning over the console. “That I’m drunk? Baby, I w- I want you to fuck me so bad. Y’not taking advantage of me - or - or —“
“Stevie,” you sigh. “You need to sleep.”
He sighs louder than you and slinks down in his seat.
“Don’t know what you do t’me,” he says, playing with his nails. Acting all pitiful. “Breakin’ my heart, honey. Leavin’ me over here all alone aching for you.”
You laugh again. “You won’t die, I promise.”
He groans, his head lolling to the side to look at you. “You’re really gonna make me handle it myself?”
Your stomach tenses. “If you can’t wait until the morning, then yes.”
Steve sighs. Several times. About two minutes pass and you think he actually may have dropped it, but then you hear him unzipping his jeans.
“Jesus, Steve,” you say incredulously.
You focus on the road ahead of you, even when Steve moans breathlessly.
But then he says, so sweetly, “Please look at me.”
You look over, intending to give him a quick peek. But he’s palming himself, looking at you intensely. Lying low in his seat, biting his bottom lip, eyes raking across you. Drinking all of you in.
You look back at the road, a bit speechless. “Oh my god.”
“What?” he breathes. “You’re so goddamn pretty, y’know? Couldn’t help myself.”
You steal another glance.
You could crash the car. He looks wrecked. His body blushes, from his cheeks down to his chest. One hand palms himself through his underwear and the other sits on his thigh.
Steve smirks, all smug, pretty brown eyes hooded.
“Wanna see? How hard y’get me?”
You try to remind yourself that you’re ten minutes from home. Just ten minutes. You can stay strong.
“No.”
He groans. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun lookin’ at the road.”
You do still watch out of the corner of your eye. Of course you’re intrigued.
Steve lifts his palm to his mouth and spits.
You whimper.
it’s impossible to focus on driving when he starts gasping. Pathetic little whimpers, all breathy, slurring something under his breath. You can see the movement of his arm in your periphery. Up and down, nice and slow.
And you hear it, too - how wet he is. Each schlick that accompanies every stroke. His breath hitches, he sighs prettily, trying to hold back little whimpers.
Then he moans.
You imagine him, blissed out, his thumb swiping along the slick, ruddy head of his shaft.
Your jaw clenches.
“Fuck,” Steve sighs.
It’s real vulgar of him. He sounds fuck drunk when he says it, too.
“Could be you.” His voice is thick with lust. “Could be stretchin’ you out right now.”
You clear your throat and shift in your seat, clit aching. “Whatever.”
“You want it. Think I don’t see how your thighs’re clenched?”
“Steve, shut up.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk mean.”
“Stop it,” you say, biting your cheek. You tap the clock on his dashboard. “We’re seven minutes to home, which means you have seven minutes to cum. I’m not helping you when we get back.”
“Shit,” he murmurs, and doubles down his efforts. Spits again, right down onto his cock, groaning before continuing to jerk himself.
You’re in a frenzy. He sounds so good. You feel so empty knowing his fat, heavy cock is in his hand and not inside of you. You’re almost jealous of it, in fact. Your teeth dig into your cheek, and even though you could turn the radio up to tune him out, you don’t. You love hearing him.
Steve gets louder. You see his hips bucking. His free hand reaches for you and grips tightly onto your thigh.
“unh!”
You look at him now. You can’t not.
His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open in pleasure. His pink lips are spit-slick and he whines. He opens his eyes, revealing stars inside of them while he stares intently at you.
He slurs something you can’t decipher. The car swerves and you gasp, quickly looking back to the road. Steve doesn’t seem to notice - his hips buck into his fist and he squeezes your thigh harder.
“Need you’,” he begs. “‘m so close, need — touch me, please.”
He kills you. You’re two minutes away from home and your resolve is cracking. Actually, it’s past cracked.
“Please,” he repeats, desperate. “Only — can only cum if you… oh, shit, need it so bad.”
You exhale shakily before moving your hand blindly over to his lap. He takes your hand, spits on it messily, then guides it to his shaft.
You wrap your hand around it and stroke him. Slow and firm. He whines, white-knuckling the handle of the passenger side door, his other hand in his hair. You take another glance when he groans and you see that he’s pulling on his sun-kissed strands.
“Oh my God,” you repeat. You don’t know what else to say.
His hand rests over yours, keeping it steady, before rutting himself into your fist. He cries out, back arching, feet planted firmly onto the floor.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck wanna fuck you so bad, pull over, ohmygod please pull over, wanna cum inside of your pussy, wanna feel it, shit!”
You’re speeding, the tires of Steve’s car screeching as you pull into the driveway, awkwardly putting it into park with your left hand. You don’t unbuckle yourself before leaning towards him and kissing him.
He can’t even keep his goddamn mouth shut while you do. He’s moaning filthily, licking into your mouth, panting heavily. You feel his cock twitching, his warm hand making yours move against it slickly. Your Steve-senses are good enough to know when he’s coming, and you’re quick to take your other hand and over it above his tip so that he doesn’t make a mess.
But he still does. He comes with a loud cry, panting in your mouth, eyes squeezed shut and a string of unknown expletives flying off of his lips. You feel his warm, sticky cum hit your palm and you can hear how wet it makes your fist as he fucks himself through it. He cums for a while, whimpering and whining through it before his hips and hand still, letting yours go.
Steve leans back, panting and sweating. His hair looks like hell, and he looks beautiful all wrecked like this. The car smells like sex and sweat and, well, your hand is covered in him.
“Look at this mess,” you say, sort of incredulous.
He grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you into him, even though you’re messy, even though you can’t prop yourself up on your elbows.
“Just mad it isn’t in you,” he asserts, cockiness coming back. “C’mere ‘nd I’ll fuck some into you, angel.”
“Steve,” you warn, uneasy as he pulls you towards his lap.
“Get it on me, don’t care,” he rasps.
You hover over him. His cock isn’t even softening, even after all it gave. Steve’s hands move to your hips, quick to shove your pants down towards your knees.
“But sleep,” you say weakly, hands still held up awkwardly, his cum cooling on your fingers.
Steve’s lips find your neck. “I’ll sleep once I cum in y’r sweet little pussy, believe me.”
combining the power of @stevenose August writing challenge + this anon prompt to bring you this blurb!!! do not look too hard at the writing it was v quick okay thanks!!!!
August 3rd word: 'metal'
cw: shower sex, oral (R receiving), R has a vagina, R is implied fat/plussized, is referred to once as ‘girl’, multiple spanks, cum eating, Steve on his knees 🧎
___
The rushing water through the pipes of the upstairs bathroom provide a solid wall of white noise, as does the shower head itself. There’s steam billowing up in misty drifts, pressing against and over the glass shower wall, surrounding you and Steve in a warm haze.
There’s the edge of the metal shower handle beginning to press into your left ass cheek, too, but Steve’s tongue is so far in your cunt you can’t think of much else.
He’s kneeling on the nonslip tile, one of your legs over the broad expanse of his freckled shoulders, big hands firm on either side of your hips.
There’s a convenient built-in shelving feature on the wall behind your back, allowing you to lean your weight into your hands while your hips roll mindlessly against Steve’s mouth.
Steve’s groaning. The echo of it fills the space just as much as the steam- interrupted every so often by his hand leaving your hip to stroke his cock- a wet, frantic sound before he’s back on and in you again.
Steve curls his tongue, stroking the textured wall of your pussy, making your knee seize and mold to his ear; his hand moves again, this time to smack sharply at your ass.
You interpret this correctly, chest heaving, tilting your pelvis and arching to rest just your upper back on the shower wall so Steve can get in deeper.
And he does- nose pressed tight to your aching clit, moaning and sending the vibrations spasming through to your core. Your pussy tightens in response, clenching around the thick muscle of his seeking tongue.
The shower head is aimed directly at your back, cascading down the length of you- there’s a fine layer of mist across Steve’s body, chestnut hair a shade or two darker from the runoff.
You were briefly worried about the possibility of his drowning, but based on the way his nails are digging into your hips, pulling you closer and attempting suffocation, you think he might die happy.
“Steve,” you sigh out, the word getting swallowed up by all the other noises- namely, the slick one of his fists around his cock, again. “Feels so good…”
You lean more of your weight into your left hand, still anchored by a knee over Steve’s shoulder, to sink the fingers of your right hand into the roots of his dampening locks. The angle of his mouth is perfect, and you aim to keep him there, stealing a glance down as you do-
Steve looks like an angel, of course. Tawny skin stretched bare, all for you, brows knit together in exultation and concentration, eyes closed and lashes sweeping at the inside of your thighs.
The crown of your head drops back to the wall when Steve starts fucking his tongue in and out of you, in quick, short movements, aided by your hand glued to his skull.
The whole time, he’s making this sick, needy, low-pitched groaning noise, one that has you gasping, stuttering out his name in warning-
“St-Steve, gonna- fuck, fuck, baby, like that-”
There’s another sharp smack to your ass before his hand comes to rest on your tummy, a loving stroke over it before his thumb dips down, works its way to your clit.
As if his nose wasn’t enough. This way, he can rub tight circles in tandem with his tonguefucking, and focus his mouth’s attention solely on your spasming cunt.
Another noise is ripped from your lungs, this time, louder than all the water and white noise- it’s pure pleasure, a high, keening thing that makes Steve lightheaded. If his mouth wasn’t so full, he’d be talking you through it and singing your praises.
He lets his hands speak for him. Increases the pressure on your clit, works over in fast little movements, and leaves half-moon nail marks in the plush fat of your ass as he drags you closer, as you cum on his tongue.
The orgasm pushes another long noise from your lungs, a mix of moan and whine, breathy and sweet- it ends in a sharp gasp, and Steve’s pulling his head from between your thighs, ever attentive.
“S’too much?” His speech is slurred, partially from pussy-drunkenness and partially from the mouthful of your slick and cum he’s storing.
“No, no, so good, baby, just the metal- thing.” You gesture vaguely behind yourself, weak from coming, but Steve’s already rising to his feet.
He swallows, swipes the back of his hand blissfully across his mouth before going in for a kiss. “Sorry, honey, should’a had you in a different spot, just couldn’t wait.”
“I don’t mind.”
Steve’s smile curls at the side of your neck as he snuggles in, humming pleased when your arms encircle his shoulders. “That’s my girl. Let’s shower off and get you warmed up- want your knees comfy on that mattress for when you sit on my face 'fore bedtime."
summary: post accident gator has an anxiety attack when you accidentally leave him alone. hurt/comfort, angst
you only stepped outside for a minute. just to grab the package off the porch. you didn’t even think about it—just left him in the kitchen with the radio on low and the window open, said i’ll be right back, sugar, and let the screen door swing shut behind you.
and by the time you come back in, gator’s on the floor.
curled against the cabinets, hands gripping his own shirt like he’s trying to keep himself still, chest rising too fast. the radio’s still playing something twangy and sad, and he’s breathing like he’s drowning in it.
“gator,” you gasp, dropping the amazon box. “baby, hey—hey, i’m here.”
he flinches when you touch him. god, he flinches. like he didn’t hear you. like he doesn’t know it’s you. peering up at you with those cloudy grey eyes.
“it’s me,” you whisper quickly, kneeling in front of him, your palms hovering before they land—his shoulders, his jaw, his face soaked with sweat and panic. “it’s just me. i’ve got you. i’m here.”
“i—” his voice is wrecked, barely audible. “i didn’t know where you went.”
“i was on the porch,” you say, guilt already souring in your throat. “just for a second. i didn’t think—fuck, i didn’t think, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—”
his hands find your arms and grip like he’s still falling, like he doesn’t believe you’re real until you’re solid under his fingers.
“couldn’t hear you,” he breathes. “couldn’t see. felt like—felt like i was—”
you stroke his hair back gently, resting your forehead against his.
“i know,” you whisper. “i know, baby. i’m so sorry.”
he doesn’t cry, not really—but he clings. folds himself into your arms, trembling and quiet, like you’re the only thing left in the world that makes sense. and you hold him, aching and guilty and scared in your own way, because you forgot. because it’s only been three weeks and you’re still adjusting too, but you should’ve known.
you should’ve remembered that silence is different now. silence means lost. silence means fear.
“it’s scary,” he says after a while, his voice raw against your neck. “not bein’ able to find you.”
your chest tightens. you press a kiss to his temple.
“then i won’t disappear again. not even for a second. okay?”
he nods against you, still breathing deep like he’s trying to slow himself down. your hand slips into his, and you guide him upright slowly—walk him to the couch like he’s made of glass.
he sinks into the cushions and doesn’t let go.
“gator,” you say softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles, “you’re allowed to be scared. you don’t have to be tough all the time.”
he huffs something like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“used to be the one takin’ care of you,” he says, head tilted back. “now you gotta babysit me so i don’t have a goddamn meltdown over an empty kitchen.”
“you’re not a burden,” you say immediately. “you hear me? you’re not. this is just new. it’s new and hard and yeah, it’s scary. but i’m not going anywhere. not ever.”
he doesn’t answer, just turns his face toward the sound of your voice and finally—finally—relaxes a little when your hand cups his cheek.
you sit with him like that until the light starts to shift, until the radio crackles into another sad song, until his thumb starts drawing slow circles against your wrist again.
“next time,” he murmurs, quieter now, “just tell me where you’re goin’. even if it’s just the porch.”
Halloween Costumes, Oral (F Rec), Fingering, Laughably bad and cheesy flirting and dirty talk.
Word Count - 1,531
divider by @strangergraphics
You didn’t think anything of your Halloween costume this year, just some party store witch costume grabbed off the rack in a quick rush. Robin had called last week to say she was having a Halloween party at her place, but seemingly forgot to mention it was a costume party until the day before. So an overpriced, slightly scratchy deep purple velvet dress and some matching purple and black stockings paired with some chunky black winter boots that you were able to fish out of the depths of your closet would have to suffice. There wasn’t even a witches hat in to go with the costume. Could you even call yourself a witch if you didn’t have a hat? I guess that was going to have to be something you were going to forget about now.
So, no, in all honestly you didn’t think that your halloween costume was all that impressive, but Steve however, Steve thought differently.
“Hey Honey are you ready to g-” he stops mid sentence as he walks into the bedroom to see you.
In all honesty Steve had never truly thought of himself as particularly kinky, sure he liked it when you would blow him in the shower, or ride him in his car when either you couldn’t bear to go another second without touching each other, but what guy didn’t? He was only human? But seeing you all dressed up so enticingly in your short velvet dress with sleek stockings rolled up your legs had his dick twitching under the cover of his light coloured khaki trousers.
Apparently his Indiana Jones costume does very little to hide his very obvious boner, because all too easily your eyes flick down to his growing bulge before flicking back up to his flushed pink cheeks.
“Steve, seriously?” you huff. “You can’t honestly tell me that this is doing it for you.” gesturing to your costume
“Honey, you could be wearing a potato sack and I'd still wanna pounce on ‘ya, but I'd be lying if I said this little get-up wasn’t making me feel some kind of way.” he says as he pads over to you.
As if you needed any more evidence of how excited he was by your choice of costume, he presses himself against the rounded curve of your ass, letting you feel his hard cock against the layers of both of your costumes.
“Steve, we do not have time for this, we’re supposed to be at Robin’s party in like fifteen minutes, we need to go now.”
“I can get you off in ten minutes, easy. Maybe twice if you’re good for me.” he says, almost smug in assuredness of his capabilities. “Come on, all you gotta do is just spread those pretty legs for me and I can make you feel so good.”
“Fine.” you laugh off, reasoning that it would be fruitless to argue with him. He always got what he wanted in the end.
“Atta girl.”
He backs you up to your vanity table, laughing softly to himself when he hears the clattering of perfume bottles and jewellery being pushed aside as your ass bumps up against the table top.
Sitting on top of the vanity table puts you at the perfect height for Steve to get between your spread open thighs, each of your legs draping over his shoulders and down his back as he puts himself at the very center of where he loves to be.
“Oh honey…can’t believe you were hiding these from me. Were you hoping to get lucky tonight?” he smirks, upon seeing your choice of underwear. Black, lacy, skimpy, slutty.
“Maybe I was, Harrington. Maybe I was hoping some brave archeologist would come and excavate my cave.” you laugh, taking a jab at Steve’s choice of costume with your line of cheesy dirty talk.
“Oh honey, I am more than ready to explore your temple of doom.”
He drags the scrap of lace down your thighs before pocketing them for his own personal safe-keeping.
You raise an arched eyebrow at him but he just responds with his usual boyish charm.
“A good explorer always takes a souvenir from his conquests.”
And with that he buries his face into your core, letting his tongue trace broad sweeps over your pussy. His stubbled cheeks scratch along the soft skin of your thighs as he warms you up to the feeling of his tongue. You fist your hands into Steve’s hair, messing up his perfectly styled coif of soft chestnut hair. His nose bumps against your clit, giving you something so perfect to grind down into as he urges his face impossibly closer to your cunt. He gives you a few more steady licks, before his tongue sweeps up to flick over your clit before capturing it between his pink lips, suckling on it in a way that has your stomach rippling with pleasure. He knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what you like and how you like it, and he knows exactly how to play you to get you to fall apart for him
“Steve..” you gasp breathlessly.
“That’s it honey, wanna hear you, wanna hear how good I’m making you feel..”
Because that is what he gets off on the most. Getting to hear every little noise that he can pull from you as a direct result of what he’s doing to you. Getting to feel every little subtle twitch in your thighs as you claw closer and closer to your high. Getting to indulge in every little thing that makes your body sing. His cock presses intently in his pants, longing to be freed, but right now the only thing he’s concerned about is getting to taste you, getting to feel the way your slick gushes from you as you come apart on his tongue.
Embarrassingly quickly he’s bringing you to the edge of pleasure and it doesn’t take very much more than his dedicated mouth giving you all the love and devotion it can before you’re falling apart, your chest rising and falling with breathy gasps and whining moans.
His tongue licks you softly, bringing you through the shuddering shocks of your first orgasm but sure enough he’s quickly working you up to another.
“Just give me one more pretty girl, we’ve still got time, just wanna feel you come for me one more time. ” he pleads eagerly, peppering gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh.
You offer him a shy nod of your head, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving back in, eating you out like he needs it to survive
“Think you can take one of my fingers Honey?”
“I want it, please Stevie, I just wanna feel you..”
He slides one of thick fingers inside your tight heat, crooking them up to meet that spot that has you throwing your head back in pleasure. Teasing them inside you so intimately as he leans back down to level his face with your cunt to suck on your clit once more.
Leveraging your legs over his shoulders, you use them to draw him closer, locking your ankles together like you don’t want to let him go.
Your whole body feels pleasantly tingly, your head feels fuzzy and floaty all at the same time and it’s all because of Steve.
“That’s it pretty girl…you’re squeezing my finger so tight, I can tell you want it, I can tell you’re close..just give it to me..”
He slips one more of his thick fingers inside you, and rounds his tongue over your clit a few more times and your high rushes over you, shuddering through your body like electricity.
“There’s my good fucking girl.” he growls against you as you ride out your release.
Steve pulls away from you with a self-satisfied smirk, his smug face covered in your slick juices which he devilishly cleans away with a darting swipe of his tongue.
“Told you I could get you off twice in ten minutes.”
“Okay Cassanova, you’re good, I’ll give you that.” you laugh with a shake of your head as you try to tug the skirt of your dress back down.
You hold your hand open, waiting for him to give you your panties back.
“Give me back my underwear please, Steve”
“Uh-uh, you know the rule, finders keepers. They're mine now.”
As he gets up from his knees your eyes are drawn to the still prominent bulge in his pants.
“But wait, what about you? Don't you want me to return the favour?”
“As much as I would love that, and trust me I would love that a so fucking much right now, we've got a party to go to, and if we leave now we're only going to be fashionably late.” He smiles that warm, charming smile you love so much. “Besides there's gotta be a closet or something at the party where we can sneak away, I'm sure Robin won't mind.”
And he's so effortlessly charming, suave and oh so handsome, you might just have to take him up on that offer, because after all, what's Halloween without a little hi-jinks?
Rendezvous! Featuring Antique Dolls and Playthings. Wednesday, September 8th at 7PM. Absentee, telephone and internet bidding available.
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https://theriaults.proxibid.com
https://www.theriaults.com
