contents: historic au; cowboy!steve !!! woohoo!!!; reader with a vagina and breasts; steve calls reader ‘my girl’; public nudity (but not really?); oral (reader receiving); some random angsty cowboy steve lore idk
Your body ached, nights of grueling work at the tavern weighing deeply in your muscles and bones. Yet you still walked a mile into the woods, tripping over branches and thickets, to find a secluded spot to lounge in.
You’d known of one far enough away from horse trails to sunbathe, which had a small creek that you could use to cool down. It takes a while to find, more time than you’d have liked to spend on it, but you finally come across the patch of thick, soft grass overlooking the water.
You throw your picnic basket down and pull out a few quilts to cushion you. A cross-stitched pillow to cradle your head. And a bottle of whiskey from the tavern. No cup — you’re drinking straight from the bottle until your body relaxes.
It’s a gorgeous midwestern day. The sun is hot, but the air is cool. Blue and orange butterflies look for wildflowers as birds sing over your head. A ladybug finds its spot on your arm, and a hummingbird skirts past.
It’s so nice, in fact, and you’re so far away from the path, that you decide to strip. You throw off your linens, not even bothering to fold them, but keeping them close by just in case. You’ve got your father’s pistol tucked away in your basket, too. You sigh heavily when you settle, and the warmth of the sun and the alcohol is quick to pull you to sleep.
You’re left in perfect solitude for a while. In a blissed out, half-awake state, listening to the rushing water below you. You’re so grateful for no distractions, no annoying, drunk patrons, no —
The faint sound of hooves startles you. Your eyes fly open, immediately covering yourself with your hands, and you lay flat. You strain to make sure that’s actually what you’re hearing, and the sudden cacophony of branches breaking confirms that someone is making their way towards you.
Then you hear a little “ow!” and “Jesus, Trigger, careful!”
You shake your head and relax again, closing your eyes. And you make it a point to stay naked. And it has nothing to do with the cowboy and everything to do with the fact that he’s ruined your alone time to bother you. And it has nothing to do with him.
There’s a low whistle. You bite your cheek to stop a smile from spreading across your face.
“You almost made that hike worth it.”
You hadn’t seen him in nine days. You hate that you’ve kept count, but his absence is always very noticeable. Especially when your blood pressure stays steady for days on end.
But you missed your cowboy, as much as you’d hate to say it.
“Come to be a pervert, Steve?”
“Came t’ water my horse, in fact,” he chides, patting Trigger’s back. He gives her a little go on, girl and she steps down to the creek to drink.
There’s a prolonged silence, so you open your eyes. He’s standing over you, admiring you, hands on his hips, his tongue pressing into his cheek.
“Guess ‘m here to water myself, too,” he says.
You scoff.
“Shouldn’t be out here like this, y’know. Anybody could find ya. ‘nd since you didn’t give me a warnin’, I wouldn’t be able to help you, peach.”
“Consider yourself an intruder, then.”
Steve doesn’t need an invitation to lay himself between your legs, and you don’t stop him other than by giving him a glare.
“Saw the lights on at your tavern late last few nights,” he says. His breath fans over your core and you shiver. “Tough week?”
You nod. “Y’know. Damn politicians comin’ through town. Almost drank me dry.”
You don’t tell Steve that his father was there, on his governmental campaign trail. You don’t tell him that his father asked about him, and you certainly don’t tell him about the anger in his eyes when he inquired.
“Drank you dry, huh? Any of ‘em try to lay a finger on my girl?”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not your girl, Steve.”
He hums, and nonchalantly pulls your knees over his shoulders. He’s face to face with your pussy, and you watch him with bated breath, hoping he doesn’t make you beg for it.
“Missed you,” he says, and then he’s licking a stripe up your folds.
You shudder, hands finding his thick waves and threading your fingers through them. He grips your hips with his hands, keeping you in place, making you feel small.
“I’ll do the work,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your clit. “Just relax, darlin’. Gonna make it all better.”
He licks a slow, fat stripe up your lips, groaning low at the taste of you. His tongue flicks against your clit before his lips attach to it, sucking fervently. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair harder, pulling another groan from him.
He teases your entrance with his tongue, gently prodding, his nose nudging at your swollen clit. You moan, trying to roll your hips to make him fuck you with it, but he keeps you steady.
“Missed this,” he murmurs, glancing up at you. “Bet your poor pussy’s been s’lonely, huh?”
You whimper and nod, biting your lip hard enough to bleed.
“Shoulda come found me,” he drawls, nuzzling his nose against your sensitive bundle. “Woulda taken good care a’you, peach.”
You know he’d been hiding until the political procession was over. Couldn’t face his dad after running away from him to live a life like this. You suddenly feel guilty for not seeing him sooner. You open your mouth to apologize, but he’s devouring you just as you let out the first syllable.
“Shit!” you breathe, squirming as much as you could for being held down.
Steve’s breaths are loud and rough. His entire mouth is on you. There’s not a single spot that his lips and tongue aren’t on. His breath is hot, his tongue hotter, fucking in and out of you roughly while he uses his strong nose to keep your clit begging.
He holds you strong enough to leave bruises. You want them. You want to go home and press gently on them and remember when he gave them to you. And then you want to see him the next day and act like you don’t give a damn about him.
You like being chased, and you like driving him crazy.
Steve pulls away, a string of saliva connecting you, to gently push a finger into you. You gasp, back arching, and he quickly finds your sweet spot. It took him once to locate it, and he never had to struggle to find it again. His lips are back on your clit, making perfect work of it, his finger curling to make you cry.
“Close, close, close,” you moan, twisting, the pleasure overwhelming. “Y’feel so good, Steve.”
He groans loud, and you glance down to see him humping at your quilt. The sight only gets you off more, and with one more stroke of his finger you’re coming, thighs clamping around his head. He groans further, never letting up his ministrations until you’re letting go of him.
“Sorry,” you whisper, face hot.
Steve licks his lips, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He creeps upwards, cradling your face in his hands as he kisses you. No one makes you feel as depraved as he does. Tasting yourself on his lips just feels good and right, but only with him.
“You know I love it when you do that,” he drawls, voice rough.
He lays on your chest for a moment, both of you catching your breath, and then he sits up on his knees.
“We’ll get goin’,” he says, rolling his shoulders.
You sit up after him and reach for his incredibly obvious bulge, palming it. Steve gasps and rolls his hips, looking at you with sweet, wide eyes.
Steve’s hand finds your hip again, fingers flexing like he’s still asking permission. “Last chance to walk away, Sugar.”
You tip your head, breath catching. “You’d let me?”
His grin turns sharp. “Probably not.”
Something sparks between you, hot and sudden.
You don’t move.
Neither does he.
But you both lean, tiny shifts, drawn in like gravity’s been turned up just for this moment. His nose grazes yours. His lips hover a whisper from your own.
Barely-there contact.
Almost.
Almost.
But not enough.
“Steve…” you breathe, the word trembling out of you before you can stop it.
He exhales like you just gave him permission to sin. “Yeah,” he whispers back, voice roughened. “I know.”
Please help me choose an image for an upcoming holiday cowboy!steve fic! Or if you have another look you think screams cowboy!steve then please send it my way! ❤️❤️❤️
which one?
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Voting ended onDec 5, 2024
Aaaaand here is a little snippet for you! It's a little NSFW!
“Never thought I would be here.”
He kisses your jaw and down the column of your throat. The touch of his hands makes goosebumps burst out over your body.
“Never thought you’d have me in your bed,” he continues as he kisses the top of your breasts.
“Someone like you, so beautiful and sophisticated.”
He hooks a finger in your bra and pulls down.
“Being with someone rough and dirty like me.”
Summary: When he returned to the inside of the sheriff’s depot, he could not help but spare himself a single glance at you. From where he could see a sliver of your face, the part that was not tucked away within the cell of your folded arms, you looked like Nellie. If you had been strangers and he saw you in passing, he would have assumed you were sisters.
Though, he does not feel as though he could love you, not in the way he will not allow himself to love Nellie.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it, period appropirate racism (namely against Native Americans during the conflicts in Mexico from 1850-1870), suicide, gun violence, death, blood, gore, botflies, mentions of parental abuse, a nod to the Yellowstone spin-off 1883
My Content is 18+ Minors DNI
Word Count: 5.2k
Find the series masterlist here!
"What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemned to die? Thy fatal time doth draw to final end; Despair doth drive distrust unto my thoughts: Confound these passions with a quiet sleep." Christopher Marlowe, Faustus
Nellie,
I’m afraid the circumstances of your cousin’s stay have changed. The tenants are not producing enough sorghum and cotton to keep their children fed, much less my house standing. I do not have the means to keep my ten hired men or the provisions to provide an adequate dowry for my daughters.
We had been lucky with William, lucky that his family had their stakes buried deep in Wells Fargo and Union Pacific to be enough to provide for her, but now, with no legally binding marriage, she cannot be claimed as his widow, and she cannot establish the rights to their wealth. She has nothing.
Whether my daughter may believe it or not, you are both the mirror images of your mothers and, in turn, each other. I only wish that you had not lost them so early. You have been woven and mended from the cloth of generations of women much like yourselves, and now you find yourselves joined in death. I am sending her to you out of my desire for nearness when her mother passed, and I believe that, despite herself, she craves that same nearness– and I think that you may be the one best suited to give that to her.
I do not believe it will be easy- the throes of death never are- but I fear that you may have something to offer her in ways that I cannot. She has become stagnant, much like the marshes that surround our lands, and she, too, is as wild as the West. Please ensure her safety if you cannot ensure her well-being.
You went west to disappear, Nellie, and, even though she might not have forgiven you, she needs to disappear, too.
Regards,
Uncle Ned
+
Steve had seen battlefields less stagnant than this.
Even the chatter of Faro and early bargoers had succumbed to the brass band crescendo that filled these walls just steps above the main floor, insults and accusations disrupting the air. Clips of conversations and remnants of family ties tilled up and exhumed from the soil of years past. They hadn’t had it easy, either.
Steve lifted his gaze from where it was affixed to the polished wood of the bartop, meeting Eddie’s wide, owlish stare. He lifted his eyebrows at him in question, and he shrugged back. A “let them work it out,” said silently across the palpable tension in the room where the others sat.
Steve tried to imagine the hurt from either side, the stinging wounds of your accusation licked clean by the ache of Nellie’s abandonment. He hadn’t known that Nellie had a family until her Uncle Ned had begun to write–until you stepped into the light, a strange genesis for him to come to terms with.
All of this had been strange to him, he hadn’t had a family to compare it to. At least, in the traditional sense. A mother lost to the black death of childbed, a father succumbed to laudanum and drink. Steve had, in the familial sense, been alone for as long as he could fathom, had known the embrace of hot sand in Mexico, and had only known the comfort of being alive another day.
Zacatecas, 1870
Like flies, the bodies dropped, though he still waited. Twenty-five per scalp. Up to fifty if it's one of them big fuckers. The promises they had been given at the border died on the tongues of the skeletal Mexican army. They were no match for the Comanches in number or combat. One by one, they were massacred in a spray of blood and violence, some scalped alive, some killed outright. The boy hoped they’d kill him outright.
But even the promise of twenty-five whole dollars– more money than the boy had ever held in his two god-given hands- could not coax him from the creosote, its sticky sweetness deriving nausea from the cavernous depths of him even as an adult. He remembered the way the petrichor mixed with the metallic sting of iron and then the rot, the way it coagulated from the sprayed blood of the Mexican army by the hands of the Comanche. The whistling screams of pain and death turned to the hum of flies, and that metallic warmness dripped down onto him in syrupy congealed horror.
It was days that the boy sat there, long, droning days. He thought of death then, in all of the sickest ways a boy could conceive. If not by Comanche, then by infection. Then starvation or thirst. Then exposure. His mind had landed on botfly, long, droning hums of a bug too deep to dig out, being eaten from the sinuses inwards until his head had become a hole.
When the Comanche man found him, heavy feet reverberating against sand in a funeral procession of one, his body had not been able to tremble. He stared into the sullen eyes of that hardened man. He could not draw his weapon, he could not do anything other than stare.
And the man stared back, haughty and stoic and terrifying as his gaze fixed down a strong nose at the shriveled creature before him.
He lifted his head, the sand sticking to his burnt, leathery skin, and tried to speak. Nothing but a hoarse whisper escaped– and yet the man still stared. For hours, he felt, they stared like this, waged a war between gazes, and walked the line between life and death. The boy had not known how to pray, but he did anyway– searched for God in the eyes of the godless– that it would be a swift and painless end. He dug through that whirling blackness of eternal oblivion, fearing a botfly eating through his sinus cavities that leaked where tears could not well.
That day, he wondered if he had seen God, if that Comanche man had been some divine test, if God himself had walked in the shoes of the thing he feared most. He had stared into the eyes of his creator and found nothing.
Steve did not know if he had granted him a kindness by letting him live. In the days that followed, he was sure it wasn’t.
+
The clattering of metal and the shrill tincture of breaking glass returned him to The Whispering Sands– pulled him out from the clay floor of the first house he could reach in the Mexican village, pulled him from the repugnant sting of water and lye as they washed his burns clean of death. For a split second, he hung in the air between two realms, remembered the way the water ran red with blood, that crimson glycerine clinging to his hair and hardening against his scalp, the way the woman had gagged as she pulled the maggots from him. In that moment, he had cursed the Comanche for not killing him, too.
“Like two spitting mares.” Eddie managed, watching the doors to the private stairwell swing open and slam against the wall, dust and shrapnel raining down in a blizzard of hurt feelings and resonant anger.
You emerged from behind them a monarch, stewing in your own misery, a whirlwind of cream-colored linens and stomping boots hollow against the polished floors. Steve did not placate this anger within you; his memories of you were reduced to flowery, ornate lettering and solemn recounts of love and loss. He didn’t think you capable of rage like this, but he also didn’t take the world as cruel as it was.
“Where are you going?” He asked before he can stop himself.
“Out.” You didn’t spare him a second glance, didn’t offer him that pain. He wonders if you are doing him a kindness by sparing him from your wrath, but the coldness with which you offer him this is enough to make even Eddie recoil.
In your rage, you stirred the stagnant air, a wave of it traveling over his face and taking hold of his senses, the scent of overturned earth and marjoram clinging to his brain. You have not yet been tanned and dried by this place, the moisture of Louisiana still clinging to the last hopes of life within you. He thinks of his wife then, allows himself the rare moment of reprieve
He only spared himself glimpses of her, lets them take side saddle in his brain to enjoy as rare delicacies when he loses control. Golden sparkling sunlight trailed over dark auburn hair, a flash of teeth so bright it was blinding. You hadn’t smiled yet here, not for him.
Nellie descended the stairs as soon as the glass rattled in the front door with more tact, but looking slightly more bothered and slightly less angry. While the few other patrons averted their gazes, Steve and Eddie looked to her, Eddie’s brow raised in questioning. She turns to brush her skirts, settling pleats and brushing the conversation from her clothes.
“I hope she wanders off into the desert,” She lamented, woefully, which proved to be enough of an answer for Eddie, “but then Uncle Ned may have to kill me.”
“If you don’t kill each other first.” Eddie nodded, peering out the window in the direction you had gone, the dust already settled in the wake of your wrath.
“That is right, Edward, if we don’t kill each other first.”
+
The Crystal Palace was a high-class bar, far nicer than The Sands, and perhaps even the ritzy in-house saloon at The Grand Hotel, three grand arches framing the bartop creating an opulent backdrop in which you sat. This was just the kind of place he’d picture you in, rich and sparkling, the perfect burial ground for the girl from the letters.
Crystal teardrops refracted warm light from above, where he could envision it warming the arch of your cheekbones as you bat pretty eyelashes at silver-haired men who would spare no expense for your imported whiskey and authentic Parisian linens. He would watch you in the mirror, the way your lashes kiss the apples of your cheeks, and the perpetual curve of your lips until you’d catch him and watch back. Not directly at him, no, that was too confrontational for a woman as soft as you. Instead, kind eyes would hold his gaze in the mirror, longing for him and only him.
He thought of your skirts draping over your legs, swinging in off-beats to the way you kick your legs back and forth, allowing the toe of your boot to bounce against the mahogany, a delicate hand cupping the soft fat of your chin, ruching slightly beneath your fingers as you listen to stories of war and west.
He would love to savor this image of you in his mind, soft and pliant for his fingers to meld– would love to keep this ornate version of you stowed away in the apothecary of his mind on the shelf beside his wife. But no, you were not kind, and you would not allow him this kindness.
Instead, he finds you leaning back, legs extended and crossed beneath the velvet kidney table stowed on the opposite side of the room, the pile of your provisions stacked in gold and silver and paper glittering in the warm light of those crystal teardrops. Two fingers of golden liquid sit in a crystal glass in front of you, and, by the gazes surrounding you, both intrigued and lustful, he knows you didn’t pay for it.
The cartilage of his elbow rolled over itself when he placed it against the chair next to you, the other men around the table pausing their games and banter, “Now what kind of business does a woman like you have in a place like this?”
“Now, what exactly kind of woman am I, sheriff?” Your voice deepened and your eyes narrowed, much like the hiss and rattle of a snake in warning.
“I believe I asked you a question.”
“Money business.” Your tone was gangrenous, full of rot and dripping with tar– the palpable tension could be scooped with a spoon, “Now I believe I asked you a question, too.”
“I’d beg your pardon?”
Steve had been in gunfights less stagnant than this– had stood face to face with a barrel, and, somehow, it had made him less uneasy.
Abilene, 1882
Steve had never faltered when the Comanches had shown no mercy on the villages surrounding Zacatecas, when they scalped the Mexican women and burned their children. But somehow, some way, seeing a white man drive his hatchet through a white woman seemed more harsh, more barbaric.
He knew there was no difference. The killer had killed, and the dying had died. The dying had died more and more every day since El Paso. But something about it felt too personal, something about it looked too much like him.
She had not been older than sixteen, still a child in her own regard, not much younger than himself at that point, a round face and wide eyes set hardened like stone under the iron fist of her mother. He had watched her slap another girl into submission for disrespecting her mother. But no amount of discipline could save her daughter when those bandits came around.
Her daughter’s face hardened into a scream as she died, eyes still wide, set blank with death.
When the cattle drovers guiding them west had come back around, they had counted eighteen dead. The highest count since they crossed the river. The Germans could not swim, and none of them could have learned in time. The water had proven to be a killer, with cholera and drownings claiming twenty-two in the last week. Their group of seventy was quickly dwindling. None of them would make it West.
They continued, just a day’s walk to Abilene, the Germans dragging their feet behind them in a droving funeral march, a cloud of dust looming over them like the devil himself.
The mother had chosen to stay, and he stood behind her, staring outward in the same direction, watching the water crash over rocks and swirl back around again. He knew what she thought. He would not be the one to stop her.
Drowning seemed an awful death. He knew as well as anyone how hard the body fought to live, even when the soul had wanted to die.
“I have had seven children,” She spoke aloud, to him or to God, he would never ask, “and all of them ended up in the dirt, just as this one. Seven times I have kneeled down and I am tired of leaning. Now, I must lie down.”
There was a split second in which he could see the silver line between life and death, in which he could walk the plane between realms. There reaped a morosity heavy his your heart in the fractions of a second before her life ended, just as there were fractions of seconds as she held her daughter. He assumed it was that way for the other six. It was entirely too familiar to him, and he could crumble under the weight of it all.
He still didn’t know why he gave her his gun, maybe to bring some semblance of peace after using to to murder. Perhaps to suggest something about the duality of man. He buried it there with her, alongside the cattle drovers, and, in turn, left the last piece of Mexico alongside her– the last piece of a family no more.
It didn’t matter anyway. The killer had killed, and the dying had died.
+
Your breath pulled him back from the metallic tang of hot blood and smoke. He remembered that his ears rang with the tenor of your voice and not the high-pitched clack of an army-grade gun anymore.
“What kind of woman do you think I am, sheriff?” You grew impossibly closer. He could feel the heat of angry breath, soft out of your nose as you stilled too impossibly still.
He didn’t know anymore. His vision of you now dressed in the velvet skirts of a poker table and doused in whiskey perfume. All that was left was to set her ablaze and watch her burn to ash. He tried to match up the woman from the letters, draw parallels, and connect invisible strings between her and you. He searched in your eyes for that softness, sifted through it like silt beneath water, yet he could not find her.
“A woman whose cousin thinks you walked off into the desert.” It was the safest answer he could muster, and, even then, he thought you would reject this with your same blistering dismissal.
“I don’t give a kitchen rat’s ass where Nellie thinks I’ve been.”
He spotted it then, something flickering beneath that blue flame of rage beneath your eyes. This anger had not been for him; this anger was older than that, passed down to you like silver spoons and jewels.
You were close enough now that he can see it burning between the fibers of your iris, watch the incantation of your words dictate the dilation in your pupils. He could see the reflection of himself in it all. There’s a split second where his resolve begins to crumble.
But Steve knew who he was in this town, and knew who he must be in this moment. Now, he must perform, or disorder would rain down upon this town like hellfire.
His voice was low and gravelly, building like darkened sky before that flash of light and the inevitable fire that would follow: “Now I’m in here looking for a reason, do you want to give me one?”
He sees it, subtle as it may be. The way you fall back on your heel, shrink, but do not concave. There is a falter in your serpentine warning. A cease to the rattle of the snake.
“Are you arresting me?” Your voice is quiet to match, though that falter is gone, now.
“I’m gonna give you two options here, and know that I’m only doing this because I like your cousin a whole awful lot.” He dips further towards you, tobacco and smoke stuck to your skin where he brushed it, “You’re gonna let me take you back to The Whispering Sands, or you’re gonna spend the night in a cell.”
“I pick the cell.”
He could not remember the last time he had felt the plush of a woman beneath his fingertips, much less a time when he had to arrest one. He could not recall the niceties and precautions that came with handling them. When he gripped you, he did it roughly, though, you did not squeal or gasp. He watches you falter once more, this time, just a second longer, and, when he looks into the mirror glaze of your eyes again, his father glares back.
+
You were silent as he walked you back to the sheriff’s depot, watching the people watch you like the setting sun over the valley. An icy stare you had perfected, stay above and look below.
You caught Nellie from The Sands, the flimsy door smashing against the bell and the subsequent clatter of thin wood against the wall behind it as she runs out, far from her typical stature.
“Now, where in the hell have you been–”
You tore your arm away from his grip hard enough to leave a trailing bruise across the fat there, and, for a moment, he thought you may have been angry enough to hit Nellie. She must have shared the sentiment because she recoiled violently away from you: “You are not my mother, so quit acting like it.”
He saw that blue flame again, flickering and roaring and less steady than before. He watched the way it overtook you, in the same way barnfires consumed brush and feed. If this is who that anger was reserved for, then you decided to fully unleash it now.
Nellie shrunk back. The kind of hurt that was generational, in the same way that your pain was generational.
He tried not to imagine in, but he thought of your mothers in the way he thought of you. Thought of the war and thought of everything that comes with it. Steve had seen war, had known times of violence spurred by rasping, sputtering breaths of peace in between. He didn’t have a mother to return to, the parallel of his wife’s life another rasping, sputtering breath of reprieve in the war he waged within himself.
You were too drunk to hold a grudge against either of them, settling yourself on the floor as the sheriff sat you on the bench within. You saw the reflection of Nellie in the window and hold tight to that anger, savoring it for tomorrow when you feel more prepared to bare your teeth.
+
The warmth of day still clung to the stone walls of the sheriff’s depot, hot and rough against Nellie’s back. She had never been a mother, and most likely never would be. If this is how it is, she thought to herself, then thank God I never did.
Steve met her outside the door as he walked out, taking one last glance behind him to make sure you were going to stay put.
“What's the price? I think I’m good for it.” Nellie asked, turning her body to face him. Her shoulder still rested against the stone wall, letting the roughened edges dig into the pliant skin there.
“Oh, don’t give me that.” Steve feigned a smile, more for Nellie’s sake than his own, “You know I’m not gonna charge her.”
“Maybe you should.”
“You want me to charge her?” Steve raised his eyebrows at her, folding his arms across his chest, “I didn’t even lock the cell.”
Nellie couldn’t help the soft grin that seeped across her tired face as she leaned forward to peer through the glass window. Sure enough, behind the painted letters against the glass you slept on the floor, head rested on your folded arms against the bench, and the cell door cracked open.
“Maybe it’ll scare her some,” She shrugged, still watching you, “keep her off the bottle and out of the gambling houses.”
“Do you think she will? Really?”
“I don’t know who she is anymore.” She sighed, running worn hands over her face, still tacky from the warm day of searching all over town for you, “If she’s anything like her mother, then she could.”
He wanted to ask, to figure you out. He wanted to read the lines of your story in the way you seemed to read him. You were elusive, a mystery shrouded in parchment and ink, one that exploded in a pilgrimage of question and doubt the second you’d stepped on to the tarmac and wreaked havoc on his life.
A deep silence settled in; it was never comfortable between him and Nellie when it got like this, even though talking to her had always been easy. He could see the images in her mind, of a world he never knew and the woman she was in the before times. He tried not to dwell on it, tried not to let her see her mirror reflection in him, too.
But Steve had been in gunfights less stagnant than this.
Tombstone, 1890
Nellie knew this life was for her, knew she was not born of this place, but instead welcomed it in her heart. He saw the sing of the mourning dove in her heart and the bated heat of the breeze as it exhaled her chest. But, in another life, at another time, she would have been a concert pianist.
She didn’t speak much of down south, didn’t talk about parents or upbringings, but something in the way she held herself told him all he needed to know. Her back straight and shoulders high, a grace in the way she gazed upon keys. She would have looked like she belonged on the steps of one of those big plantation houses, wrapped in white linen and a humid air.
The Sands did not have a player piano, instead, when the bar was slow and Nellie didn’t need to be pouring drinks or waiting tables, she played, and Steve allowed himself to picture her then.
She would have liked Nellie. The only woman in town who could play piano– the only woman he had ever known who had been allowed to learn. She was a tough woman, too, one of the toughest he knew.
But he would not allow himself the reprieve of loving Nellie, though he could have. She was easy to love, in the same way his wife had been. But she belonged to Wilhelm, and then she belonged to death.
There was not a scuffle or a commoition during the raid, at least, not one he could remember.
He remembered the buildup, the nimbleness of Nellie’s fingers as they danced their nocturne dance. Fortes and fortissimos kissing against ivory and blackness and back again, watched the way her body swayed ever so slightly, as if she felt its vibrations somewhere deeper within herself.
It was the last time he would hear this Nocturne.
He let the song bubble, build frameworks of glittering glass around him as he twisted the glass against the bar. He watched the yellow light of evening refract off of its beveled edges and pictured them against the alabaster of her skin, pictured his pink bite against it once more.
For just one moment, in the song and dance of flesh on ivory, he could reach over that gilded line and touch her hand once more. Could see her face before it rattled with death and see blood rush beneath her skin once more.
One shot shattered this glass house, dissolved him to pieces and reduced her memory to powder and ash once more. One high pitched clack of a pistol reduced this song to a memory, reduced Nellie to a heap of blood and linens on the floor, where he could not discern the shape of her from the shape of Wilhem.
He did not hear the second shot, did not have time to reach for his peacemaker or to even see what had happened. Nellie had not allowed him the reprieve of being her savior, did not allow him to step into the place of Wilhelm as he died. He knew then there would be no promises. Nellie could take care of herself.
“Don’t leave me, please.” Nellie’d begged him, before the coroner came to take the bodies, “Don’t leave me alone.”
This would be his promise, and this would be his demise.
“They’ll have to hang me from a fuckin’ tree.”
+
Steve has a look, one derived from a mother he never knew. Maybe was the air about him but it made Nellie want to confess everything she’d ever done. In another life, he would have been an excellent priest.
She’d sighed, deeply. The kind of sigh that releases the noxious gas of things unsaid, “I think it’s easier to hate me than to admit we’re the same. I don’t blame her much for that. I hated the world after Wilhelm.”
“I think I did too. After… everything.” He nodded back towards her, looking out into the street where no one but the ghosts of their pasts stirred.
“Her mother did, too.”
He knew better than to ask, to reopen this old wound, even though it brought him a sick sense of relief to see oozing blood that wasn’t his. To know that others bled in the same way he had.
“What makes a woman like that, Nellie?” He whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not when he knew her eyes were wet with tears she would not allow herself. Not when she looked like she’d beg him not to leave again.
“A woman like elsa’s got a great big hole right in the middle of her. She could never spit or claw or inflict enough pain to ever fill it.”
“What does she need?”
“Revenge.”
“For what?”
“Being born.”
Now, he turned to face her. A single, silver line streaked down her face and cut through the redness and ash there. She had been holding her breath, “Do you think she has that hole, too?”
“No, no I don’t think she’s like that.” She shook her head, thumbs pressing into her tear ducts, “I think she’s got a hole there, too, but I don’t think she was born with it.”
“Then what does she need?”
She paused for a moment, weighing actions and answers, “Time. Same as you and same as me.”
“She’s not like… her–” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. It made her feel too real again, which made her dead, which made everything he had seen real “ – is she?”
“No. And she never will be.”
+
When he returned to the inside of the sheriff’s depot, he could not help but spare himself a single glance at you. From where he could see a sliver of your face, the part that was not tucked away within the cell of your folded arms, you looked like Nellie. If you had been strangers and he saw you in passing, he would have assumed you were sisters.
Though, he does not feel as though he could love you, not in the way he will not allow himself to love Nellie.
Instead, he tucks himself into his chair, and slides his hat over his face.
With one last glace, he cannot help but to sigh.
“What the hell are we gonna do with you?”
+
Sheriff,
I do believe that your notions of the woman I am have hindered your perception of who I may be. That holy shape becomes a devil best.
I am Hell, Sheriff, in all of her fiery fury. I am the heat that reaps over the place in which you live so furious and great that I have no desire to do anything other than exist. Wherever I walk, her wake burns along my path. Soon, I believe, the flame will meet at my heels and I will combust into smoke and ash and be no more.
This feeling, like wild dogs chained and snarling, pulls at the convexes of my ribs and gnashes its foamy jaw. I am not violent, I do not know why I bite. All I know is that I must.
I was not born of your land, but I believe I am forged in its fire. I believe I am the anger of my mother hammered into a razored edge and I will cut you if you step too close. I believe that if you are in Hell then that is where I belong. I believe that if there are people to be feared I will walk alongside them, unload the baggage of death on the train, and be its harbinger.
I think you believe me to be a woman such as my cousin, sheriff, but I am not soft, and I am not kind. I have never had that kind of grace and I will not allow it for myself, now.
I do not think the Hell that Marlowe described resides in your land, nor do I think it lives in your heart. Hell is where my mother hangs, and Hell is where I belong.
Warning: Flirting, entitled people, bitchiness, suggestive language and anxiety (think that is all)
Count: about 3600 words
Summary: You have been suspended from work and do not know what to do with yourself. Then in just a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane to Montana to stay with people you have never met before. And as if that is not enough one of the men you are supposed to get to know is handsome enough to make your knees shake.
A/N: I do not know anything about the professions that are detailed in this story. I have googled most things I did not know and therefore there can be some inconsistency.
English is not my first language, so there will be mistakes.
And a big thank you to the amazing @dreamcatchernightsky not only for giving great support and helping me stay motivated but also for the amazing dividers for this story. You are AMAZING!
I also want to give a big thanks to @banditthewriter & @kaunis-sielu & @maw000 for their support! Thank you!
And a big thank you to my incredible Cat for being my beta reader! As well as @dreamcatchernightsky
Bucky looked over at Nat where she was sitting on the rock in the starlight. Everything in him was screaming at him to go over there and claim her. Make her his once again and for always. But then came the negative voices in his head. She would break his heart again, moving back to New York, and once again he would be nothing more than a broken shell of who he had been. Could he really risk it all? She said she was serious and part of him wanted to believe it. He took a deep breath and turned towards her.
“I want to give this another chance,” Bucky finally got out. Nat's whole face lit up and she ran into his arms with such force that they both hit the ground. Her mouth found his and the kiss was everything he wanted. In her kiss, he could read all the feelings he saw in her eyes and her voice.
Even though Bucky had a stone digging up in his back, he did not want to break the kiss. He needed her, more than he had let on. This was his heaven. Her. It had always been about her since he first saw her so many years ago. When Steve had introduced her as his sister.
The kiss turned even more heated. Nat's hands found their way under his flannel, then under his t-shirt. His hands did the same but under her sweatshirt. She was not wearing a bra, and it made him moan in her mouth as he felt her nipples get harder under his touch. If they did not end this soon, they would do this here, on the ground. Not that he would mind, he just felt like she deserved more. However, Nat did not seem to think so, because her hands came out from under his shirt and she tried to unbutton his flannel, while still having her lips attached to his. Bucky broke the kiss.
“Nat,” his voice was husky from his own desire. “Should we really do this here?”
Nat looked at him and giving him a seductive grin.
“Bucky, please, I need you.” That was all it took. He lost his battle with himself and surged up and caught Nat's lips again. At the same time, he tried to get her sweatshirt off. Nat laughed against his lips and helped him remove. Then her hands once again found his flannel and now he was sitting up with her in his lap, it was easier for her to open the buttons. In front of him were her amazing breasts and all he wanted was to put them in his mouth. How could her not wearing a bra be more of a turn on then here wearing one?
Soon they were both naked from the waist up. Bucky pressed kisses over Nat’s breasts and took her left nipple in his mouth as his hand squeezed the other breast. Nat leaned her head back and moaned, which made Bucky continue sucking and slightly nipping her breast. Nat's hands went up in his hair and she tugged lightly, which made Bucky let out a moan. It just made Nat tug a bit harder.
“Oh, fuck,” Bucky let out, dropping his hold of Nat’s nipple. His mouth found her neck instead and started to kiss all over the shoulder and then finally found her breasts again. His hands were trying to get down the zipper of her jeans at the same time as she was struggling with his jeans. They stopped for a second and looked at each other. A laugh came out of them both before they kissed each other again. Their hands were still on each other's zippers. Nat stood up on her knees on either side of Bucky's thighs, making it easier for him to tug down her jeans while still having their lips attached to each other. When the jeans reached her knees Nat broke the kiss and stood up to get the jeans off completely. Bucky quickly shimmied out of his jeans and underwear as well. Nat stood there in front of him in a ruby red pair of briefs. She smirked and pulled them down, leaving her standing over him completely naked. The sight made him forget to breathe and when she sat down on him his breath came out in a sharp breathy expel. She giggled before she bent down and kissed him again. It got hot and heavy fast. Nat also got to see once again why no man had ever measured up to Bucky, whether it was in size, ways to make her come, or in any other category she could think of.
His hands took hold of her hips, bringing her closer, until his hardness pressed against her, reminding her of how much he needed – how much he wanted her. Nat gasped as he entered her, and she leaned down to kiss his cheek and breathe in his ear.
“I’ve missed you.” Her voice was a lot more breathy then she thought it would be. Bucky smiled and kissed her neck making her moan out.
“I can tell,” was all Bucky said and then he started to move. She had really missed him. Who else could make her feel so free and sexy just by bing himself?
A couple of hours later Nat sneaked back into the camp. She knew that she would be sore today, but it could not wipe away the big smile on her face. Bucky. It was as if her heart sang his name. They were going to try and it made her happier than she had been in years. She came to her tent and could hear Peter softly snoring inside. Since she knew that he was not a light sleeper she crawled inside the tent and laid down. It would just be a couple hours before it was time to get up and continue the cattle drive. Nat was pretty sure that there was nothing that could make this happiness disappear, not even Amora and Lorelei. With Bucky in her thoughts, Nat fell asleep fast and deep, with a big smile on her face.
The next morning, you woke up in Steve's arms, with your head on his shoulder. It took a moment before you realised that you were in a tent. Nevertheless, this was not something you could complain about. Waking up in Steve’s arms was something you would love to do forever. You looked up at his face; he looked so relaxed sleeping. Part of you just wanted to lay there all day, but if you could wake him up now, maybe you could sneak away for some alone time. Steve had a small smile growing on his face.
“You are thinking really loudly.” His husky voice made goosebumps appear on your arms.
“Good morning, Handsome.” You sat up on your forearms and pressed a kiss to his lips. Steve’s arms wrapped around you and you fell down against his chest. He deepened the kiss and you could feel his hardness against your body.
“Now, that is what I call a good morning.” Steve smiled as he broke the kiss. You sat up and almost fell over since you were still in the sleeping bag. Steve took a hold of you so you did not fall. He lifted an eyebrow and looked at you.
“I have an idea.” You looked around in the tent. “Everyone should still be asleep?”
Steve kept his eyes on you and nodded.
“Perfect,” You got out of the sleeping bag. “Up for going skinny dipping?”
“Now?” Steve's eyes grew bigger.
“I never have before.” You bit your lower lip. “And I want to do it with you.” That made Steve quickly get out of the sleeping bag, soon he was in front of you in only his black boxers. The sight before you made you wish that you could stay in the tent and do something other than go swimming.
“Uh-uh.” Steve shook his head, as if he could read what you were just thinking. “You wanted to go skinny dipping, so let's go.” You nodded and together you gathered your things and got dressed.
Leaving the tent with a towel each you held hands as Steve guided you towards the river. The closer you got, the clearer you could hear the purling of the river. Then it came into view and it was breathtaking with the mountains as a backdrop. The sun was about to rise and you looked at Steve as you reached the river. You quickly tossed your clothes on a big rock by the riverside and ran into the water. It was cold, but refreshing. Steve was still standing on the shoreline, looking at you. The heat in his eyes warmed you up, to the point that you almost thought the water was going to start boiling around you.
“Are you going to join me?” you laughed. Steve stood still for a second longer before he also tossed his clothes on the rock and jumped in after you. It made you laugh and you swam away, but Steve was faster. Soon he had you in his arms, not that you minded it. His hard body pressed against you and apparently he was just as affected as you were.
“Was this what you had in mind?” Steve’s husky voice made you want to have him there in the water. You just nodded, and from the way Steve’s eyes glittered you understood that what you were thinking must have been apparent on your face. You both pounced on each other. The kiss was hot and it surprised you that the water did not start boiling around you.
Steve broke the two of you apart and looked at you. “Done with the skinny dipping?” The heat in his eyes made you swallow and nod. There was a strong probability that you would not be able to use your voice at the moment. Steve lifted you up in his arms and carried you towards the riverside.
“I need to taste you,” Steve almost growled and it made you wetter somehow. The look on his face, this hard body carrying you bridal style, and that voice. He was driving you crazy! As you reached land, Steve carefully placed you down on a towl before he kneeled between your legs. The sight made you wetter than you thought you could be. Steve gave you a wicked smile and then he bent down and did just what he said he would. He tasted you. All you could do was lay back enjoy the feeling. A moan slipped through and Steve stoped before hi continued. Your hand found his head and you took a grip of his hair. It seemed just seemed to make Steve go faster with his tongue. It licked and twirled in all the right places, and then he aded his finger inside you. There was nothing you could do to stop moaning, and your other hand gripped the towel hard. It did not take long for you to come all over Steves tongue.
“Just like that, Darling,” Steve mumbled, still with his head between your legs. He licked you a few more times, as if he wanted to savor the taste. Steve then sat up on his knees and the smile on his face was breathtaking. Your juices glistered around his mouth and he took his finger and plopped it in his mouth, sucking of the last of you. Just the sight and the grin on his face made you want to jump on him and ride him until the both of you were tired. When your eyes wandered down his torso you saw that his body was not the only thing that was rockhard, his glorious cock stood right out. Hard, long and with a bead of precum on the end. It made you lick your lips and just as you were about to sit up and put it in your moth. Steve held up a hand.
“As much as I would love to continue this,” His voice was still husky. “We need to go back to camp.”
“I promise I can make you come real fast,” you smiled as innocently as you could. Steve swallowed hard at that statement, but he did not stop you as you took his hard cock in your mouth.
You both walked slowly back to the campground, holding hands once again. Your legs were still a bit unsteady from Steve going down on you, but the good kind of unsteady. Before you came up to the tents, Steve stopped and pulled you close before pressing a hungry kiss on your lips.
“I don’t think I will ever get enough of you.” That admittance as well as his voice made a shiver of pleasure run through your body.
“I love you.” You smiled and continued walking. Did you just say that? Fuck, what if he did not feel the same? You looked over your shoulder and there Steve stood looking like he had been struck by lightning. Fuck, had you just destroyed your relationship? As you reached the campground you heard Steve’s footsteps behind you, but you tried not to think of it. Frank was up and currently cooking breakfast. The smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee filled your nose. Together with the smell of nature, the fresh air and the horses was an amazing compatible smell. You took a deep breath and walked towards the tent, not daring to look at Steve at all. If this was over, what the hell would you do then?
Steve looked after Y/N as she walked to the tent. He had heard correctly hadn’t he? She loved him! The feeling in his chest was as if his heart would explode. He had thought he was going to be the first one to say it, but she just said it. Now he just needed to say it back. Part of him wanted to chase after her and blurt it out, but he felt that he wanted to make it more special and more private. Tents around the campground started to open, and saying he loved her was something he never wanted her to forget. For the right reasons.
“How the hell could anyone sleep like this?” Amora said as she crawled out of her tent and stretched.
“It was hard and uncomfortable all night,” Lorelei whined as she crawled out behind Amora.
“Good morning to you too,” Nat smirked as she sat in the opening to Peter and her tent. Peter came out of the woods and Steve saw Y/N panic look. It did not take a genius to understand what she was thinking, or what they both were thinking. She had made him so careless and focused on her, that he had never even thought that someone else might be awake. If Peter had seen anything… That was not a conversation Steve would want to have. He still remembers the talk about birds and bees that he had with Peter, not once, not twice. But a total of four times. Peter had always been curious and he had first asked the question where babies came from not even a year after their father and Melina died. It had been awkward as hell and it had not gotten better over the years.
Peter came towards him and Steve thought that they were going to have a talk again, but Peter looked him in the eye and said good morning. No redness in his face or anything. Y/N must have seen it as well because she seemed to relax, until her eyes met his and she went rigid again. All he wanted to go over there and make her happy right now, but that was hard. Especially with all the people around. Nat and Peter still did not know they were really together and everyone else thought they were a real couple. Instead he turned around to go and talk to Frank, and avoid hearing more whining from Amora and Lorelei.
You dived into the tent to get a few moments of privacy. After sitting down you took out your brush to have something to do with your hands. How could you just have blurted out your feelings like that? After letting it spin around in your head for awhile you decided that the best thing to do was ignore it. Or at least for now. Having this conversation around these many people was not optimal and hopefully Steve would feel the same. He could just dump you when you were back at the ranch. Just the feeling of that made your heartache. It was the furthest from what you wanted.
Outside you heard Frank announce that breakfast was ready. Part of you wanted to hide in the tent, but you knew you could not do that. It was time to get out there and try and act like nothing was wrong.
As you crawl out of the tent, you see the line in front of Frank. Everyone seems eager to get their breakfast. For you it was the smell of coffee, somehow Frank manage to make the coffe tast better than it did in the fanciest cafes you been to in New York. Maybe it had something to do with the Montana air, or was it just that he took great care in everything he did? You walked toward the coffe and it seemed like Nat had the same ideea. You each took a mug and poured coffe in it. The smell was like magic and you smiled towards each other. There was something different about Nat. It was as if she was glowing. You narrowed your eyes and Nat tilted her head slightly to the side.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” was your answer. “Theres something different about you.”
Nat made a humming sound and looked away. She was clearly hiding something, before you could ask. Daniel came over with to cups to get coffee. You decided it was better to just keep an eye on Nat and then pump her on information later. Or maybe not. She was not the only one who was hiding anything. Together you went over to where Frank had the food. Everyone else had sat down at this point, but all you could hear was Amora and Lorelei complaining about their food. Scrambled eggs and bread with cheese. No other options. Which was what you could expect since breakfast was scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages.
As you were helping yourself to the food, Nat was quicker and went to sit down in front of the fire with everyone else. Frank also took food at the same time as you. He sent you a wink before he walked over to the group as well. When you were ready to go sit down, you noticed that the only place left was right next to Steve, or more correctly between Steve and Nat. You wanted to stop and hide, but knew that you had to face it head on. So you walked over and sat down.
“Hi, darling,” Steve said and looked at you with a smile. What did that mean? Did he not hear you before? Or was he acting like it never happened? That was your plan.
“Hi, handsome,” you gave him a smile back and then you felt it. Someone was looking at you. It did not take long for you to see that across the fire, both Amora and Lorelei, who sat between Loki and Thor, was glaring at you. Would they ever give up? Steve was with you. A voice inside your head added, “at least for now”. Thats when Steve took his hand caressed your cheek. You turned to him and he gave you a wink before leaning in and whispering in your ear.
“Don’t mind them. They are just grumpy because they are not used to living this rough.” It made you smile and Steve pressed a kiss to your cheek before going back to eat. You could feel yourself relax, and this time it was Nat who was eying you from the side. Deciding to ignore it seemed to be the best at this time. The conversation around the fireplace was mostly about how beautiful it was out here and Daniel and Phil was wondering where the ride would take us next. Steve and Peter keept the conversations going, and if you saw Steve now for the first time, you would never have thought that anything that Nat had ever told you about Steve would be true. He was open, charming and smiling. Just looking at him made you want to smile and as if he could hear your thoughts he turned to you and gave you a big smile. It was warm, open and made your heart beat faster. What was this man doing to you?
When everyone had finished breakfast, Peter took charge again and told everyone it was time to pack up and move on. There was a groan from Amora and Lorelei. Everyone's attention went to them.
“You mean we need to take down the tent again,” Amora pouts.
“We just put it up,” Lorelei whine.
“If you want somewhere to sleep the next night, you need to pack it down,” Peter crosses his arms and give the women a stern look. Everyone gets moving, even Amora and Lorelei. You walk over with your dishes to where Frank had told everyone to put it. Then you walked over to the tent and went inside it to put away your and Steve's stuff before taking down the tent.
As you were packing up the clothes you had the day before in your saddlebag, Steve joined you in the tent. Involuntarily you feel yourself tense up. Was he going to say anything now? Technically you were alone. You turn around to face him and you see him open his mouth. Dreed fills you. He is going to break up with you, now.
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content: smut, fluff, some body image stuff (maybe, if u squint i dunno)
tw: cowboy steve, daddy kink, steve calls reader mama and sunshine and babygirl, fingering, oral (fem. receiving), uhhh i think that's it… let me know if i missed any!
word count: 1.6k
i tried to proof read this as best as i could! enjoy, lovelies!
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you’d grown up with steve harrington, with him moving to town just when you had started middle school, and although steve had been two years ahead of you, you seemed to cling to each other from the first day he’d asked to sit with you at lunch.
but, you both have grown up since then. you had just graduated high school and Steve was a ranch hand for your father making some pretty good money. he was always around, no matter what because he was always on the ranch. it was like you couldn't escape him.
especially now that steve had just driven up to your house from the other side of the ranch, helping himself into your house and making his way to your back patio where he had found you laying out in just a bikini soaking in whatever sun you could get.
this was a routine for you all since you had graduated. if you weren't working, you were out working with your goats or you were laying out by the pool listening to music and then steve would find you after he had finished his ranch work for the day.
when steve had found you he came over and took your aviators off, popping them onto his own nose.
without even opening your eyes, you had known it was him. “harrington, is there a reason that my peace is being disturbed?”
“well, i was hoping we could go for a swim in this big ass pool that you're neglecting, '' he chuckled. his smile was contagious and so was his laugh. he just had this way about him that could light up an entire football stadium with just his presence.
smiling back at him, “i’ve been waitin’ on you all day steve, you were supposed to be here hours ago!” not wanting to make him wait any longer, you were up out of your chair in no time. “i don’t suppose you’re gonna go swimmin’ in those jeans and that t-shirt that your wearin’, huh?”
“of course not, darlin. do you still have my trunks?”
“yup, in my bikini basket in my closet! go, go, go, go!”
“i’m goin’, i’m goin’!”
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
it was nearing nine o’clock, and you and steve were still lounging about by the pool, the sweltering summer heat dissipating to a comfortable warm breeze and the stars shining bright in the sky, it was just the two of you given that your parents were out of town.
steve thought you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. the moon hit your green eyes making them shine, and he knew your smile and laugh could make a whole room light up. the way your eyelashes brushed against the apples of your cheeks when your head popped out of the water made his heart beat just a little bit faster than it was before.
you were sporting a hot pink bikini, hugging your curves perfectly. in his opinion, it didn't matter what you were wearing or if the softness of your tummy was being shown, he knew that there was something about you that drew him towards you, especially in this moment.
the two of you were cuddled up on the couch on the patio, still a bit wet from the pool. you had your head on steves chest and his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. it was quiet, but the silence was comfortable given that you and steve had a friendship that allowed a comfortable silence without it being awkward or uncomfortable, and steve would take all the time he could get with you, even if all you guys did was sit in silence and just enjoy the moon and the stars.
suddenly, you felt steves breath hitch, “stevie? you okay?” looking up at him, you had discovered that he was already gazing down at you with the softest smile you’d ever seen. “why are ya lookin’ at me like that?”
“you- you're just the prettiest girl ive ever seen, sunshine.”
“stevie, you don't mean that. ive seen the other girls you've dated and been with, and i don't look anything like them.” you cast your eyes up to the sky as you spoke and as you did, steve shifted so he was sitting up, pulling you into his lap as he did so.
“don't talk like that, baby, you are the most gorgeous girl ive ever seen, and i don't know why it's taken me this long to realize this, but i think you're it for me.”
you had to admit that you've liked steve for a long, long time. and you never let yourself truly believe it until this moment, but hearing him say that you're the girl for him made your insides burn with desire. grabbing his face, you brought your lips down onto his. hard. truthfully, you hadn't ever made out with a guy before, but with steve being the one you were making out with felt so natural and easy. especially when he reciprocated the kiss back and pulled you closer to him.
soon, you found yourself grinding down onto his dick through his swim trunks, wishing that they weren’t even there at all. breaking the kiss, you smiled at him, “need you stevie,” you'd never been with someone before, you were a virgin, and yes, you were a bit nervous but you ultimately knew that your sweet stevie would take care of you.
“sunshine, are you sure?”
“i've never been more sure of anything in my life, steve. i want you to be my first, and it doesn't have to be tonight but what i do know is that i need you, in any way, right now.”
and that is how you and steve ended up in your room, on your pink fluffy bed, with steve's head between your thighs. steve had his face buried there, eating you out like a starved man, and hell maybe he was, you didn't know, but what you did know was that this feeling was overwhelming your senses.
“oh, stevie, feels so good” you could feel the pit of your stomach tightening, and you didn't think it could feel better than it did right now, but that was all out the window when he wrapped his arm around your thigh and held your hips down as his other hand came to your clit.
“mhm, mama, i know, you taste so good, sunshine,” pulling back from your pussy, he spread you apart and looked at you with half-lidded eyes, “you don't know what you're doin to me, with your little whimpers and your moans…”
he brought the hand that was holding your hips up to your mouth, letting you wrap your lips around two of his fingers, sucking them and getting them coated with your spit. once he deemed them wet enough he pulled them out of your mouth, and your lips made a pop, just like if you had been sucking on an ice pop.
he smiled at you, bringing his fingers down to your soaking wet pussy and slowly sliding in one finger.
it was like your brain wasn't in control of your muscles anymore given that your legs snapped shut and your hand flew down to grip the wrist of the hand that was still rubbing little circles on your clit, “fuck stevie, please dont stop, please!”
“I'm not gonna, sunshine, gonna make you cum on my fingers, can you do that for me baby? you gonna cum for me or are you too fucked out already?”
“no, daddy, gonna cum for you, promise, i’m gonna cum for you” - whether you had realized that slipped out of your mouth or not, steve felt himself harden in his pants a little more, it was almost painful. but steve was definitely more concerned with making you cum than focusing on himself right now.
soon you felt that familiar pressure building in your belly, a feeling that you've only felt alone with your little blue vibrator. truthfully, steve knew that you were about to cum, and that was his only mission for the night - not to get his dick wet, but to take care of you.
screwing your eyes shut, you whimpered out, “stevie, im gonna cum.” as soon as the words left your mouth he placed his mouth back on your clit, still jack-hammering his fingers in and out of you.
“cum for me, darlin’, cum for daddy” - your legs snapped shut, hips pushing up into steve’s mouth, all while white hot pleasure surged through your body.
when steve pulled his face away, it was glistening with your slick and it made your cheeks flush cherry red.
“holy shit, babygirl, i didn't think you had that in ya,” he chuckled. he was chuckling at you, “aw don’t be embarrassed.”
“‘m not, just haven't done that before, ever,” he smiled at you and rubbed your hips a couple times before going over to your dresser and pulling out a big sleep shirt and a pair of panties. “what’re ya doin, steve?”
“what’s it look like i'm doing sunshine? i'm getting you pajamas, and i'm stealing a pair of sweatpants by the way,” he brought them over and sat them on the bed beside where you had sat up in your bed.
“wait, what about you? you didn't get to finish”
he smiled at you, “don’t worry about me, tonight was about you, sunshine. i know that took a lot out of you, lets get our jammies on and watch a movie. you can make it up to me another time, yeah?”
you blushed, again, “yeah, okay but only if we can watch dirty dancing!”
“of course we can.”
soon, you both were cleaned up and cuddled up and cozy in your bed, the title credits of dirty dancing playing on your tv. steve looked down at you with your head on his chest and said 3 words that had your heart racing all over again.
“so ‘daddy’, huh?”
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oh em gosh, guys! i have been working on this one for forever and i hope the moots that were excited about this dont hate me for making you wait 10 months for this. with this being my first work and smut work id love some constructive criticism, but overall im lowkey proud of this and hope you guys enjoy.
dont forget to send some asks in my inbox! xoxo, love yall!
tagging the moots that were interested! @thefreakcliche @crookedteethed
