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sprout-fics · 10 months

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Tag, You're It: Part Three

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

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Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 4.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Voyeurism, Blowjobs, Deep throating, Praise kink, Restraints, Blindfolds, Boot riding, Aftercare Warnings: Nothing except filthy rotten smut A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter, hopefully the content itself makes up for the length ;w;

Where Gaz got the blindfold, you have no idea. Where he got the idea of the blindfold, however, is crystal clear.

Price.

When Gaz had draped the fabric across your eyes it had shielded the already dark world around you into nothingness, had forced you to rely entirely on his touch as he guided you on wobbly legs to an unknown destination. The sergeant had dragged you off for what seemed like miles, forcing your stumbling feet ahead of him. All the while his voice had been harsh, playing the villain. Yet his touch was gentle, thumb tracing the arch of your nape under his gloved thumb as he directed you. The tenderness of him despite his orders is a balm against your fluttering heartbeat, nerves alight with the remnants of your ruined climax lurk in your core, tugging taut at your muscles, wanting more, more.

You had bitched at him of course, playing along but making your unhappiness clearly known at not being allowed to finish on his hand. Infuriatingly, Gaz had barely answered you, offering mocking, teasing little hums and sweet, pitying endearments at your complaints before at last opening a door somewhere ahead of you and escorting you inside.

Now, he’s gone, and in his place you hear footsteps pace around you, circling you, drawing ever closer like they’re circling the drain with you at the center. The sound shudders through you, sets your breath catching in your chest where you kneel on the concrete floor, hands zip-tied behind your back, the world dark and enigmatic around you. You listen to the slow, steady pace of boots against concrete, as if the person circling you wants you to hear them, drawing out your anxiety in the face of blindness.

At last, they stop behind you, the toes barely brushing against your own shoes.

“Should have known better than to run, sweetheart.” Price gravels above you, behind you. You jolt at the sound of his voice, a wealth of arousal pooling low in your stomach at the mere sound of him. He doesn’t touch you, not yet, watches you stay entirely still for him. Patient, waiting, deferent to his command. “I can’t have little mice running around my base.”

His hand settles on your nape, and you almost want to arch into the touch, sigh and let your head fall back into the familiar grasp of his palm. The warmth of it feels almost sharp against your cold skin, and it only electrifies your pulse in wanting, needed anticipation. Yet you hold back, restrain yourself to the part of the victim, of a hostage helpless to his whims. Instead, you offer a little whimper as his hand curls with just a small amount of pressure into the soft flesh there.

“Shhh.” He gentles you, and the hand goes soft again. The air in your chest feels unbalanced, confused, and in this blindness you don’t know what to expect of him. Out of all your lovers, Price has always been the best at masking his intentions, catapulting you into heart hammering insecurity as he conceals his next move. He lets you wait it out, shift expectantly until the strings inside you snap, launch you forward into him with a desperate fervor.

Now, however, you refuse to go down so easily.

“Took you a while to catch me, cap.” You quip back, ignoring the slight waver in your voice torn between excitement and anxiety. “Not scared of mice, are you?”

You think you hear a snicker somewhere beyond the two of you, but the sound is muffled by the low, threatening rumble of displeasure from the man above you. You lean your head forward when he presses his thumb against your nape, unable to bite back a smile at your small victory of irritating him with your bratty comeback.

“Cheeky.” He observes, and once more his tone is unbothered, stoic in a way that simmers low in your stomach. “Do you think we’d let you run around so much if we knew you’d be hard to capture?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the pressure from Price’s grip warns you otherwise. His voice dips to a low, grinding tremor that you feel settle inside you with the promise of ruin.

“Unfortunately for you love, there’s no escape anymore.”

You shudder.

There’s a quiet pause from Price then as he releases you, and you feel rather than hear him circle around you to stand at your front. An ungloved hand catches your chin and tilts you up as if you can somehow meet his eyes.

“Color, love.” He asks then, the soft murmur of his voice suddenly gentle.

“Green.” You offer after a beat, tender in your response, and you feel your reward in the form of Price’s knuckles grazing your cheek affectionately before he pulls away.

“I noticed you sassing my sergeant on the way here.” Price tells you darkly, and you straighten a little at that, at his implications at your misbehavior. You’ve played this game before, know exactly where it leads, and the promise of what lays ahead thrums low in your stomach, feeding the distant flame of your previously denied orgasm. Price pauses long enough to let his words sink in, to let your heartbeat stammer higher in your chest with anticipation.

“The one thing I cannot tolerate is insubordination.”

You choke back a gasp at the sudden downturn of his voice, the tone you’ve only ever heard during interrogations, in the realm of his cold, restrained fury. It’s the same tone that makes you shift where you stand in observance, feeling a forbidden and vicious desire murmur through you, a reminder of this man’s brutality, the force of his retribution. You can’t stem the arousal from hearing him during those moments, and now that it’s turned on you, with his form standing above you, with you helpless at his feet, makes a fresh rush of wetness coat your thighs with your desire.

There’s a smile that tugs at your lips then, and you nearly tremble in excitement, teething your lip as your retort bites against your tongue. Price notices, cups the sides of your face in his grasp to look down at the mischievous smirk that he sees there.

“Something to say, soldier?” He asks idly, and you hear a familiar tone of bemusement on his words.

“Permission to speak, sir?” You ask, tone a little mocking, and Price snorts a huff of laughter.

“Granted.”

You wet your lips, try to imagine the sight of Price’s eyes tracing the motion. You wish you could see him, could touch him, but there’s a certain thrill in this, of being bound, blinded, helpless at his feet.

“I always knew you liked having your subordinates under you.” You breathe at last, and in Price’s silence you hear a muffled sound behind him, a choked little noise that you can’t fully discern from the flutter of your own heartbeat.

Then, the sound of his zipper, and gods above you feel your mouth water at the sound, all but leaning forward and ready for him. Yet Price only chuckles down at you with your enthusiasm, the grasp on your face tightening, keeping you exactly where you are even as you try to squirm forward, mouth dropping open expectantly.

“Look at you.” He chuffs, and you feel your thighs clench at the sound of his hands stroking down his cock, remaining tantalizing and just out of reach. “I was going to tell you to find a better use for that mouth, love, but it looks like you read my mind. Needy.”

Yes. Yes. You think deliriously, trying to scoot forward, straining for it shamelessly, only for Price’s hand to slide to your nape, holding you back. The blindfold against your vision cloaks the world in darkness, fires your senses into a rapid overdrive that leaves you wanting, desperate, a little whine forming on your lips as he refuses to allow you to taste him.

“Beg.”

The order pulses through you like a gunshot, setting every nerve ending alight with arousal until it simmers downwards, blood rushing south and settling at the aching apex of your thighs. It doesn’t take long for you to comply, feeling need bubble up acutely inside you until it escapes as the form of a plea.

“Please.”

It’s shameful, the way you fold instantly. You want to put up more of a fight, to try and play the role assigned to you, but the reward of your efforts is so very close, the nearness of it leeching the struggle from your limbs as you tilt your head up towards him, head lolling limply into his arm.

“Please, captain.” You try again when he doesn’t respond. “Let me suck you off. I-I want it.”

Price huffs at you, the sound almost in disbelief with how quickly you caved. Not that you could help it, not with him, not with any of them.

“Alright love.” He returns gently, and you shiver, arch forward as the tip of him brushes against your parted lips. “Remember, no teeth.”

You don’t need to be reminded, and when Price pushes past your lips you groan around him, feel your thighs clench in a desperate attempt to stem the untamable lust that dampens your underwear. The taste of Price is familiar, good, the weight of him heavy on your tongue and you moan, the sound reverberating around the girth of him. Price bites down on a little noise, never one to be loud, only offering growling little grunts and gasps as he delivers his desire onto you.

“That’s it.” Price sighs, his fingers kneading into the flesh of your nape, using the leverage to draw you back, pressing you forward with a low, lazy roll of his hips. He’s enjoying the sensation of you, his length only half hard but rising to mast quickly in the wet, slick slide of your mouth. “Good girl.”

You make a little noise at that, a pleased little hum at the way he offers you praise, happy and content, right where you need to be. Here, at his feet, helpless to the whims of his lust, knowing your captain will take care of you, will use you as he sees fit, will have you whimpering and teary eyed by the end of this as you shake and tremble against him.

He’s a little salty, a little briny on your tongue, but the weight of him, the length and breadth of his cock feels right, like it’s meant to belong here as he idly thrusts into your mouth. He’s different than Ghost. Where Ghost fucks you hard enough to feel him knock against the back of your throat, Price is thick, heavy in your mouth, spreading you wide enough that you have to crane your jaw to accommodate him. You do so glady, senses a little hazy as you moan, lose yourself in the feeling of his pelvis pushing up against your jaw.

“Made for this, weren’t you?” He chuffs down at you, amused at the way you fall apart for him so readily. “Proper little toy for us, aren’t you love?”

You nod around him, you can’t help it. There’s a sinfully sweet addiction to the girth of him pushing past your lips, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel precum bead on your tongue. It’s just as much the feeling of pleasuring him as it is getting lost in it, in the familiar slide of his cock on your tongue, pressing down so your mouth falls open in a wanton little moan.

Price curses at that, and with little hesitation he uses the firm, scruffing grasp on your neck to push you down, his hips stilling with considerable restraint until he pushes the tip of him all the way to the back of your throat. You breathe in, holding your breath at the fullness of him blocks the air you want to suck in as a wet little gasp. He twitches in your throat, and you let him, listening to the ragged inhale he draws in, that releases as a firm, steadying sigh. You keep still for him, feeling the weight of his hand on your nape, fingers just a little bruising in a way that feels good.

Eventually you feel your heart race a little higher, feel a distant touch of panic fizzle in your veins. You try to draw back, but Price’s hand keeps you exactly where you are. There’s a growl that builds in his throat as you instinctively swallow around him, throat tightening around the head of his cock. When he doesn’t let up you begin to squirm, eyes beading with tears of exertion. Yet all price offers down at you is a single, devastating command.

“Stay.”

You loosen instinctively, shoulders dropping, head nodding just a little forward, as far as Price’s grip on your will allow. The command is final, and your time spent under Price’s authority has you instantly accepting it, growing limp in his grasp as he holds his cock in your throat with a low, breathy groan.

A wet little gasp escapes you as Price finally pulls out, saliva dribbling down your chin as you tilt your head back into his hand, finding comfort in the familiar press of his palm. It takes you only a few moments to catch your breath before you blindly try to press forward again, feeling the leaking head of Price’s cock graze against your bottom lip before it’s pulled away. When you loose a little whine of protest Price merely chuckles down at you, a little dark, but entirely fond.

“Never satisfied, are you?” He asks teasingly, and before you can swallow and summon a reply Price shifts so that the toe of his boot presses between the apex of your folded legs. You suck in a sharp breath, automatically clenching at even the slightest pressure against your core, face warming and brow knotting as you experimentally rock down onto Price’s shoe.

Pleasure blooms outward from your core, hips shivering at the dull, firm pressure that grazes against your clit through your pants. A shuddering, gasping noise falls from you, and with your mouth open Price gently presses himself back inside, the hand on your nape gently smoothing a thumb against your jaw.

“Go on then.” He offers, and oh, you can hear the strain in his voice, hear the little sound he makes when you circle his slit with your tongue. It’s delicious in the best of ways, and the temptation of coaxing further noises from your captain has you sinking down on him with renewed effort, relishing the wet slide of his shaft as it glides across your tongue.

You want to touch him, want to press your hands against his thighs, circle your fist around his cock and listen to the sound he makes as you slowly drag your grip upwards. The memory of the softness of Price’s stomach, the strong angle of his hips is enough to make your eyes roll back a little under your blindfold, ecstasy blooming in brilliant colors against your senses.

Yet then Price leans just a touch forward, raising his boot just an inch to press more tightly against your clit. He pulls back at the exact second that your head drops forward, your voice strained and breathless.

“F-fuck, Price-” You manage with a little shudder and roll of your hips.

“Needy little darling.” He coos, and you flush warmly at that, at both the tender praise and the slightly mocking undertone that makes you realize just how perverted this is, trying to get off on the barest hint of pressure against your dripping, empty pussy.

You decide to be cheeky, raising up on your knees to avoid him. Price only chuckles in amusement and shifts his hand so it presses on your shoulder with a firm “Down.” That has you lowering back onto his boot. You gasp at the sudden pressure, and before you can stop yourself you breathe a wrecked, shocked little curse at the tremble that murmurs outward from your core.

“That’s it.” Price encourages as you buck forward on reflex with a choked little groan, sinking down and shamelessly rubbing your crotch onto the firm surface of his boot. It makes your cheeks burn with a touch of humiliation, one that’s softened by the steadying grip of your captain above you. Besides, the low burn of your previously denied orgasm still flickers inside you, licking at your insides and setting your veins into a red hot arousal that seeks tinder to fuel your need.

The friction of Price’s boot soothes the lingering ache in you, twists it into a coiling, unsatisfied desire that has you groan breathlessly around his cock. You make a point to arch your spine, the dip of it a pretty curve that has your captain huff down a little sound of approval in between his grunts as he rocks into your mouth.

“Gorgeous when you’re desperate, love.” He rumbles down at you and you moan at that, imagining the sight you must make. Blindfolded, arms folded behind you, hips bucking down onto the toe of Price’s boot while you groan and mewl around the heaviness of his cock on your tongue. It’s lewd at best, completely depraved at worst, and the thought alone has your hips jolt as pleasure laces sharply up the base of your spine.

You’ve given up on the shame of trying to get off like this, too desperate to care, just like Price says. Your need curls in a deep, tightening band of pleasure low beneath your belly, and with each rock of your hips you feel it tightening further still, the distant but imminent promise of your release beckoning to you from afar.

You’re so blinded by euphoria you nearly forget about Price’s cock, only for him to once more press you all the way down and lodge himself in your throat. You swallow reflexively around him, and Price groans deeply, his smoky voice curling and whispering across your senses. You want to drown yourself in it, feel the cloud of his deep tenor engulf you, swallow you whole. You know the sound of him blind, know all of them by touch alone, and the distant but hypnotizing memory of being surrounded on all sides by these men is enough to make your voice rise a little, cry out in a mixture of want and pleasure.

“Shh, easy.” Price offers as you shudder, his knuckles graze across your wet cheek. When did you start crying? You feel warm tears of pleasure welling and wetting the blindfold across your eyes, flushing your face further as you lose yourself between the sensation of Price’s warm cock rocking past your lips, and the writhing buck of your hips down onto his boot, chasing release.

“That’s it, take what you need. You’ve been so good for us.” Price murmurs breathlessly, voice strained but deeply aroused, his hips beginning to pick up speed as he pursues his own climax. You still, allowing him to fuck into your mouth the way he wants, craning upwards so he grazes the roof of your mouth. Price approves with a sharp grunt, and you feel his cock twitch against your tongue.

“Fuck.” He snarls sharply, hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their rhythm. One hand cups your skull, fingers pressing a touch harshly against your flesh to keep you in place as Price uses you to creep slowly up on the edge of his release. “Bloody gorgeous, darling.”

Your cunt throbs at his words, clenching tightly as you shift, angle yourself to rub your clit directly onto the toe of his boot. The groan you let out is wet, saliva and precum pooling in your mouth around his cock. The world narrows down to only the sensation of Price rocking into you, and you rocking onto him as you fuck yourself onto his boot.

Yet there’s another sound beyond your and Price’s joint groans and the slick squelch as he presses himself forward. If you listen, you can hear another noise from off to your right- a low, stifled grunt paired with the sounds of wet strokes of a fist.

You’re being watched.

Gaz, Soap, Ghost, they’re all observing the proceedings quietly from just beyond you both, aroused at the display and seeing to their own pleasure with long, firm strokes on their cocks. Masturbating to the shameless sight of you fucking yourself down onto Price’s shoe, groaning openly as he thrusts towards the back of your throat, seeing you helpless at his feet and wanting more.

Of course. Why blindfold you otherwise? You’d get distracted by the sight of them, the glint of Soap’s keen, bright stare- the smug, self-pleasured smile of Gaz seeing you delivered to his captain- and Ghost, with the bruising intensity of his stare, no doubt with his arms crossed but the tent of his pants bulging. Waiting.

The idea of the boys just waiting for their captain to finish having his way with you, fucking into your mouth with quick, firm, shallow thrusts, and waiting to have their seconds is enough to make you bite out a curse. Pleasure unfolds brightly at your core, the tightening, coiling band of bliss threatening to snap you in two with its intensity.

Price seems to notice how close you are by the almost frantic grind of your hips down onto him, his hand curling with an almost bruising grip at the base of your skull.

“Going to cum, sergeant?” He grits out, and you whine, not able to nod around him with the way he has you angled. Yet the sound is enough, because Price releases a low groan and echoes down at you a single, shattering command.

“Cum.”

Price pulls back at the exact second you come undone, feeling ecstasy whiplash against your coiled muscles and race along the underside of your skin. Your orgasm is sudden, hard, making you fold and clench in on yourself, sinking impossibly further down onto Price’s boot with a shuddering series of moans and whimpers. Your cunt clenches helplessly around nothing, empty but no less doused in the blissful satisfaction of your long denied climax. The aftershocks ripple down your form, collecting in the thrumming, pulsing heat of your core as you desperately try to find your breath.

“Bloody hell.” A voice mutters quietly beyond your blinded vision. Soap.

When you finally catch your breath you raise your head, tilting forward towards Price so you can finish the task set out before you, his own orgasm unfinished. Yet instead all you find is Price's grip on you vanishing completely, removing his boot from the inside of your thighs. Instantly, you begin reeling without his touch, still a touch overwhelmed, a little noise of confusion dragging in your chest.

It doesn’t take long for hands to appear at your face, gently tugging the blindfold off and revealing the dim lighting of the empty interrogation room. You blink at the sudden brightness, limbs heavy and skin too warm. It’s only once your vision clears that the sight of Price flickers into view above, his expression gentle, but the lust in his eyes scarcely concealed.

“Broken?” He asks in that gruff but concerned way of his, hands cupping either side of your face as boots begin to pad over towards you both. When your eyes flicker down to Price’s cock, you see it still standing proudly. Yet Price seems to pay it no mind, focusing instead on you.

“Only in the best of ways.” You reply, voice a little hoarse but still pleased as you smile at him. Price smiles back, amusement clear in his stare before it shifts, nods to someone behind you. You nearly flinch at the sound of a blade getting flicked open, but don’t have time to question it before the ties around your wrists are cut and discarded. You sigh in relief, roll your shoulders and wince at the soreness there.

You blink as you’re tugged away from Price’s grasp, hauled backwards until your ass meets the floor and your back presses against a solid chest. Arms descend around to your front, tucking you further into a form that smells faintly like explosive powder and sweat.

“Don’t get greedy, Soap.” Ghost admonishes lightly as the sergeant’s legs splay around you. Yet Soap only offers an offended little grunt in return, allowing you to sink into the comforting warmth of him.

You relax into the safety of his arms, knowing for now that this chase is finally at its end, that all that is left is the blissful indulgence of the men around you as they bring you down from the exhilarating adrenaline rush of your capture.

So you sigh, lean onto Soap, accept the water bottle Gaz passes to you, gulping it down and washing away the taste of Price on your tongue.

It’s Ghost who gently nudges you, forcing you to crane your head up towards his form towering over yours, backlit by the dim overhead light above.

“How copy?” He asks redundantly, as if he somehow doesn’t trust your answer to Price. You know it’s just to assuage his own nerves, make sure that the four of them haven’t exerted you too far.

“Right as rain, LT.” You answer back, leaning into his gloved hand when he offers it. You swear you can feel the sigh of him there, relieved but muted, entirely affectionate.

There’s silence for a few moments, one that’s filled only with your even breathing and the dull thump of your calming heartbeat. It’s broken only when Gaz drawls out a low, loaded question.

“Soooo….” He offers, and when you look at him his eyes sparkle with a combination of mischief and rampant desire.

“Round two?”

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#captain price x reader #john price x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 #cod mw2 #cod mw22 #x reader #reader insert #fic: tag you're it… See all #Honestly dislike the quality of this chap!! Feels too bland #Hopefully folks enjoy anyways

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stevebabey · 2 years

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it’s too late for me now (i need you sticking around)

a/n: ruby?? finishing something?? u better believe it! this was inspired by future me hates me / the beths & i STRONGLY recommend it for the VIBES + much luv to my dearest kenny for the threats so that this finally got finished <3 intended lowercase + fem!reader. word count: 3.1k summary: it’s hard to believe in love after so many bad first dates — you’re desperate to make sure the next one sticks.

your run with love had its history.

consider it the lore of your life, but the winding tales of your many failed dates — that road was long. counting them went off both hands, much to your distaste. though, you’d hardly say you dated around; especially considering none of the guys seemed to make it past date three.

what was the problem? you were splendid company if you did say so yourself. you tried to not be too loud, nor too quiet, a good balance of serious and flirty, all loud or odd parts of your personality packed away to try not to scare off any dates. it didn’t seem to make a difference — the fault had to be the male population of hawkins.

so why did you keep accepting dates?

well, it wasn’t your fault for getting swept up in it each time. somehow, you never managed to learn your lesson — but when a boy slips sweet notes into your locker or plucks a flower to ask you to dinner, it kicks your heart into a fuss that won’t settle and you swoon.

you daydream about holding their hand, pressing a soft kiss to their brow, finding a soft spot in their heart where you can nestle & live and become someone that someone loves.

it doesn’t matter if you’re cradling your still bruised heart from being stood up by jeremy jones last month because when the next boy asks, your stupid heart still flutters out what if it’s real? what if this time it’s different?

and it never was.

perhaps, worst of all is that you were still so tangled up with the idea of love. there was no helping the flip of your stomach, the nervous anticipation, the skip of your heart when thought about love. the track record of your battered heart didn’t seem to matter, there was no shedding the hopeless romantic in you.

however, it meant you were a tad pickier these days. standards high enough to warrant being called a bitch from the guys who couldn’t handle the rejection but hey, if they can’t bother with flowers on the first date, it told you everything you needed. you wouldn’t get yourself pathetically worked up on boys that only asked you out over the phone and had different intentions.

but still, your poor heart loved to latch to whatever it could.

so, when steve harrington asks what you’re doing friday night on shift at family video, you have to curse the skip of your heart.

for the last couple of months, you had gotten to know steve as your co-worker. as anyone who grew up in hawkins did, you were well aware of his prior reputation with the ladies — so it was a pleasant surprise to find you actually enjoyed his company. maybe it helped to have robin who called him dingus in the most endearing way and introduced him as her best friend.

and if robin buckley, certified band nerd, and king steve could be best friends, then maybe you could give him a chance.

and somewhere between the dorky jokes and his handsome grin, you had melted into easy friendship with steve. between bad customers that you gossiped about after and both of you attempting to distract the other while on the work phone, the two of you drew close. so much that you started looking forward to shifts with him.

so naturally, you accidentally grew a crush the size of jupiter on him.

how could you not? he always picked you up for your friday shift, knowing your brother got dibs on the car and you’d have to walk otherwise. whenever it rained, steve would trot to the café down the road and return with a steaming cup of hot chocolate for you, extra marshmallows in your cup — even though you didn’t remember ever telling him your affinity for mallows.

this time, however, you were determined to not ruin a friendship just because your heart had different plans. for perhaps the first time, you were not going to fall for the delusions you fed to yourself, no matter how much you’d like to believe that steve was different. even though you had sworn you’d caught his gaze caught on you one too many times.

you didn’t think you could take another crumpling of your heart, your ideas of love crushed once again, especially from sweet steve. friends it would have to be.

“friday?” you ask nonchalantly, looking up from the returns cart and blinking at steve. “no plans, i think. why?”

on the other side of a shelf, steve looks as though your response surprises him, lips parted and you swear a patch of pink has crawled onto his cheeks. he clears his throat and ducks to place a tape on the shelf. “i was— do you like parties? there’s a party on friday.”

your pulse jumps for a moment, a nervous feeling settling in your stomach and you try to shake it off. “a party? yeah, who doesn’t like parties.”

it’s enough of a casual answer you hope, continuing to slot tapes back on the shelves slowly. without meaning to, your eyes dart back up to steve, trying to gauge what he’s building up to ask. butterflies swarm in your stomach and you clench your fists, willing them to dissolve.

“did you wanna go?” for the second time in one minute, steve clears his throat. you wonder if he’s nervous. “with me?”

you pick over his words, trying desperately to ignore the way your heart sings. no matter how much you’d like it, it seems far more likely that steve isn’t asking you out. is this how king steve asked girls out? all suave and chillaxed? steve wasn’t like that anymore and it leaves you with no hints to the true nature of his question.

even if he was asking you out, you’re not supposed to track that road you remind yourself. a beat later, you realise as the word date hasn’t even passed steve’s lips and feel embarrassment flush up your neck. friends. you were friends. friends go to parties together! all the time!

“yeah, that sounds cool.” you smile at him, pressing down the hot flush you can feel fighting onto your cheeks. casual. friends. not a date. you could do this.

speeding back to the task at hand, you miss the fist-pump steve does, hidden behind the shelf and the quiet ‘yes!’ from his lips.

—

how do you dress to go to a party with your friend, that you secretly wish was a date, without giving it away?

apparently, you don’t know the answer. at least half of your closet is strewn across your floor, a dozen different combinations tried and failed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. you twist back and forth, eyes analyzing like a hawk and a groan escapes you when you realise you don’t like this outfit either.

your hands pull at your face, dragging down your cheeks dramatically as you lean closer to the mirror and lock eyes with yourself. “it’s not even a date.” you whisper, trying to shake the nerves that are ruining every outfit you try.

it works; at least long enough for you to pull on one of your better pairs of jeans and the new top you had yet to wear out and finally, feel satisfied. you’re just swiping the last of your mascara when the horn of a car outside startles you, your hand nudging forward and dolloping black onto your cheek.

“shit.” you mutter and move to the window, peeking through the slats to spy steve’s bmw in the driveway.

“shit.” you repeat, wetting your thumb and doing your best to wipe the black from your cheek. in the mirror behind you, you catch the blink of your alarm clock. god, he’s 10 minutes later than you both agreed and you’re still not ready.

gathering your jacket and bag, you nearly stumble down the stairs, your footsteps thundering as you speed towards the door. rushing in a blur past the kitchen, you call out your hasty goodbyes and step outside, the door swinging closed behind you.

the night air is cool, the moon nearly full in the sky and beyond the rumbling of the engine in passing cars, it’s nearly peaceful outside. you don’t keep him waiting.

despite the chill, steve’s been waiting outside for you, leaning back on the hood of his car with his arms folded over his chest. he looks good; his navy shirt stretched deliciously over his biceps, hair fluffed in his usual style, looking a picture of cool. it’s broken immediately when he stands up in a rush to meet you, feet stumbling for just a moment before he catches himself. you must imagine the tips of his ears tinted redder than normal.

“hey!” the word is tinged with excitement and steve’s smile betrays it as well, wide and bright. “you look— you look great. amazing.”

it’s impossible to fight the hot glow that surges to your face, forcing you to duck your head to hide it for only a moment. god, the plan to not swoon has immediately foiled. you’re about to undoubtedly fumble through an awkward thank you when steve steps closer, one of his hands reaching for your face.

“sorry, y’just got some,” his thumb grazes your cheek, gentle as he can, over the swatch of black you hadn’t managed to rub off. your breath catches in your throat, the skin burning where he touches it and you fight the urge to follow his warmth when he drops his hand. “makeup— there was something, uh, on your cheek.”

when you don’t say anything, words stuck in your throat as you rein yourself in, steve ambles on nervously. “sorry, i’m late i just— shit, i hope you weren’t waiting, i just thought since when i pick you up for work, you’re always a bit late and—”

“—steve.” you cut him off, finally finding your voice. “you’re perfectly on time; any longer and i would have started fussing over something silly.”

it seems to relax steve a bit, hearing your voice and your assurances and you see the drop in his shoulders. he turns and opens the passenger door, a handsome smile back on his face as he nods at it. “after you then.”

the radio fills the airwaves on the drive to the party, crackly as you move between towers and you bounce your foot in time in hopes to iron out some of your nerves. you take a deep inhale but it manages to make things worse; the alluring scent of steve’s cologne floating through your nose, a musky mixture of bergamot and something sweet.

as steve parks up down the road, your eyes latch onto the house of the party, obvious from its flashing lights and occupants that spill out of every entrance. even before you open your door, you can hear the faint notes of a duran duran song playing inside. you clip the door closed and lean against it, waiting dutifully for steve to lock it and join you on the sidewalk.

the two of you begin to wander, steve’s pace slower than expected but when he nudges his shoulder against yours and begins to speak, you know why.

“y’know,” he begins, nervousness wrapped around each of his words. “i’m actually surprised you agreed to go on a date with me.”

the word hits you in the throat, halting your feet. it shouldn’t shock you too much but considering you had spent the better half of this evening convincing yourself this wasn’t a date, you can’t help your next words.

“wait, this is a date?”

you cringe as you watch steve take in your words, expression dimming and shoulders slumping like he can’t control it. fuck.

it’s like you’ve kicked a puppy and through the elation in your heart, you feel a sick twist in your stomach knowing that you’ve accidentally hurt steve. head spinning, you try to grapple with explanations but steve beats you to the punch.

“well, i guess that explains why you said yes.” the deprecating tone hurts your heart, a thousand thoughts competing for your attention but none as loud as the one that says tell him the truth!

“steve—” you begin, but he’s already speaking.

“would you have still said yes... if you knew that i was asking you on a date?” steve’s voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows tightly, his words tinged with worry.

it’s a good question. the battle between your head and heart pulls you in both directions; your lovesick feelings denied by your desperation to never experience another failed date. especially with steve.

“i don’t know.” you answer honestly, only to desperately want to reel the words after you said it having seen steve’s face fall further.

the next words come out frazzled, too loud, as you try explain. “it’s not that i didn’t want to! i’ve just had so many— too many first dates that go nowhere. dates where they want to end in a parked car or stop calling or—”

cutting yourself off with a sigh, you try not to feel embarrassed at the ramble of your shitty love-life attempts. man, this evening was not going how you expected. you dig into your feelings, knowing that you owed steve the truth, that he deserved to hear what you truly meant. he waits patiently, his face giving away only a trace of his hopelessness.

“i like you steve.” you say, voice closer to a whisper at your admittance, eyes fluttering closed as you swallow your nerves. “i like you a stupid amount and i-i don’t think i could handle the heartache if you were just another failed first date.”

a beat of silence. and then, the softest oh falls from steve’s lips in his realization which forces your eyes open again, seeing some of the sadness lift from his figure. you can feel his gaze scan your face and he chews his lip in thought for a moment. your heart all but purrs in delight when he reaches out, his warms hands unfurling your clenched fists (when did you do that?) to hold in his delicately.

without thought, you begin to commit the rough feel of his hands, the curl of his fingers that keep your own warm and toasty.

“unfortunately, i can’t see the future, so it would be wrong to tell you i know we’ll be perfect for each other.” he smiles, a hint of teasing hidden within it.

the joking tone hits you the wrong way and you frown, pulling back a little. is he making fun of you? steve senses it instantly, tugging you closer and this time his tone is all serious, raspy and earnest.

“but, i can promise i will take every date you offer because i like you stupidly.” he blinks, seeming to register that he hasn’t said what he meant. “a stupid amount! i like you a stupid amount, too. as well.”

your words. he’s using your words to tell you how he feels. shit, you two haven’t even been on a date yet — somewhere in your mind, it quietly occurs that this means steve must have liked long before he worked the nerve to ask you out. you think your knees might be wobbling from the wonderful feeling in your chest that aches in the best way; you want it to live there forever.

“which means even if you offer me just tonight, i’ll—” he pauses and smiles so sweetly it makes your knees weak. “i’ll take it.”

you can’t help the hesitation in your bones, the feeling after another first date that crushed your thoughts about love running reminiscent under your skin.

but there’s something about steve. something that yearns, that makes you want to risk the future heartbreak, the wide-eyed late nights, and potential stupid mistakes all for the chance of his love.

oh well, if it went wrong, future you could hate you.

“you better not break my heart, harrington.”

the sunshine grin that breaks on his face could be bottled and sold, you think as it sets your body buzzing with giddiness. steve grins boyishly, tilting his head back as if he really has to think about it, pretending to hmm.

his eyes catch onto the house party and another emotion ripples across his face, gone as quick as it was there. the genuineness in his response touches you with surprise. “only if you promise the same.”

you want to kiss him. the urge has twisted into your heart-strings and you’re sure that steve’s gaze has dipped to your lips for just a moment. turning your head to survey the party, you realise that if this time you’re actually right this time, that there will be plenty of time for all of it.

you tuck the desire to taste his lips into your heart, bookmarked for later, and instead shift your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. you tug him along and finally begin the both of you walking in the direction of the party again.

“next time,” you begin, your smile already giving away your teasing. “use the word date, idiot.”

steve’s hand tightens in your own and when you glimpse at him, unable to help yourself, you can’t miss the beautiful blush on his cheeks.

“oh, i’m sorry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure to be clearer next time.” he drawls, a touch of sarcasm in his words. he pulls you even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. your arms are touching, you realise fondly.

“you better be.”

he leans in, breath warm on your ear and you can’t help but melt at the next words that fall from his lips, soft and natural. “do you wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you can’t help your giggle, flustered and hot in the face because man, is he good at this. it makes you ache with want, wanting and wishing with every part of your being that this works.

even though you shouldn’t be promising anything dates before the first has happened, you know steve and you nod eagerly — then tug him into the music, your hands keeping you connected as you step into the dark together.

tomorrow, when he picks you up in his car, bouquet in his hands, you will let the buzz in your body take over because god if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees.

when he takes your hand, a thought will niggle in the back of your head, something about waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this date to be the last and for him to stop calling, stop dropping off flowers and kisses, for him to stop gazing at you like you hang the goddamn moon.

another thought, steadier and sure, will tell you that you might be waiting awhile.

—

just tagging ppl below! hehe sorry mutuals u HAVE to see this but also this means u shud tag ME in everything <3

@hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @parkerroos @cptnleviackerman @skylergisondo @cultivatingkindness @aphrodites-perfume @lurkymurker @familyvideostevie @rogersharringtons @sattlersquarry @yellowharrington @upsidedownwithsteve @milkiane

#i left this alone long enuf that when i reread it to check for posting i was like DAMN WISH THAT WAS ME #anyways its a tale as old as time and that tale is that i LOVE steve harrington #he's my wife he's my babygirl he's the man for me <3 #ruby writes #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #bada bing bada boom #i hate ppl who misuse tags so thats all from me folks #other than that enjoy!! <3

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