gray your cafe is SO damn cute i can’t wait for my latte… can i get a caramel latte with the prompt ‘can you kiss it better?’ and i’d like it hot, please! piping hot!
congratulations on 4k honey so so deserved 🤍 THANK U AND I LOVE U!!!!
Steve knows what you need after a long, hard day...
tags: [smut, MDNI!!] [oral sex f receiving] [coach!Steve] [established relationship] 1k words
It feels a little strange slipping your key into the Steve's front door lock and stepping into his place without him here.
Even though you've been dating for several months, and he gave you a spare long ago, you've never actually used it until now.
But, after the day you've had, the thought of driving back to your lonely apartment gave you a spike of dread, and before you knew it, you found yourself in Steve’s driveway. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be home from work yet.
After toeing off your shoes, you tiptoe into his living room and collapse on the couch with a heavy sigh.
Today was...well, today was bad.
Your head feels too tight, and anxiety buzzes under your skin, relentless and stinging. The afternoon light streaming through Steve's living room windows spears your tired eyes, and the whole world just seems so fucking sharp—
"Hi," a familiar voice says.
Peeking over the sofa, you see Steve leaning in the doorway to the hall, arms crossed over his chest, stretching that white t-shirt tight across his shoulders.
When he sees your eyes and the tip of your nose peek over his couch, he smiles.
His mussed hair catches the afternoon light, and suddenly, it doesn't seem so harsh anymore. Yeah, it’s actually beautiful now. God, he just looks so warm, like being in his arms would just leach all the stress from your limbs.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, although you’re not really sure why you’re apologizing. “I thought you’d still be at practice. I…had a bad day.”
Steve shoots you a look, then pushes off the doorframe to stride towards you, carpet whispering under his feet.
“Don’t apologize. I always want you here.” His words help loosen the knot of anxiety in your chest. “And I was about to come see you. When you called to cancel our plans tonight I got worried, so I left practice early.”
Your jaw drops and you sit up fully as he rounds the couch. “You what?”
Steve is the baseball coach for Hawkins Middle School, and they have a big game coming up this weekend. He can’t just...leave. It’s very serious business!
“It’s fine,” he insists, smirking at the look on your face. “Brad can handle the rascals.”
You try to smile as you imagine Steve’s assistant coach, Bradley—all five-seven-and-a-half of him—getting absolutely run over by the middle school team of boys, but you can’t really seem to muster it.
Steve comes to a stop in front of you. You tip your head back to look at him, and he reaches down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his palm cradling your cheek.
If you weren’t so tired, you'd stand up to press your lips to his and greet him properly, but your bones feel like lead. So, instead, your head just rolls into his touch.
“Sweet girl,” he says, eyebrows drawing together in concern. His expression makes your chest ache. “Really bad day, huh?”
You swallow hard, and his face start to swim as your vision turns blurry, tears pricking behind your nose.
“Yeah,” he whispers, stealing the word from your mouth. “What do you need? Sleep? Food? I think I have some leftovers—“
He starts to move towards the kitchen but your hand shoots out and grabs his.
He blinks down at you, and his expression softens even more as he catalogues your expression. He sees it. The exhaustion carved into your soul, the weight of the world that makes your shoulders sag.
“Oh,” he murmurs softly. “Okay. I know what you need.”
Before you can say anything, he bends down and scoops you up in his arms.
You squeak, flailing as the couch disappears from under you, but he’s strong, and solid, and just as warm as you thought he’d be. His broad chest rises and falls against yours as he turns towards the doorway, his arms banded tightly around you—one under your knees, one around your back.
You bury your face in his shoulder and watch the freckles on his neck dim like stars when the dark hallway eclipses them on the way to his bedroom.
Once inside, he shuts the door with his foot and then lowers you down onto his dark green comforter.
The familiar smell of him on the sheets makes your body start to soften, to warm, and when Steve carefully unbuttons your pants and pulls them down your legs, along with your underwear, that warmth starts to spread.
The curtains in his room are still drawn, but a ray of afternoon sun slices through a gap between them, carving a line over Steve’s face as he lowers himself between your thighs and turning his brown eyes into a soft, gooey caramel.
He pushes your shirt up and over your bra in that slow, practiced way of his, and brushes his mouth down your bare stomach, gently pulling all the blood in your body down to pool in your core.
“Want me to kiss it better, baby?” he asks, his lips dancing across your hip bone and making you sigh underneath him. Your clit swells, and you can feel yourself getting wet already, just from the anticipation of that drugging, mind-numbing pleasure he promises.
You nod, your hair rustling on his pillow.
“Yeah?” he breathes. “You want that? Use your words, angel.”
Swallowing past the knot in your throat, your voice comes out as a whimper.
“Need it, Steve. Please."
Steve usually loves to hold you here for awhile, keeping you on that line between wanting and needing, but today, he’s not making you wait.
At the first glide of his wet, hot tongue through your folds, you’re sent to heaven. Your body sinks into the bed, hands gripping the sheets as a heavy moan slips from your lips unbidden. Your knees fall apart on their own accord, giving him more room to work.
He makes an encouraging sound in the back of his throat and shifts further down, knees pressing dimples into the mattress, and he plants a large, warm palm over your stomach to keep you still while his tongue dips into your entrance to taste your arousal.
You watch as his eyebrows draw together and his eyes slip shut, like he's completely drunk on you already. Just from one taste.
Not just eating you out, but making you forget the rest of the world exists. He’ll do it for hours—he has, actually. Early in the morning, when the world is still dark, before he has to slip into that coach’s jacket and take on the day, he’ll dive under the covers and lick your cunt until you’re moaning, pulsing over and over around his tongue, and he'll answer with a groan of his own that's just as needy.
Like he needs it. Needs to give.
“Relax for me, mkay?” he murmurs into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I'll make it better. God, you're so pretty—“
His hand is so heavy, and his mouth is like velvet, stealing your breath and making you forget all about the stress coursing through your veins.
You lose yourself in the quiet whimpers and sighs that slip from his throat unbidden, and when he plunges his tongue deep into your clenching channel, your back arches off the bed as your orgasm surges, grappling for purchase between your hips.
“God—Steve!” you gasp, “Oh, fuck, please! Please, please!”
He huffs a soft, adoring chuckle, then pulls back to kiss your folds, soft and slow, before his tongue dips back in. Over and over. Like he has all the time in the world to adore you. To love you.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispers against your clit. “Fall apart for me. I’ve got you.”
a/n: this one is dedicated to @holawdw, who made sweet steve come back to me.
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