⋆｡𖦹° are you lucid? ⭒˚｡⋆

I wanted to draw more Natalia Dyer characters so here we are with my first Nancy artwork!!

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. 🗝️

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. 🗝️

DISCLAIMER: This artwork is not authorised for use in generative AI training or image generation.

college au, frat!steve, king!steve, player!steve, slightly toxic!steve, steve harrington yearning, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader

wc: 1.4k

If anyone asked Steve Harrington what on earth he was doing in the library, he would have told them that he was actually studying for once.

But that would be a damn lie.

Because Steve was actually in the library because he was hoping to talk to you.

He didn’t know what had come over him these past few weeks, what sort of spell you had him under but Steve Harrington—King Steve, the guy on that everyone knew on campus, the guy that all the girls wanted and the one all the guys wanted to be—had found himself infatuated with you.

It had started when you showed up to his party a couple of weeks back, the party that your roommate had dragged you along to. You looked as though you would rather be anywhere else in the world, especially after she had left you alone by the drinks table to sneak upstairs with one of the guys on the football team.

Steve couldn’t help but notice you, eventually making his way over to you under the guise of grabbing another beer.

can I get a hazelnut latte with this prompt; “repeating "don't stop" like it's the only language left in your mouth”, hot please!

𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐏! - CRUSH

visit gray’s 4k cafe | frat!gator tillman x female!reader

gator makes you ride his hand until you admit you have feelings for him...

tags: [smut, MDNI] [frenemies with benefits] [frat!gator] [fingering] [orgasm denial] [catching feelings] 1.5k words

“Don’t know what you’re fuckin’ whinin’ for,” Gator drawls, calmly raising his vape to his lips as if his hand isn’t currently down your pants on the couch, fingers deep in your wet cunt. “You’re the one who wanted to watch a chick flick instead of fuck.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but all you can do is whimper as his fingers press deeper, rubbing at that spot yours can never seem to reach.

You’re practically lying in his lap now, embarrassing as that is, and you aren’t even supposed to be doing this again.

You had the dorm to yourself for the night with all your roommates gone for the weekend, visiting their folks or boyfriends—and you had moment of weakness. 

You dialed Gator Tillman’s number.

You’d convinced yourself that it was just to talk, hopefully clear the air about what happened last time the two of you hooked up. 

But when the knock sounded and the door swung open, revealing Gator in a tight white T-shirt, and a backwards hat, sucking on that vape pen…you knew you were in trouble. 

And you were right.

The last twenty minutes have been torture. He’s brought you to the edge twice, but hasn’t let you go over.

You hate to say it, but honestly, you deserve this punishment. 

You know better than this. You know what he does to you. It’s just…well, you’re ashamed to admit that this hot, football quarterback, fuckboy is like your own personal drug.

Because even after months of going without this, you haven’t stopped craving him for a second. 

He strode into your dorm like he owned the place, boots heavy on the cheap wood paneling, and you scrambled to turn something on the TV—anything—just to distract yourself from the urge so to jump his bones right then and there. 

Now, the TV light flickers across your dark dorm as the movie drones on, but you aren’t watching it. You’re too entranced by how thick Gator’s fingers feel, lost in the slick, sucking sound they make as they slide back into your cunt, lazily burying themselves to the hilt. 

God, this was such a bad idea.

Because now that he’s here, smelling like his woodsy deodorant and watermelon flavored vape, you really, really just need him to lay you down and fuck into you hard and deep. Like he used to. 

Before you screwed everything up. 

“Fuck, Gator, I just—” you start, but his palm grinds into your clit, and it’s so big and warm, it has your head tipping back against his shoulder. “I-I changed my mind, okay?”

No. Bad. Very bad.

His bicep presses into your cheek, and you feel yourself slipping.

Stop. Remember last time…

Gator looks down at you, his hazel eyes flicking over your face, watching your eyebrows scrunch and your lips purse.

His mussed hair pokes out of the hole in his backwards ball cap, and there’s a little stubble on his cheeks and chin, like he hasn’t shaved for a few days. 

The sight makes the sharp ache build between your legs as you imagine what that stubble would feel like rasping against your inner thighs.

He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers keep stroking your walls, making your breath stutter and your eyelids drop to half-mast. 

He watches it all, then pinches his vape pen between his lips and reaches down with his other hand to untuck your necklace from your shirt. The chain whispers over the dialogue in the movie, and he drops the silver charm on top of your tank top, resting it right between your heaving breasts. 

You’ve always worn a necklace with the first letter of your name as a tiny charm. He used to grab a hold of it with his teeth as you rode him in your bed. 

The memory makes something in your chest twist, even as your thighs tremble around his hand, your back arching off the couch. 

“Gator,” you pant. “Just f-fuck me—”

 He takes the vape from his mouth and when his tongue darts over his bottom lip, hope surges through you like an electric current, lighting up your veins and making your blood sing. 

But instead of hauling you into his arms and taking this to your room, he just exhales a cloud of vapor through his nose and turns back to the movie. 

“Nah.”

Your stomach plummets.  

“What do you mean ‘nah’.”

Gator twists his wrist, driving his fingers deeper and tearing a torn sob from your throat. “Don’t hear from you fer months, and then you—” he pauses, and you hold your breath. “Tell me why I’m really here, or I ain’t fuckin’ ya.”

His words fall over you like a heavy blanket, hot and suffocating. Both your mouths settle into thin lines, and you turn back to the movie, unwilling to put voice behind what’s really going on between the two of you. 

Like how the last time he was here…you kissed. 

You didn’t mean to. Not really. But he’d had you on all fours in your bed, driving his hard cock into you over and over, his hips smacking against your ass. And when he reached a hand up to tangle in your hair, drawing close to whisper in your ear, you turned your head a little too far—and then you were kissing. 

His lips were warm, and softer than you expected. But what really surprised you was the way he reached for you, curling his hand around your throat and holding you there, like he was afraid you’d pull away before he did. 

It’s your own fault, really. Getting your heart involved. Stupid. 

Everyone knows the cruel fuckboy, football quarterback, and resident jerk, Gator Tillman, doesn’t do girlfriends.

Still, what’s happening now…it doesn’t track. You’re practically begging him to take you apart on his dick, and Gator—the guy who chastises you if you’re not already naked when you open the door for him—is holding back now?

Why?

“What do you want me to say?” You quip. Your voice is harsh, bordering on annoyed, but his thumb presses into your clit in response and your vision goes fuzzy. “W-want me to s-say I have a crush on you or something?”

His shoulders stiffen under your head. “Nah—who the fuck said that?”

“Well, you—“

He scoffs, cutting you off. “Y’know, if you’re gonna be a fuckin’ brat, I could just stop right now.”

“Stop?” you squeak. 

“Ya heard me. Not a peep fer months, and then you wanna act like everything’s the same?” His fingers go still inside you. “Should just leave ya with nothin’.”

Panic flares up in you, and you grab his forearm to keep him there. It’s second nature to avoid his wrist, that joint that still gives him trouble after he broke it last year playing football.

“Please,” you beg. Embarrassment flares hot inside you, but you still tip your head back to meet his gaze. “Don’t stop.”

His lips twitch. Not good enough. Your hips roll hesitantly into his palm, but he still lets you ride his hand until you’re throbbing again, pulsing around his fingers.

You’re just at the brink of tipping over the edge when his fingers go still again.

 “Gate,” you whimper. He exhales softly at the nickname for a split second and looks away. You knew it would do that to him. “Please don’t stop.” 

“Why not?”

“Because,” you sigh, voice tight as you scramble for the words, “I want you to—”

“Say it again,” he says, cutting you off.

Your gazes lock again.

Someone in the movie laughs uproariously at something, but neither of you care to look. Footsteps carry through the dorm halls, followed by the slam of the door, and still, his eyes stay on yours. 

But when your cunt flutters around his fingers, and his eyes drop to your lips, it’s that look right there that makes you finally realize what he’s after. 

“I want you.”

The words leave your trembling lips in a whisper, but they scratch your throat—too raw, too…loud. 

You shouldn’t feel this way about him. 

But, God, you can’t help it.

“Yeah, ’s what I thought,” he sneers, but it doesn’t hold the heat he thinks it does, because his fingers resume their work inside you, and his palm meets every thrust of your hips now with a softness that wasn’t there before. 

Your hard nipples rub against your tank top as the pleasure crests and your breathing picks up—

Suddenly, he pulls away. 

His hand leaves your pants, ripping your orgasm out from under you again like a rushing tide with nowhere to crash. 

A broken sound escapes you, and you reach back for him on instinct, but he stands before you can grab him. 

“Fuck you,” you grit out, panting and wound up.

He snorts. “‘S what I’m tryna do.”

His broad chest rises over you, blocking the light of the TV, and then he surprises you by slipping his wet fingers into his mouth.

You stare at him, hair mussed, jaw agape. “What?”

His lashes flutter for a split second at the taste of your arousal before his hand drops and he’s moving.

“C’mon,” he grunts, striding towards your bedroom and snatching his vape on the way. “After three months, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna let you come around anything but my cock.”

a/n: thank you to @keeryspullman & @tellcherhesgone for inspiring me with their posts about frat!gator!