having wally wests’s hips slapping against your ass, cock drilling into you hard, but at a regular, human pace, not the harsh pace he’s got you so used to. he’s not going slow, he’s not even being gentle about it, but he’s not going as fast as he can, not wally fast. for any other guy this would’ve been okay, but you know your boyfriend can do better than that right now.
your back arches in hopes of getting a better angle, but it’s not enough, you need more friction. that’s when your hips start moving against his. you start fucking yourself back into him, until it’s finally you who’s taking control of the situation, his movements synchronised with your own, falling into a nice rhythm together. wally loves it. he loves seeing you use him for your own pleasure like that and the jiggle of your ass with every snap of his hips.
still, it’s not enough for you. once a "faster" finally escapes your lips, he really goes faster. you try to keep moving your hips along with his, but it’s impossible to keep up with him once he starts picking up the pace, a pace only the fastest man alive can achieve. you’re only left to give in to the pleasure your speedster boyfriend provides.
you’re barely aware of what was going on inside your cunt anymore. the sensation of his cock dragging along your walls is not only mindnumbing, but also too fast for your brain to catch up on. the obscene sounds coming out only help heighten the sensation, the slaps of skin that should never come this rapidly, the wet sounds your combined juices make each time his cock slips in and out of you, and the small grunts of your boyfriend behind you. all of it plus the occasional slap of his balls against your clit—that also comes a lot more often at his speed—has you seeing stars already, but what finally drives you over the edge is when he starts vibrating his dick against your walls too.
you hear a “hm” out of wally once you’re coming on his cock, an amused hum by a clearly-too-pleased-with-himself boyfriend.
After a rather unforgettable one-night stand, you’re left scrambling to get you and your 3rd grade son to his new Little League baseball meeting, and even more scrambled when you see that the man who’d given you the best night since you’d moved from Chicago is, in fact, his coach. His really, really, attractive coach.
wc: 16,385
warnings: deadbeat dad, single parent, money issues, mentioned teen pregnancy, i think that’s all!
a sneak peek into the life you've built with steve harrington
you're a catch!: chapter ten
wc: 682
warnings: pregnancy mention
“Nathan!” you called from the kitchen of Steve’s home, of your home, together. “Breakfast!”
Nathan’s feet don’t stumble down the hallway the same way they used to, but then again, nothing else is like it used to be either.
When your son finally joins you around the table, Steve is already sitting across from you, enjoying a cup of coffee and flipping through his third baby-name book.
“What about Lucy?” He murmurs after taking a sip.
You laugh softly and turn your attention to Nathan, who is very grumpily making a plate of pancakes in front of you.
“Still mad?” You really don’t mean to laugh, but you can’t help it.
“Do you know how uncool it is to have your dad be the sex ed teacher?” He grumbles, a mouth full of pancake. “It was cool when he was the baseball coach, but now it's just…weird.”
Steve smiles across from you, even though the “dad” title wasn’t really new anymore. Nathan had picked it up only months after you two first started dating, not even waiting for the two of you to get married, but it still made Steve giddy every time.
“You know I don’t treat you any different, bud, and trust me, I don’t like teaching it either.” He shrugs, trying to comfort him even a bit. But if he’s being honest, he completely understands why Nathan is upset.
“It doesn’t matter! It’s still weird!” He murmurs.
“At least it’s only for a few weeks, you can survive, can’t you?” I give him an apologetic smile, gently squeezing his hand across the table.
Nathan doesn’t answer, but that doesn’t surprise you. The middle school angst had been hitting him recently, and after finding out that Steve had to teach the sex class wasn’t helping his attitude at all.
After stuffing his face with the last of his pancake, he grabs his bag off the ground, “I’ll be in the truck.”
I frown a bit at his exit, and Steve lets out a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, you know he’s gonna grow out of this.”
“I know… It’s just so hard. He’s always been such a sweet boy.” I say, my eyes trailing over the front door he had just walked out of.
Steve stands and places a soft kiss on the top of your head. Usually, the mornings consisted of all three of you heading to school together, but since you’ve been out on maternity leave, Steve has had to adjust to leaving you behind, something he isn’t too fond of.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“You say that every day, and every day I’m just fine.” You laugh softly at his worry.
“That little girl is coming out any day now, sue me for being a little worried about my wife.” He holds his hands in mock defense.
He was right, you had to admit. You were bound for labor at any point now, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little nerve-wracking. However, if you let Steve know that, he’d refuse to do anything but sit by your side, and you knew there’d be no point.
“Just go. You’re both going to be late.” His head shakes softly, like he’s scolding your stubbornness, but the smile on his face tells you that he loves you for it.
“Fine. I love you.” He says softly with one last kiss to your cheek before grabbing his keys and heading toward the door.
The silence that follows after the door clicks shut behind him is the kind of silence that used to eat you alive. The kind that reminded you that your life was nowhere close to what you’d planned it to be, or reminded you that you had much to maintain to ensure Nathan had a good life.
Now there is room in the silence to breathe; to look around your home and see the photos of Nathan growing up, of your wedding, of every other unforgettable moment that Steve crafted out of your life since he stepped into it, and to smile.
warnings: mentions of evil father who sucks, suggestive ending
Your memory didn’t serve you as well as you thought it could, but eventually, you did make your way to Steve’s home. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you brought your hand to knock on his door, cringing a bit as you caught a glimpse of the slippers adorned on your feet. You do wish you’d taken the few minutes to put on real shoes, but in the moment, it felt as though you needed to get to Steve as soon as possible.
After a few moments of silence, your lips fell into a small frown before giving another knock, quieter this time. It was getting late; it wouldn’t be a huge shock if he’d already called it a night. I mean, between the time you got home from the bar and the time it took you to actually locate his home, most normal adults would already be in bed. Luckily for you, Steve is a really light sleeper.
He’d begun making his way to the front door after the first knock, and opened the door just as you were removing your hand from the second. He was too dazed from sleep to even begin to think about hiding the shock on his face at seeing you on his doorstep.
“You’re here.” He whispered, taking you in. You looked nice, he could tell you’d been out.
“I’m here. To apologize.” You nodded, your heart fluttering more than you expected it to.
“Apologize?”
“I shouldn’t have walked away from you like that, and… I shouldn’t have pushed you away after.” You muster all the courage you have in you to look him in his eyes. “You were only trying to help, and I’m so grateful to have met someone who wants to stand up for my son and me. It was just a stressful moment, and I wasn’t sure how else to react…” You pause, “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t ruined things.”
Steve is frozen for a moment, only spiking your nerves all the more. “Ruined things?” He laughs softly, a smile breaking out onto his face, “Come inside, please.” He steps aside, clearing the doorway for you to come in, the distant familiarity hitting you the second you pass through the doorframe.
“You know, I was worried when I saw Nathan go home with Mrs.Carls this afternoon. I thought you’d start avoiding practice too.” He mumbled, leading you to his sofa. Flashbacks of the way you two had been pressed against it the first night you met lingered somewhere in your mind.
You shook your head slightly, “No, Nathan is just staying with them for the night, I uh- I went out with a few friends.” You explained, taking the seat across from him on the sofa.
He didn’t respond much other than a soft hum and nod of acknowledgement before an awkward silence filled the air. It didn’t last long, though, before Steve was speaking up, turning his body to face you properly.
“I didn’t want to come to Hawkins,” you sigh, the admission feeling like a weight off your shoulders, even more so as you continue, “It was always supposed to be temporary.”
Steve doesn’t answer immediately, and you take that as your chance to continue, “I only moved here so that I could afford a lawyer to take Nathan’s father to court for paying child support. It was meant to be a quick trial, then we’d pack back up and go back home. I never wanted to stay here.” Your voice tapers off, a bit too scared now to look back up at him.
You know that you should’ve told him from the start that you always planned to leave, but you were afraid that you’d no longer be able to enjoy the benefits of the relationship you’d built with Steve, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Realistically, you know this was also what was keeping you from giving Steve everything.
“But he just…refuses. He doesn’t see Nathan. After Nathan’s third birthday, he started getting to aggressive, scaring him, and when I called him out on it, he bailed. He was never excessively present before that, but after that, he just wanted nothing to do with him. Since then, he says that Nathan isn’t his son because Nathan isn’t in his life, and therefore, he shouldn’t have to pay. I don’t know how much he’s spending on a lawyer, but they must be awfully good for him to have gotten out of paying this long.” I laugh dryly before shaking my head.
“So, moving back isn’t so much an option anymore, at least not for a while, but if I’m honest, I’m not sure I even want to anymore.” You murmur, finally carding your eyes over his face to hopefully gauge some sort of reaction from him.
“I mean, Nathan’s having a great time, and Hawkin’s is a lot cheaper than Chicago. Plus, Nathan really likes his baseball coach, and… so do I.”
“I want to be your boyfriend. Like, for real.” He says quickly, almost as if he’s ripping off a Band-Aid.
You pause a moment, then let out a breath. Not quite a sigh, but too intentional to be a regular exhale. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You nod, giving him the softest smile, sliding your hand along the cushions of his sofa to grasp his hand.
“Yeah? You aren’t going to put up a fight?” His laugh is like music to your ears.
“No, I don’t think so.” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Thank you for letting me explain. And for being patient with me.” You hum softly, shifting ever so slightly closer.
“You said Nathan is staying the night with the Carls’, right?” Steve’s voice was almost a whisper, and his hand was already raising your wrist to his lips, placing feather-light kisses along the inside of it.
At your nod, Steve’s kissed become more firm, and the dust over your knuckles. “Let me show you how badly I want space in your lives.” His whisper sends a shiver down your spine, and for possibly the first time since Nathan was born, you take what you want without thinking about everything that could go wrong, and let him whisk you back into his bed, where it all began.
Remove immunity and require each officer to carry insurance. The more fucked up the department the higher their insurance and individually it swings further based on claims.
Hit their pocketbooks the way they hit their wives and kids.
toy flesh [explicit 18+] — [part 2] follow up to part 1 which is linked in my masterlist. this is lots of cute fluff, next part will get down to more filth. there are tons of nasty opportunities
. . .
She also thinks it somehow has to be a one off thing. A pricey, fancy one off toy that fakes a few cumshots after the first time she cleans and rides it, flooding this pool inside of her and all over her bedsheets. But there it goes again, and again, and again.
Topping her third round off by falling backwards near the headboard, new toy gripped tight into her palm while she slides it in and out to still feel full but finally give her hips a break. It was worth every penny, as ridiculous as the amount really was for a hole in the wall sex toy shop. A lot of the others looked sparkly and lengthy and quite pretty, but something about the girth and the hefty weight of the last (or the only?) one in stock on the shelf made her rush to grab it before anyone else could have.
After paying the man at the counter she keeps scoping out her surroundings for any prying eyes as she’s trying to sneak her giant new purchase, stuffing the box into her purse as best she can. It would be dishonest to say she didn’t rush to rip it out of the plastic, feel out the raw feel of the skin, the veins, the fat. It felt real. Unlike any other rubber playthings she’s bought in the past, this one was almost responsive to her touch somehow. Did it require batteries to act like that? To pulse when it feels her grip, or leak when she teased herself on the tip?
It would jump every time she spat on the head and rubbed the base up and down in a firm grip. Pre cumming right at the tip when she did her favorite forms of foreplay and fooled around with it like she’s playing pretend. It throbbed, it wiggled around, and most of all it fucking came. Like a man.
In warm, sudden bursts, she felt it oozing out while she was just getting started. As heaven sent as it felt in the moment, afterwards it made her furrow her brows and grab the toy again and even look down at her own pussy to ensure she wasn’t feeling things that weren’t really there. But lo and behold, it dripped down her inner thighs, slathering her blanket and oozing right out of the tip of the dildo.
It felt like magic. Like her new rubber cock was attached to a real living person — a needy, sensitive, girthy person hung like a horse that didn’t take a lot of teasing or effort to draw so much arousal out of. But the idea was silly, so much more nonsensical than the fact that it was probably nothing more than just an impressively built and nevertheless expensive toy with some kind of hidden wiring and technology that was capable of pulling off acting like a real living cock. Right?
She doesn’t bother questioning it after five or six rounds in one night over the Saturday of her last jobless weekend before the start of her new position the following Monday. It had done wonders for the stress in her body, the tense and worried state it was nearly permanently in. She’d gotten better at taking it all up to the hilt, stuffing it inside up to her stomach after taking an edible and throwing on whatever TV show could make decent background noise. She grins with her heavy lidded eyes falling closed while another load pumps inside her. The second one of the hour to be exact. That addicting feeling of her toy cock gradually just losing it, losing all control like her pussy did things that triggered this quick, heavy release.
She’ll hang around her home in nothing but her underwear and her robe, eating cookie dough ice cream straight out of the carton, higher than a dopey teenager stuck in her own element. It doesn’t take long for her to take her favorite toy and rut her clit against it until it got warm like some kind of horny genie lamp. And then like clockwork it fills up for her again like it’s getting hard, twitchy, and ready all just for her pleasure. In the very back of her head she thinks this thing is so real it could have the off chance of somehow getting her pregnant since the cum had the consistency and the warmth of a real breathing person.
When Monday inevitably arrives, she gives up making sure every single hair stays in place and just parts it all to one side, buttoning up her favorite coat as armor against the unpredictable weather. As she strolled along the streets to her new work building, petting the dogs passing by on their owners’ leashes and twirling the cord of her headphones, she imagines what kind of office would hire someone like her. Blunt, casual, some neurological differences that make it difficult to focus if the topic didn’t interest her. Virtually no prior experience in the field she’s been hired in. It didn’t feel real getting the call back to learn she’d been selected, but who the hell was she to call them stupid for picking her of all the candidates?
The hustle and bustle was apparent as soon as she entered the building, asking around with wide eyes where her section was, what floor was she supposed to go to. Everyone looked busy but remained patient and kind, directing her to her floor, telling her to find a tall, shaggy haired man by the name of Clark.
It wasn’t hard to seek him out of everybody else, large frame still evident even with his hunched over posture, diligently typing away on his computer. When he looks up she was struck to find that he was almost dangerously beautiful. Handsome, pretty, dorky, everything that had always baited her into making terrible decisions. Just by talking to him she could tell he had anxiety, stiff movements and facial expressions that had her wondering if he was nervous from the pressure of being in charge of a new hire, or if he was more specifically nervous about being around her in particular.
Clark is attentive and sweet, helpful and patient with her learning new things, getting used to the environment and what was to be the new routine. Picking up the mail, distributing the mail, transferring phone calls, helping Lois with office duties and finding supplies with low stock to re-order. Certain areas felt overwhelming but overall the job itself seemed mundane. The only thing sticking out to her was Clark and his antsy eyes and big arms, anxious ticks and shy smiles. How he bent over backwards to help her with just about every question thrown his way or another way, making himself of use to her in any way she may have needed.
On her smoke break she feels the rain start to pour within seconds of going outside, and although she’s walked through rain and shine plenty it was still a bit of a test to see how far Clark would actually go if she’d asked to take her home. And he was so eager, so easy. If she got to know him well enough and if they became comfortable enough, she could give him the nickname of being her own mister Yes Man. Yeah, of course I’ll take care of that for you. Yes, you don’t have to worry about that, I’ve got it. Yup, no worries. Yeah, I’ll get this going for you. He was so full of yes’s she almost wonders what the limit may be.
Throughout the day he reciprocates just about every glance, every minor, innocent brushing of arms and fingers and touches on each other’s shoulders, upper back, arms. He hands her a pen and she grazes his fingers entirely on purpose and doesn’t hide dragging the moment out. The more she does the more flustered he’s become.
When Jimmy meets her and shakes her hand, he pulls her aside to whisper in her ear that Clark is very, very single and she laughs so hard she snorts. And when Clark comes back from his lunch break wearing different trousers than he was before he left, she doesn’t attempt any subtlety at eyeing his new pants up and down and shrugging with a little knowing nod at what might’ve made him have to change. Clark makes up some half baked lie about spilling hot sauce on his other pair, and she nods enough to try convincing him she believes it.
After her training is done and the paperwork is filed and the day is finally, finally over she gets a nod from Clark across the room, tilting his head in the direction of the elevators with briefcase in hand. He nudged his glasses further up his face and sniffled, waving bye to staff and pressing the button to head down, holding the door open with an extended arm.
“Thanks so much again by the way,” she graciously squeezed the thick muscle of his upper arm as the elevator doors close. Clark’s turned bashfully red almost immediately, chin down at the ground pretending to look at his shoes.
“It’s nothing. I really wouldn’t want you um, getting all soaked out in the rain, that wouldn’t be right. I’m glad you felt safe enough to ask me.”
“Of course I did. You’ve been nothing but a big sweetheart. Seriously, if anyone’s intimidated by the height they could have one conversation with you and it’ll change their mind,” she laughs, meeting his wide eyes framed by his thick glasses. The elevators ding to alert they’ve arrived to their destined floor, Clark taking a second too long to process before shoving his arm back out to stop the doors from closing in on them again. His version of a curse word slips under his breath while he nearly drops his briefcase, clearly still tripping and stumbling his way out to the parking garage.
“Well I guess so. I’m not that tall. Maybe a little over average, but— I hope I’m not intimidating. Um, here, let’s go this way,” Clark awkwardly trails off, pointing to his little beat up blue vehicle parked way over in the corner. When he points it out she wonders how he even fits himself in there.
“Uh, usually I prop the drivers seat back for my legs. A little crammed but I’ve had her since I started driving. My Pa gifted me this, and she’s still been up and running good after all these years so I don’t really see a need for finding anything else.”
She nods her head and smiles, impressed. He doesn’t let her hand go even near the handle, ripping it open and holding it while she slides in and sets her bag down on the floor near her feet. “Wow. You know, that shows a ton of loyalty to keep one of these for years like you have. I like that.”
He sheepishly nods his head with curls moving on his forehead before gently closing the door and jogging over to the other side.
She takes in her surroundings, observing the little details. His hanging dog charm around the rearview mirror. Taking in all the neatness, the warm vanilla scented air fresheners. How the seat is propped back as far as it could possibly go to accommodate for his height. She notes how he kept himself a spare pair of glasses in one of the cupholders, another style than the ones he wore to the office. When he turns the car on, music began to boom through the speakers, jolting him with a twitch as he rushed to turn the volume all the way down, laughing through a string of apologies. She only giggles harder, clearly less upset than he was, more amused if anything.
Each mundane little thing about Clark piled more on to this growing irresistible urge to just make the plunge already, to crawl in his lap, to kiss him so hard his glasses get crooked and eventually fall right off his face. It became more tempting with each passing glance from the side, every accidental brush of her thigh with his hand while he shifted gears, a murmured apology with those signature pink cheeks. He always looked so embarrassed, and it somehow always served to really turn her on.
“Uh, so I’ll turn here right?”
“Yeah. Yeah just, just turn then you’ll go straight for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re approaching.”
Clark follows directions, going about five miles below the speed limit as he keeps his eyes on each house passing by, curiously wondering which one could be her home. Was it the well groomed, modern style with a picket fence, or an old school, overgrown lawn with an artsy mailbox?
He slows down more as the end of the street was coming, pulling off to the side as she pointed out her home. Clark forgets to hide how eager he is to scope it out, the little pink painted one story home with healthy plants branching out from their pots on the porch, the lady bug mat, the absence of any cars parked out front. Figures she must only get around anywhere on foot.
Rain still patters on the windshield as his windshield wipers barely keep up in time from the heavy drops, and puddles outside forming in the potholes of the road. Her plants looked to be the only happy ones to have some rain to quench them.
“This is me right here,” she reluctantly says, a sigh leaving her throat while she peers back over to the man in the driver’s seat. “I had fun, says a lot for a first day at a new job. Those are always pretty stressful but you’re such a great teacher that I know I’ll be in good hands,” she says, rubbing the lipgloss leftover on her lips together while eyeing him up and down, back and forth between his pretty face and his robust chest.
“I… I’m not that good, you just made it easy,” he disputes. “You asked all the right questions, you’re smart. I know you’ll get the hang of it real soon—“
“—You know, when I met Jimmy today he told me you were single,” she interjects before her mind could steer her away from the risky decision. “So was he… was he joking or was he—“
Clark groans loud, making a fist and then nearly slamming his forehead into it to hide his face, mortified that Jimmy set him up like this. To have this awkward interaction with his now co-worker.
“Gosh…. of course he did… that’s— no. I’m sorry he was acting inappropriate—“
“No as in you’re not single.”
Clark pulls his head back up, blinks, utterly confused.
“No, no I’m—“
“No as in yes?”
“N-No, no as in he’s right. I… I am, it’s just I didn’t want him disclosing stuff like that that to you, that information. Like as if you’d even care if a co-worker is single or not is ridiculous. If he makes you uncomfortable again I can talk to him, it doesn’t have to be a whole HR thing but if you want it to be I can absolutely help…”
She chews her bottom lip to prevent another shit eating grin from spreading onto her cheeks, placing a deliberate hand back on his upper arm to nab his attention, soothe any of his sudden woes.
“Listen, stop. Listen to me Clark. I was asking to clarify it with you because I was hoping that he was right,” she admits, a soft laugh not far behind the end of her small confession, trailing off with a rub of his shoulder, making him hold his breath and keen from the contact.
“You um. So you aren’t freaked out, you aren’t uncomfortable in any way? I just can’t imagine what it’s like, being a… a woman. A beautiful woman you know, like you, in a new workplace and having men be obnoxious on top of that—“
Clark stutters and takes a breather, shutting his car off and tilting his head up so his neck is exposed, blankly looking up at the ceiling.
“Clark.”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t look back down or turn his head, Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows more nerves down.
“I’m not uncomfortable. Not freaked out. And if you want me to just get my stuff and go, not mention any of this tomorrow, then I could,” she starts. Clark takes a deep breath in like he wants to interrupt, but she holds a finger up and he obeys, shutting his mouth closed. “Or,” she began. “I could kiss you for being so sweet, and we can act normal tomorrow, but you can give me another ride home if you aren’t busy again. And we can see where this goes.”
The drop of his jaw was nearly out of a cartoon, heartbeat throbbing so fast it might as well be audible in the quiet of the small space of his car. He can’t take his eyes off her, blinking ever so slightly when his eyes start to dry up. It looked like he wanted to pinch himself just to make sure everything was real.
“I… I really like the second option more. A lot.” he finally mutters. Licks his lips while staring down at hers like he had countless times today, this time with layers of restraint stripped away.
“I like the second option more too,” she chuckles at his dumbstruck face, soothing a palm over his thigh and rubbing his flexed muscles through his trousers. “I also noticed you changed your pants after lunch.”
Clark swallows while her face comes closer, nearly nose to nose, sharing and exchanging breath.
“Uh, yeah, yeah I….”
“That story about spilling some hot sauce was bullshit, right?”
Clark nods without a second thought, confirming everything she already knew.
“Did you have a little too much fun? Make too much a mess, had to end up changing before you got back to the office?”
“Yeah, yeah I did,” he bows his head down a bit, licking his lips again. Still close enough to smell her perfume, to stare at the glittery shine of her lipgloss, begging to know what it tastes like.
“I thought so.”
Clark doesn’t get another moment to think or conjure up a response before she’s leaning in and he’s dreamily shutting his eyes, humming into her mouth while she tilts her head to the side. Her nails splay out across his neck while he whimpers in her mouth, trying to keep up and savor the exquisite taste of her while he can. With plenty of hesitation trying to hold him back, he goes for it anyway and takes his own palm to the middle of her back, hugging her close to him while they kept making out like it wasn’t any different than coming home after years of being away.
“You’re really pretty, makes it really hard,” he pants. Pulls away but not too far, lips still brushing hers as he speaks.
She laughs right at him, tucking a curl behind his ear and adjusting his glasses so they’re straight again on his face. “Apt word choice there.”
“No! No I mean, that’s not what I meant….”
“As much as embarrassment looks cute on you, you don’t have to be,” she assures with another giddy laugh, kissing his cheek and leaving a subtle glossy mark on the skin. Then aims for each corner of his lips only to be pulled back in by him to get the heated momentum back up and running.
“You’re unbelievable,” he breathes. “I want to just… I wanna keep going forever.”
Shit, is he talking too much too soon?
“I mean you don’t have to, really, you can head home whenever you like… I only meant I like this a lot.”
She doesn’t let his overthinking become worse, just grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again. Adding tongue swirls into the mix.
“You taste like your Spearmint gum,” she observes. “Really nice.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Clark nods, his meek persona still in full swing even after having her tongue in his mouth. “You’d tell me if my breath was bad, right?”
“Of course I would.”
The pair still kept exploring each other’s kissing techniques, her hands stroking his arms and his chest while Clark’s stayed on the middle of her back in easy circles. It could’ve been ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes passing by while the rain hardly lightens up from pouring out from the gray clouds scattered in the sky. Clark offers to walk her up to the door so she could get home safe and dry, and she couldn’t pass up the offer, even if he kept reassuring her he didn’t mean to allude to any funny business. He takes off his own jacket to hover it over her head as they make the short trip, insisting he does it as to not get her hair wet.
“I like your plants, your place is cute. I can pick you up and take you home tomorrow if you’re up for that.”
She grins and gets up on her tippy toes to kiss him once again, an innocent little smooch he graciously accepts and reciprocates.
“And how about the day after that, and then the day after that, and the next week after that…”
Clark laughs at her and puts his jacket he’d been using to shield her from getting doused by the rain, squeezing her hip with another smile and going back in for yet another because it was too good to pass up.
“Absolutely. Rain or shine, I’ve got you.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bright and early. Do you have my number? Wait, hold on,” she unzips her purse and shuffles through it before finding her keys, unlocking the door and barging inside. Clark remains respectfully at the doormat, not willing to push any boundary this early, besides a car makeout here and there. He watches her in blissful astonishment as she scribbles on a piece of paper, folds it up then marches back to put it in his front pocket herself.
“For emergencies. And you know, anything else.”
Anything, she says. Anything else. “Right. Yeah. I’ll text you.”
“Please do. And text me when you’re home safe!”
“I will,” he chuckles, leaning his head back down to steal another goodbye kiss before he walks back to his car with a pep in his step that he hasn’t had in a long, long time.
“Bye!”
She waves from her porch before he chastises her to get back to her house so she doesn’t stay in the rain, but she just sticks her tongue out at him then goes back anyway.
It all felt intoxicating. He wondered if he could even drive in such a distracted, head in the clouds state like this.
His gut fluttered with butterflies and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much, back on autopilot as he starts up the car, blasts the volume back up and turns back to the main road. It felt overwhelmingly unreal that he can still taste her lip gloss and how much it’s rubbed off on him. How he can still feel the ghost of her hands touching and caressing parts of him that haven’t been touched and felt like that. He has stars floating above his head like he’d been knocked the fuck out, unconscious.
Just as he’s venturing back to the street towards his place, his dick starts to feel wet against his left thigh. Still trapped by his boxers and his trousers, that same familiar sensation creeping back up on him before he could press the gas after a red light turns green. He clenches his jaw and tries to stay concentrated with tight hands on the wheel. Gasping when his dick starts tingling as he’s teased and rutted on by that same mysterious force, gliding him in between their lips, teasing their opening with his tip.
Clark barely makes it home and sticks his face in the steering wheel, licking his lips, breathing with his mouth stuck open. He feels when it goes inside, how the thrusts are long and filling and slow at first, excruciatingly wonderful as it’s taking him in down to his balls. Drenching him down with wet arousal on every pull out. His full body shivers again, butts his head against the wheel five times before accidentally bumping the horn.
Mortified with horror, he ducks his head down as much as he could and peaked around to catch only a few witnesses of his neighbors taking out their trash bins out on the curb. He awkwardly waves and subtly grabs onto his bulge through his trousers, dampness seeping through the fabric. With a braced huff, he counts to ten to enjoy the warm embrace before he’s exiting his vehicle, slamming the door and not bothering to fix his floppy hair before snatching his briefcase from the backseat, covering his crotch from the world and jogging to his door, soft rain still falling from above.
When he makes it inside he throws his belongings to the ground, rushes his clothes off akin to how he did on his lunch break earlier. As naked as he was born with those glasses still on, he lies back on the couch and clenches his jaw, absently thrusting up into the unknown heat. Feels the heat react with more tight clenches, taking his breath away. He closes his eyes and hugs a pillow to his abdomen while he pictures his new co-worker on top of him again, bouncing just like this wet heat on top of him right now. Wants her lipgloss to stick to his skin, wants to be engulfed in her hair, her perfume, her smile. Her laugh when she’s making fun of him.
Without any warning but the pit in his stomach squeezing and dropping, he cums like a fountain and it ripples out of him so fast it punches him into a straighter posture, all the sudden sitting up. He sees his own cum lathering his dick and his pubes, and he can distinguish the very moment she’s cumming not long later too.
After Clark lays there and chugs an old but full glass of water lying on his coffee table, he caught up to his breath as he tries to get himself together to draft up a text when he finds the energy to get up and pull that crumbled piece of paper out of his pant pocket.
With multiple tired, anxious tries of attempting to find some neutral ground between sounding caring and interested versus sounding desperate or obsessive, he takes a deep breath and presses send before he could talk his mind out of it.
Hey this is Clark. I made it back home safe awhile ago and forgot to let you know. Just wanna say I had fun and I’ll pick you up around 8:30 if that’s cool. Good night :)
Clark thinks of throwing his phone across the room to ignore the insecurities bubbling out of him. What else should I say. Was what I said too much. Will she even want to kiss me again? She said she’d tell me if my breath tasted bad. What if tomorrow things are different—
A text tone buzzed his couch cushion, phone screen lighting up. Surprised but delighted, he rips it back up off the couch and shoves it in his face to read carefully.
I probably had even more fun than you. Glad you’re home safe and I’ll see you tomorrow :) 8:30 sounds perfect Mr. Yes Man. I’ll be waiting out front for you, get good rest! goodnight!
Gobsmacked, he’s left re-reading the same words over and over and over until his eyes grew heavy and he knew time for bed was gonna have to be a little early tonight. He brushes his teeth, wishing he could keep the remnants of her lips on his mouth but knows he just has to wait until tomorrow for more kisses. With a hiss he scrubs his dick of the sloppy mess left thick and slathered on his entire lower half with a warm washcloth.
While he’s in bed he idly wonders what her nights looked like. If she spends them alone like Clark does. If she was more outgoing than him, had people over, went out more. If her life had more color on the pages than his. Dirtier thoughts naturally start to seep in after that, threatening to really take over the narrative he’s built in his mind. Does she touch herself nearly as much as he does? Can she cum multiple times if she’s coaxed? Does she take more charge or does she want him to take over? Or maybe she wanted both. He could do both.
Endless wonders still can’t help flooding his thoughts, so much so that they infiltrate his dream as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Dreaming of her on top of him, of playing with his tie before yanking on it to pull him around as she pleased. She got down further and nuzzled her cheek against his bulge through his office pants and took him out to lick it down like a lollipop was between his legs, even squeezing on him so good it hurt a little bit.
The dream ended with her on top and riding him, backwards cowgirl style, tight hold of his tie still in her fist. When he’s pulled out of his dream and awoken it’s around two in the morning, and somehow his dick had gotten just as wet and used in the night again, this time while he wasn’t even conscious. Clark thought he’d aged out of having any more dirty, raw, cum-in-his-pants type of wet dreams like these. He guessed that now after the day that he had and the girl that he met that everything was about to turn upside down.
. . .
thank you thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged and liked my first part im so happy you guys are enjoying its so fun reading everyone’s reactions :) i like the alternating POVs too for this between her + him
****(only able to fit 50 tags per post, I’ll make another one linked to this post so I can tag the rest!)
(partial) tag list: @7angel7spit7 @imsonotweird @fuhinn77-blog @sunflowers-and-rainy-days @astraea-and-her-novels @brains-2-beauty @theplaid-wearingmoose @navybluelover @kirbyisking99 @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @idontexistrightnow @caffeineaddicty @tinythebunni @contaminatedcupcake @klarkcentral @tragicgirl23 @carlandoxlestappen @thecheeseman27 @darker0moon221b @bad-wolf1991 @just-aliyah @iceyyycapsicle @rrosesandtears *rest of tag list will be in separate post linked to this one cause of the tag limit!
toy flesh [explicit 18+] — [part 1] Clark randomly feels someone sitting on his dick even when he’s alone in his room. pretty much. part one for that magic toy prelude in my masterlist
. . .
Clark thinks it has to be a one off thing. Has to be. A wet dream too close to reality that somehow got his dick a little too wet. A hallucination manifested in some relaxing body tremors that felt so good it ultimately had him cumming everywhere in his pants, untouched, with the book he was nose-deep in forgotten while he lied down and stared at the wall in wide eyed, wide-mouthed shock. What just happened? How did that just happen?
He holds out hope that maybe he’ll get to touch himself and get rid of this pent up energy, get it flushed out of his system, not feel the same unexplained touch of someone else’s body—someone else’s flesh directly on top of him. While he goes about his daily routine before work he doesn’t ever stop looking down at his dick like he’s checking in on it. See if it falls off or grows a bigger brain of its own. Pulls his waistband out to take a confused peak while he’s scrubbing his teeth, foam running down the corner of his mouth. Watches his dick swing around and reluctantly roll upward and harden again from the memory even as he’s ironing the fine lines in his button down shirt.
It felt juvenile. It felt ridiculous.
What grown man couldn’t keep it down and stay soft for a dull eight hour work day?
He has to fondle himself to the memory again before he leaves, cum uncontrollably splashing just about everywhere even though he prepares himself with a tissue right at the tip. The shirt he spent nearly fifteen minutes ironing had to get thrown in the wash and replaced with something wrinkly and unkempt, but at least it was free of cum stains.
Clark sighs as the elevator door opens up to his office floor, trudging over to his desk and setting his briefcase down. Skips right over to their break room’s coffee maker to brew up a sugary full cup for the day ahead of him. Jimmy gave him a greeting with a rougher pat on the shoulder, jolting Clark in a reactionary shiver when he thinks back to being touched in bed by no one or something while he was withering all alone in his room.
He pushes his glasses up his scrunched up nose, letting out an almost disgruntled sounding hey.
Jimmy squints at him, noticing the offbeat attitude of his close friend and coworker. “You good, man? Sleep alright last night or did somebody take a hot piss in your Froot Loops?”
“Slept… slept fine, it’s just I’m kinda going through stuff right now. I don’t know.”
Clark swallows and stirs his steaming cup after dropping another sugar cube in. Jimmy pats his shoulder once again, trying to get Clark to meet his eyes with a tilt of his head.
“You know… maybe it’s about time.”
“What?”
“You know, dude, maybe it’s that time. Time for you to get yourself laid. I think it could help flush out some of these nerves in your system. You seem so tense. I know a few girls that would hop on that train, if you know what I mean.”
Clark turns beat red rather quickly, taking a long sip to gather his thoughts and come up with a response.
“Yeah you couldn’t have been any more direct actually. I… listen I understand, but it’s not that. Trust me, I’m getting… more than you think. I guess. Cause something like, something happened last night, I don’t even know how to explain it. And I liked….. it. It’s just really weird so maybe now’s not the time to discuss—“
Jimmy laughs a long, boyish giggle and slaps one of Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling Clark further aside into the corner with a look around for any coworkers meandering.
“Dude, I knew it. You found yourself a lady. You’ve been getting some and you haven’t been telling me. That’s really lame of you man, I thought our friendship had no barriers—“
“I haven’t met a— look, okay, it was weird, and I mean really really weird. I don’t know if you’ll understand it or if it’ll just sound crazy.”
“Whatever crazy thing you’re about to say, I’ve probably done crazier,” Jimmy assures with a knowing nod paired with a grin. “Trust me.”
“Uh, okay….” Clark clears his throat and lowers his voice, leaning down to Jimmy’s ear level. “Have—have you ever like, came untouched before? Felt someone…. down there…. even though no one else was in the room?”
Clark stares at Jimmy now, loosening the tie around his collar like he’s already broke out in another sweat just thinking about it. Wondering if it might happen again. If he has some odd guardian angel that likes to fuck him and look after him all at the same time.
“You mean you finished, no hands, completely dry? You’re living the dream. Should be more grateful. Why do you look so terrified right now.”
Clark closes his eyes and pinches his brows in a long sigh before nodding to Jimmy to follow him to the bathrooms after setting his coffee on his desk. With uneasy paranoia he peers down to check for any feet on the floor in the stalls before he continues.
“I… I don’t think you get it. It felt like someone literally rode me, like, put me inside them and came on my dick and everything. I wasn’t doing anything! Wasn’t even hard before it started happening, I was just reading. I don’t know how else to explain this or make it any clearer to you!”
Jimmy looks astounded after every word, awestruck with an open mouth. Even flashes of envy pass through his eyes while he chuckles and shakes his head. Typical Clark and his way of complicating things. Overthinking what truly sounded like a gift. “Sounds like a you’re being haunted by a friendly ghost that just wants to hop on that thing, dude. So what did it really feel like? And can I get one too?”
Clark closes his eyes and his mind goes back to last night. In the comfort of his soft sheets, legs sprawling out and taking over the entirety of his bed. How right when the plot of his novel started taking off he felt almost a tickle. A wiggle of what felt like a smooth, slithery tongue. It was unrecognizable when it started, like maybe he had an itch down there to scratch, or maybe some blood began randomly flowing down south.
When it became unmistakeable, too soft and wet to deny what was happening to him, he slammed his book shut with the bookmark in place and spread his legs wider, feeling the sweat breaking out. Feels his dick happily jump right into the warm invisible hole teasing his tip. He felt the hole clench down and struggle to take him all, slowly inching up and down like a bunny on top of what it could take. He clenched a fist at his side and held his dick up with a thumb, raising his hips gently into the heavenly heat. How the pace it had going stuttered when he did, probably in shock that he had more of himself to give.
Clark remembers crying with pleasure, pre cum getting drained out of him so effortlessly, so smoothly. Drool picks up on his tongue while he’s nearly going cross eyed, the pussy on top of him bouncing harder, bouncing faster—
“It feels— it feels unbelievable. I mean it was incredible,” Clark answers Jimmy’s question that had awkwardly hung in the air. “Haven’t felt anything like it before. Something might be seriously wrong with me.”
Jimmy raises a brow. “Watching too much porn? Just take a break. Meet a girl.”
Clark’s full body shivers, goosebumps now swarming up his arms and the back of his neck, making all the hairs there start to stand up. He feels an eager hand all the sudden grab onto his bare cock and slick their palm down, cold and wet like the hand had a puddle of lube to gloss him down.
If it hasn’t visibly shown up as a wet spot on his groin through his trousers yet, by the feeling of it it’ll start showing a dark spot soon. If he didn’t take his dick out it would surely start a puddle that would only dry as a fresh stain.
Clark takes a deep, shaky breath, turning over to grab onto the tile of the wall, resting his forehead against it and gripping like he’s engulfed in pain. Like his surroundings started spinning all around him.
“Woah, Clark. Dude. Take it easy. What’s happening?”
Jimmy gets closer to check on his friend but Clark can’t take it, shooing him off with a hurried no, it’s fine—just get out of here. I need a second. thanks!
“You sure you’ll be able to hold up the rest of today? You have enough leave. I’m sure Lois would understand—”
“Just, just…. I need to take a— I’ll take a ten, okay,” he whimpers, clutching onto the humiliating bulge growing so fast he already was showing a hefty print. “Maybe a fifteen. I can’t—I don’t know.” The hand stopped slicking up and down his cock and he feels it tease him by rubbing his length up and down a pearly wet slit, not yet having him enter.
He shoos Jimmy away and hurries to a stall, slamming it shut and locking it with his back to the door while his dick bobs around for more of her attention. Tingles sprout in his belly while his whole body starts to tense.
“Uh, okay,” Jimmy mutters. “Well I’ll leave you to it I guess? Here for you buddy. Don’t piss off your ghost girlfriend. Maybe next time she won’t fuck you as good if you do,” he laughs.
“Shut. The door. And shut. Up!” Clark howls, fumbling with his zipper and rushing to roll some toilet paper up into a ball for his tip when he’s hanging out of his boxers. He distantly hears his friend mumble a jeez, so touchy. sorry and the door creaks open and falls closed. With privacy at last, Clark is able to heave and thrust his hips gently into the beautiful, tight wet heat, little abstract murmurs and whimpers leaving his throat while his dick gets wetter, and wetter, and wetter.
“Don’t—Don’t, don’t want you to stop,” he quietly begs. Veins popping on his temple from all the straining his body is doing. “But I… I have to get back to work.”
Whatever is wrapped around his cock doesn’t pay his words any mind, sinking down all the way to his balls and creaming on his base the more they start their rough bouncing. Like they’re angry, like they’re taking everything out on his cock. Clark wished he knew what he did wrong, or maybe what he did right to deserve this kind of treatment from someone he couldn’t even see.
“I’m not gonna last, I’m not, it feels so good…. feels too good…. I can’t handle this again, not right now,” he breathes. Sees his tip bead more floods of pre cum and slip down the base of his cock, getting his balls messy with slick. The sound is obscene, with every up and down motion everything can be heard. How wet the pussy around him really is. How his cock stuffs it all the way through. If somebody came in right now, they would think he’s having real sex with a real body in this stall right now. When in all honestly, Clark doesn’t know what he’s having.
“Oh my gosh, gosh you’re more wet this time, you’re getting it so wet…. You’re gonna get me in trouble, wait…. please.”
The pussy on top of his dick starts to quiver, tremble and squeeze him down harder than before. Like it’s finally found release after a record of an eight minute round of going nuts on him like he’s nothing but a toy built strictly for their use.
Some cum that isn’t even his starts dribbling down on him, and that’s when the floodgates start to open. Clark can’t hold it anymore, and he doesn’t know how bad it’s gonna be trying to both cover his load and then clean it all up.
He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut once again, knuckles turning white while he holds on for dear life and busts another long, drawn out nut into whatever this thing is that’s tortured him yet again. He spits out rope after rope of cum in the waiting piece of balled up paper and tries to catch it all there but a few stray drips do manage to burst out too fast for him to act. He sprays a part of the wall and whines a little no, please, please no, you made me cum too hard again, I need to get back to work.
The come down is always humbling. Seeing exactly how foolish he was acting as the sweat under his arms and on his face visibly stains his clothes and his skin. He managed to wipe off his messy cum lines off the wall and stuffs another rolled up ball of toilet paper down his boxers to soak up whatever else is leftover in his pants.
When he feels ready enough he’s still catching his breath and trying to get his blushing face under control as he heads over to the sink to splash some water on his face. Presses on the soap dispenser over and over again until more than a mountain of soap is bubbling in his palm, lathering his sticky, filthy hands.
Clark fights everything inside him to try and act natural when he heads back to his desk. Ruffles his hair more than necessary, tightens his tie, rolls up his sleeves.
The cup of coffee he’d made had lost most of its heat but Clark was so preoccupied in his head he doesn’t notice, still gulping some down and logging back into his computer to answer more messages and emails that were left for him. His eyes zone in on an email he’d been CC’d in from Jimmy and Lois about an upcoming new hire’s start date for their vacant Office Assistant position.
The email read that Clark would be assigned as the one primarily training her since he’d started out in her exact title position a year ago. Clark adds a thumbs up to the email and closes out of it to start on another assignment, thinking in the very back of his head that if his dick can’t control himself while he’s training said new hire next week he’d be blowing his brains out, not out of his cock next time.
Jimmy side eyes him from across the room, mouthing a you good? much to Clark’s bashful shake of his head, assuring him with a roll of his eyes and a tired response of yeah, I’m fine. shut up.
Lois comes out of the blue up behind him and drops a fat stack of paperwork on Clark’s desk with a tight smile.
“New hire coming in next week. You got my email right?”
Clark nods and leans back in his chair, casual as he can muster.
“She’ll have to mostly rely on you for help and onboarding, since me and Jimmy have too much going on. Travel, deadlines, some new leads finally getting back to us for interviews. So you’ll take her under your wing for us, yeah?”
“Of course. It’s not uh, it won’t be a problem,” he answers under his breath, taking another sorry sip of his lukewarm coffee. He hopes the thing in his pants won’t be a problem.
“You sure? Jimmy said you didn’t look well. You can’t call out and leave her all alone here on her first few days, it’s gonna be overwhelming in the start—“
“Jimmy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine. It’ll get taken care of,” he promised.
“Alright, then don’t get her sick, got it?”
Clark wants to slap Jimmy for even bringing up his frazzled state to anybody in the office, mortified over what had taken place barely ten minutes ago, and how unpredictable his dick was gonna act for a while. Or forever. Who even knows at this point.
“My germs are all mine,” he swears, hands defensively up in the air. “Count on it.”
Lois gives him another one of her hard stares that basically told him she’d make him eat his words if he dared showing up to the office coughing, sneezing, puking. Clark was only worried about leaving his desk for twenty minutes at a time to get his dick rode by the same tempting mystical source he had yet to fully identify, let alone begin to understand.
It never left his brain even while he worked, back of his pen stuck in his mouth to chew on while he wrote up more emails and forwarded ones from their general inbox. Hours had gone by until he had about forty five more minutes left until he could be freed and finally head home, and Clark really thought he was in the clear of having another accident during work hours.
That was up until the fucking tease went at it again. The warm, sopping wet tightness wraps around his tip and slips him in, no mercy given. His dick springs back to life effortlessly, and Clark wants to cry.
He holds his head by covering his face with both hands, scooting his swivel chair forward so his crotch was safely hidden underneath. He drools an ungodly amount at the tip, feeling how eager this round was for her, how quickly she ruts against him and has him crying softly into the sleeve of his shirt.
Clark’s mewling and groaning is muffled into his arm, too helpless to hold in any of his noise when they move in sways up and down, switching off between going deep and going shallow with their pushes. Clark is beat red all over again, giving up after several minutes of unabashed torture and shielding his wet crotch with his briefcase pressed up against him, running off back to the toilets this time to sit down and breathe while undeniably enjoying everything being done to him. Fuck the last thirty minutes of his shift. Fuck the emails and the phone calls and the scans and the letters.
Clark shuts his eyes and actually smiles for a change as he eggs on whatever higher power bouncing on top of him to keep going. Nods his head and can’t help his soft murmurings of please, yeah, yeah keep doing that, you do it so good.
It might be his new imaginary best friend, or it might be his first sign to go to a mental hospital. Whatever it was, since it’s made Clark cum this hard, he guessed it couldn’t have mattered too much if it always made him feel this good.
. . .
The weekend was spent the same way. Getting his dick milked while he lied back and screeched every time she squeezed on him some way, somehow. He doesn’t answer anyone that texts him for plans, doesn’t do the dishes or take care of his laundry like how he’d hoped. No. He whines and stutters and cries, barely able to get in the shower without his dick getting trampled on.
It’s not a long shot to think he could be developing something. A mental illness. A haunted curse that plagues him with orgasms at all times of the night and the day. He’s one more round away from calling somebody to perform an exorcism or splash holy water on him to escape this succubus that had to be laughing in his face at how easy he is to rile up.
When Monday comes around again Clark doesn’t want to take any chances traumatizing the new hire with all the blotches of cum stains littering his pants. With a scoff and a sigh he steps each leg into a second pair of boxers to make slightly more effort into covering up. Even packs a backup pair in case both pairs he’s currently wearing are soiled by the end of the day.
After a hectic first hour of scanning and distributing the stack of morning mail from the bin, he slips a stick of gum on his tongue and gnaws on the flavor with his mouth open when an unfamiliar silhouette teeters closer towards the edge of his desk from the entrance.
Clark doesn’t get to looking up until she’s clearing her throat, playing with a strand of her hair with a smile aimed at the ground.
“Hi, sorry if I’m interrupting your work. I’m actually starting today,” she explains, eyeing him up from head to toe. Clark rips his head up at the voice and clears his throat, sitting up straighter and pulls a polite hand out.
“Oh! Oh, yeah that’s right. You’re our new hire. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Clark.”
She takes his hand with a laugh. Clark wished he understood what was funny. He joins in on it anyway, anxiously chuckling while he doesn’t stop shaking her hand in his. Realizing it had been well over ten seconds of her soft palm held up in his own long, gigantic fingers, he slips his hand off of hers, lingering in the awkward air of the moment.
She nods and scans her gaze around, peaking at the state of Clark’s desk. The endless string of sticky notes, the protein shakes, the tie he’d already taken off his neck. “So am I in the right place, or—“
“Yup. Yeah, yeah you found where you should be. I’ve been tasked to uh, help you fill all this out. After that we can get you started on some basics,” he breathes out, pointing to the stack resting on the side of his desk, sticky note on top with her name on it. Clark finds himself trying a little desperately to keep himself more cool, more composed. She’s the kind of pretty that made him nervous, suddenly aware of his undone appearance, of every awkward move he makes. He stops chewing his gum with as much rigor, clenches his jaw and scratches the back of his neck.
“I started out in the position you’re in, it’s real easy to move up,” he mentions, gathering up the paperwork and attempting to straighten it out before a quarter of the pages fall from his grasp in a pile. Beat red, Clark doesn’t do anything but stare at the ground and sigh before sheepishly joining in on her laughs.
“You’re pretty organized, aren’t you?” she chuckles, bending over to pick up the few documents that landed on the floor. Clark’s jaw even drops when he catches the smallest glimpse of her hot pink colored thong poking up above from her dress pants.
“Yeah. Yeah I really am, you know. Organization is key,” he nods, tight lipped smile still on his face. He takes the pages she hands him over, watching her subtly arch her head to smell something in the air. Fuck. What the fuck? Did he even put on any cologne this morning after draining his dick for the hundredth time?
Before he could shoot himself in the head with more irrational insecurities his mind makes up she soothed his very visible worry with another laugh and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Is it me? Do I reek like sweat or something—?”
“No, no. You don’t smell bad, you’re fine. I was just trying to figure out if you were chewing Spearmint or not,” she assures. “I like it. Promise. You do not reek of anything,” she snorted through another laugh. Clark beams, looking around everywhere but her face. Afraid his face could give his every fleeting thought away.
Thank god. “Uh, oh yeah. Yeah it’s Spearmint. You want a piece? I have a new pack,” he offers. To his surprise, she snatches up a piece out of his hand hardly before he gets to offer it to her. Blinks dumbly while she opens it up and tears the piece in half, stuffing one in her mouth and giving the other half back to him.
“Uh—“
She smiles at him, chewing the gum out of one side of her cheek. “I have this oral thing. A fixation I guess. Chewing or having something in my mouth really helps me.”
The thing about Clark is, he has manners. Has restraint. Thought he was a good boy that didn’t go on and chase any tail that came into his orbit. Especially not a new pretty co-worker. He doesn’t want to think about putting different parts of himself inside her mouth just to calm her down. Or the color of her thong. Or that wicked smile and addicting perfume to match. Something tries to draw him in closer, reason with his conscience like she’s teasing little signals, it’s not like you’re her boss or anything. if you flirt back no one would know a thing.
Clark stops his zoning out and nods his head to agree. “I get it. Having stuff in my… in my mouth cools me off too. Like—like stress.”
“You shouldn’t worry yourself that much. Seems like you’re wound up pretty tight.”
He feels like there’s this window into his thoughts standing clear as day right above his head, broadcasting every fleeting thought or mood. When he tries to look at her, stare at her back the same way she stares at him, he just wanted to run away before his own dick caught up with him.
Clark scratches his chin and sheepishly nods with his head down, agreeing with a gentle mumble, yeah you know, just normal stuff, kinda on edge. Not like he randomly cums in his pants or anything. He quickly finds a way to change subjects by directing his focus back to the work left in front of them and guides her to sit over at her new desk to fill out some new hire paperwork. She taps him on the shoulder and grins when she says his name to ask him questions. He dutifully answers everything he can, emails some higher ups to get her logins to some of their systems and trains her how they go through their mail and answer consumer’s inquiries over the phone.
She takes just about everything in a stride. Overwhelmed of course by certain things that have nuances and will take more time getting used to. Clark introduces her to more staff, waves to Lois, makes the new hire her own cup of coffee after showing her their break room. Jimmy tries to raise a brow, even wiggles both of them up and down at him from behind her back, but it only makes Clark kick him in the shin and gruffly threaten him under his breath as he’s passing by while she wasn’t looking.
Clark sends her off to her first break, telling her to meet him back at her desk for more training later. Watches absentmindedly as she picks up her purse, snatched up a lighter from one of the pockets and stuck a cigarette behind her ear, waving goodbye and strolling out to the elevator doors. Before the elevator doors close he could see her take the stick from her ear and put it between her lips, probably a habit she’s picked up from that oral thing, Clark figured. He wants to stop himself from picking apart her business but he’s too intrigued to stop, still lost in thought at his desk while he takes a break of his own.
After spitting his piece of gum out he chugs a few thick swigs of his protein shake, spaced out in blank thought. A corner of his mouth smiles when he feels the other half of that stick of gum she’d torn off and given back. His dick twitches but ultimately stayed soft, undetected in his pants. He’d shamefully started wondering how the hell his dick was so well behaved, so normal today of all days. Not that it was a bad thing. He just found it curious. Why was this the first time in days his dick wasn’t getting swallowed, rode, or came on by whatever invisible force that clearly had been having its fun tormenting him? And will it ever come back to fuck him again?
Once Jimmy finds Clark alone at his desk wiping fingerprints off his glasses, he swats his shoulder and bashed one of his knees to his swivel chair, causing him to start spinning.
“What the hey, dude—don’t—“
“This could be your shot. All’s I’m sayin,” he shrugs. Sees Clark stop his chair and shove his friend forward, only enough power to knock him off his feet a little bit. “Hey, hey! That’s all I’m saying, I said!” he laughs and defensively puts both his palms up to shield himself from any more of Clark’s wrath.
“You can’t say that stuff. Don’t. She’s new, okay! And… and she needs my help learning everything around here. She doesn’t need some big oaf getting in her business, abusing power, or being… being weird towards her,” he concludes.
“Hey, opportunities sometimes fall right out of the sky. This one just fell right into your lap. And you’re not a fat oaf dude. Pfft, you actually think being her co-worker is gonna affect anything?”
“Uh, yes it does in fact. It will literally affect everything. You think it’d be appropriate for me to treat her like that?”
Jimmy shrugs again, ruffles Clark’s curls and says he should think about reconsidering some of his rules and start breaking them in order to finally get something he wants.
When she’s back from her break her hair is damp, fresh perfume sprayed on her coat to get rid of some of the stench from her cigarette. She looks refreshed, albeit a little more flustered than she was before she left. Her boots squeak slightly on the floor from stepping out on the wet ground outside. He thinks about complimenting her boots, her coat, her hair, thinks about complimenting her everything. But his words fall short after his voice cracks from the very simple greeting of hey, welcome back.
“Hey, can I ask you for a favor after work? It’s totally fine if you say no or if you can’t. You don’t have to give me any reasons,” she assures.
Already eager to know what she’s going to be asking of him, his ears perk and his posture straightens up as he scoots his chair over to her desk.
“Yeah of course. What’s up?”
“It started raining pretty hard and the forecast says it won’t stop until tomorrow morning. I actually walked here to work, and if it’s not any trouble, would you be able to give me a lift back home?”
Clark swallows an upcoming lump in his throat, feeling his palms start to get clammy. The mere thought of the proximity was enticing. Having her next to him, in his car. Her trust in him helping her with something as intimate as having her get back home safely. He tries to answer casually, like he’s a nonchalant guy — as if the offer wasn’t any big deal, wasn’t making his heart start to beat a little faster.
What comes out though is a horribly rushed, clumsy, stuttered —
“Ohyeahofcourse, you don’t even have to worry about it!”
Jimmy’s teasing still echoes through the hallway of his brain. About opportunities. About how sometimes they seem to fall right out of the sky. How this one has fallen right into his lap.
“Thanks so much Clark, I appreciate it. You’ve been the sweetest guy. I’m really lucky to have you here to teach me everything,” she praised. Turning his cheeks pink in all of two seconds with a flat palm on his broad shoulder, squeezing gently and holding the warmest smile.
“We’re lucky to have you. You’ve been— you’ve been great,” he gulps, trying to bring the focus back to her. “We don’t have too much more to fill out, but um, I don’t wanna overwhelm you with any more new things today. Let’s wrap up this paperwork then we’ll hopefully get you on those phones to practice the last hour.”
“Great! I’m almost finished with those. And for the record I do promise where I live isn’t far, I don’t wanna be too much an inconvenience,” she laughs. Clark shook his head again, ready to protest the very idea that she was asking too much. In truth, she was so stupid pretty that if she asks him to say his ABC’s backwards he’d still give it his best shot. She almost cuts off his attempt to deny it, straightening up some of the last pages left to read over and sign.
“You are not any inconvenience. If you are, then please keep inconveniencing me,” he says, flashing a toothy smile at her. He prays to himself that it comes out right, and to his delight, she grins back, adorable face expressing back to him, well, then don’t mind if I do. “with anything you need, I’ll be here.”
Is he being too much?
“Thanks, Clark. I owe you.”
Oh? What should you owe me?
He shakes off any perverted thoughts and spares a glance at his watch.
“Are you hungry? It could be lunch time. Up to you. We don’t clock in and out, we just have timesheets, so breaks are pretty flexible.”
“Yeah, I could eat.”
Clark’s head screams well there’s a full meal right in front of you.
“Great.”
. . .
He sees her head off to the break room and start chatting with Lois, smiling at her welcoming disposition while she checks in on how her training is going. Clark knows he has the option to stay, to ogle while he ate at his desk, but he feels like he has too much steam to blow off before handling the rest of the day. With a long final exhale, he adjusts his glasses and snatched up his keys to head back home for his lunch hour.
Once he’s back at his apartment he immediately sheds his god awful shoes and his suffocating button down before he’s lying flat on his back in bed, staring up at the wall. Trying to manifest that magical touch and beckon it to come back. Beg for it even. Wonders to himself if there’s some hidden way he hasn’t figured out yet to trigger it, or if it’ll always remain spontaneous.
Clenching his jaw he angrily starts groping his crotch, trying to feel himself out. He opens one eye to peer down at his dick and see if he just thought about it hard enough he’ll bring it back to life, feel that beautiful all consuming weight drip on top of him again.
“C’mon. C’mon, please… You… you’ve fucked me every day and I took it all last night, now I want it, I need it. Right here, please?”
Clark strokes his cock while it sways back and forth against his belly, mind already feeding into an idiotic fantasy of his new hire bending over, showing him her pretty colored thong. Maybe she’d pull her panties up higher so they’re peaking out further above her waistline, or maybe she’d pull them over to the side….
He raises his hips off the bed to thrust into his fist at the thought, pants still strung down barely past his groin. Figures if he shows back up to work the rest of the day in different pants, it’s his business and his business only, and so be it.
“Oh god it was so good last time, wish you could touch me like that again…”
He knows it’s pathetic. Everything he’s doing, everything he’s saying. While he grips the tip and twists particularly tight, he shamefully whimpers out his new hire’s name while his dick starts to drip into pubes. Messy, sticky, but gosh he needed this. Clark deeply misses the warmth on top of him, the hot teasing, the bouncing, and the thrill of not knowing what will happen next—
“Oh my god….”
. . .
part two
posting this cuz I’m so done looking at it already dear jesuslawd. if I should keep going somehow let me know I love coworkerXcoworker getting down and nasty. I like the idea of clark not knowing what’s going on and getting slobbered on by his work crush. fully no clue when/if the next part comes out oh my lawd. thanks soooo so much for all the love on the first little prelude:( im so obsessed with every reblog+comment
CLARK KENT’S sexual awakening never happened. His ma did enough to hide him from the more carnal parts of life, so imagine his surprise and borderline nose-wrinkle in sex-ed junior year when he found out what adults did behind closed doors.
Even when he grew up, got a job in the Planet, made his alter-ego known, he still didn’t feel the need to… have coitus. He was too scared he’d snap some poor girl in half if he tried.
The first time he ever tried, he’d barely got the tip in before he came, embarrassingly quick. Maybe it was the nerves of it all, maybe his body was eager to get it over with. Safe to say, that girl — as lovely as she was — broke up with him a week later because she felt like he was just in pursuit of his own pleasure. Not true, by the way, his ma always told him to think of the lady first.
Like every Monday, he was pushing his way through the Metropolis work crowd, against the tides of people. Not really looking where he was going, trying not to drop an iced tea — Lois forced him to try it, just to be clear — on any unsuspecting people by holding it high above possible shoulders.
That failed.
In the pursuit of not splashing anyone with peach iced tea, he forgot to look straight and collided straight into someone, sending a drink flying into a silk dress.
Oh, no.
He watched in horror as the material dampened, clung to your body, and became slightly more sheer by the second. “Golly, I’m so sorry—”
The subsequent scoff nearly tore into his self-esteem battery for the day. “Hey, watch where you’re…”
Your eyes locked. All anger faded away, replaced by the dread that you hurt this sexy behemoth of a man’s feelings and he now hated you forever. “… you know what? No worries, don’t— don’t think about it too much.”
He instantly shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you. “But your dress— great dress, by the way,” it was a… really pretty dress, golly, “it’s ruined. I ruined it. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”
You waved your hand noncommittally, but you took the blazer anyway to cover up, it was massive on you. Lord— wait, he shouldn’t take his name in vain. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was on my way to a bachelorette party, one of my friends there will definitely have a spare, she has one for everyone.”
He blinked. “Everyone?”
“Yeah.” You grinned, gosh, it was a pretty smile. “She’s like that. Weird, I know. And— don’t worry about the dry cleaning, I’ve got it. I’m sorry about your drink.”
“No, you saved me.” He laughed nervously. “My coworker forced me to try it, to tell y’the truth, I did not want to.”
“So I saved you.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his curls, messing them up even more. “And please. Please bill me for the dry cleaning, I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”
“Fine. Fine.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll bill you.” Locking eyes with him once more took the words from his lungs. Good Lord, those eyes were sexy. All of him was sexy, in a cute way, bumbling gait, pushing his glasses up his nose, the rosiness of his cheeks. You checked your watch. Fuck. “Well, I’m in a rush, so—”
“Yeah, you gotta—”
“See you.” You began walking off at a fast pace. Something jolted in his navel. He felt hot from embarrassment. His relaxed-fit trousers felt… not so relaxed anymore.
He looked down. That looked like a sexual awakening.
“Clark!” He yelled loudly, head snapping up to stare at you like a dishevelled deer in headlights. What the hay? Why did he do that? Why did he yell that? He covered his crotch with his messenger bag.
Your smile told him you noticed. With an uptick in your heart rate and an increase in your breathing’s heaviness, a sweet smell tickled his nose. It wasn’t the bakery next to him, that’s for sure. You smiled, and shouted back your name at the same volume.
He hurried to the nearest bathroom to yell at his body.
Cat slid onto his desk, setting core in front of him. Not for him, clearly. “I was at a bachelorette last week.” She started, tapping her nail on his desk to get him to look at her. Deadlines needed to be crunched, so he barely did. She accepted that.
Clark’s fingers kept flying. “Cat, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
She laughed. “I have a friend. She asked me about a dorky guy named Clark Kent who still writes his name on the tags of his clothes.” She dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, stirring it. “A habit I thought we left back in our sophomore year of high school.”
His neck turned red. His foot covered the name tag on his bag’s handle. But she laughed and dropped another sugar cube into. He sent a furtive glance of concern for her health. “Whatever.” She sighed, taking a long sip. “I told her you were single.”
He almost spluttered over no liquid. “What?”
“I told her you were single.” She repeated simply.
“Why?”
“She asked.” This time he almost choked on a gulp of straight, bitter black coffee. “I gave her your number. To bill you for the dry cleaning.” Pause for an effectively captivating sip of over-sweetened coffee. “Among other things.” She muttered under her breath, but he caught it. She smiled widely. “Toodles!” She got up and walked off.
He threw his hands up, tripping over his words. “Cat— you can’t—” But she was in her own world, singing Freak by Doja Cat.
His phone buzzed. With shaking hands, he opened it, unknown number.
Didn’t know they made clothes in your size. Underneath: Wanna come round to get it this weekend? To talk to bit.
He saved your contact first. Before typing out a clumsy agreement, which he didn’t know was possible over text. Judging by how you didn’t immediately get put off, you were into it.
He was on time, on the dot of the agreed time, which was two o’clock. After lunch, before it got too dark, but still enough time to talk.
He’d cleaned up a little more than usual. Tried to use a hair pomade to ensure his curls weren’t as wild as they usually were. Wear a slightly tighter fitting shirt than before. Brush his teeth. Pop a few breath mints. Avoid the morning coffee, put on copious amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Everything had to be perfect. He even trimmed his happy trail for this.
You laid the plan. Took a shower so your skin was dewy. Prepped your hair. Kept the makeup minimal, because a full beat would give the plan away. You chose your best, flowiest robe.
You wanted him to unwrap you like a present.
When your doorbell rang, you dabbed on a final bit of lipstick before you chucked it onto a side table and opened the door.
You felt your thighs rub together on instinct the moment you saw him. He felt his breath leave his body when he saw you, checking his watch. “Maybe I’m early—”
“You’re on time.” It came out more breathless than expected. Nodding back into your apartment. “I… I have your jacket. I put it in the wash, the inside got stained with a little iced tea.”
“You can bill me for that too.”
“Seriously? No.” You waved your hand. “No. You’re fine.” You ushered him inside. “It was a thank you, for paying for my dry cleaning and lending me your jacket.” You waved him towards the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
You.
“Um, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch, you sat opposite, picking up a glass of wine that was there before he came. You looked… stunning. He felt his collar get hot. He tugged at it. “You invited me to watch a movie.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still want to watch a movie?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh. I was under the impression that we’d be…” He gestured in between you two. So he had the same assumption you did.
Your lips curled up. “I was under that impression too.”
He nodded. You could see a bulge slowly growing in his trousers. “I mean, I— I have to warn you, I’m not that… experienced.”
You blinked, slightly amused. A little interested. “Oh? How so?”
“I…” He made a weird motion, he didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean. It’s likely get interpreted as something like flying a plane, “finish too quickly. Women find it off putting.”
The way you were looking at him, it seemed like you found it off putting as well. Just frozen in time, sat there, staring at him. “That’s…” You let out a whoosh of air. Then your hand gripped his jaw, “really fucking hot—”
Oh. You were into it.
Huh. You were kissing him.
Golly. He was kissing back.
His hand covered the one holding his jaw, pressing into your lips and your body instinctively like there was a magnet from him to you. You pushed back, swinging a leg over both of his till your knees knocked into his hips. This was new.
You smiled when you saw his other hand hovering awkwardly. Not knowing whether he had the right to touch beyond what was respectful. So you guided it to your thigh, fabric moving and bunching under his fingers. Allowing him to touch bare skin.
Oh, boy.
The soft whine from the bottom of his throat was a boost to your ego, a deep moan following when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck, rolling your hips forward. “Ohhhhh, gosh,” He breathed out slowly.
Oh, fuck. He was massive. Though you didn’t know what to expect, he was six-five.
Both his hands flew to your hips, pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, head tipping back against the sofa cushions, breathing in sharply. He could feel you gently sucking on his skin, he knew it wouldn’t leave a mark, but he whimpered quietly anyway, dragging your hips forward, so he could feel your pussy drag over his dick yet again. His head spinning as your tongue traced over his Adam’s apple.
Your hands slipped off his tie like you’d had practice, popping the buttons of his shirt slowly. You felt his warm palms burning up your waist, stopping at where your robe was tied at your front. His eyes were wide, blinking up at you through his lashes. “Can I…?”
Fuck, he was hot.
You undid the tie yourself but let him gently move the fabric off your shoulders, undoing his belt and letting you take off his trousers. His cheeks flushed as he dragged his boxers down, cock painfully hard. It was pretty, flushed at the tip, pre smeared just a little.
Oh, that was a lot bigger than you manifested.
“Oh, shit.” You grinned at the sight of him, watching his whole face turn red.
He adjusted his foggy glasses, stumbling over his syllables. “Will it…” He gulped, wondering how to say it, “fit?”
The look in your eye almost made his heart stop. Like you didn’t care. “Oh, honey.” You laughed a little. “We’ll make it.” You positioning yourself above him, ready to sink down onto his throbbing cock was not something he expected to see. He let out a strangled sound, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t you want me to… prepare you?”
“I’ve quite literally been prepared since the first time we met.” You grabbed a condom from — wait where did you get that from? — and tore it open delicately, giving it to him to roll on. He did, safety was key, and when you finally did lower yourself onto him— holy shit.
His forehead pressed to your shoulder, before he started pressing sloppy, whining kisses, almost making out with it as he felt your pussy grip him deliciously. So this was what he’d never felt drawn to. Until now.
He was stretching you out. A lot. For a guy so shy about his own abilities his endowment was something women only experienced in their wildest dreams. The more you learned, the more turned on you were.
Huh. That usually didn’t happen with men.
You let out a deep sigh as you sank down further, feeling his size fill you in the best way. His tip nestled against your cervix, pretty vein brushing your g-spot, fuck, maybe moving would feel too good.
But you did it anyway, small, cut-short gasps and moans jumping from your throat as he kissed his way back up to your lips so he could feed his own noises of encouragement into your mouth. Holding your hips just tight enough so he wouldn’t bruise them, still guiding you firmly, still holding your hips just close to him as he clouded your brain over with every push and pull of his hands and each wet smack of his lips and yours (and skin on skin, but we don’t mention that).
His head was fuzzy. Mumbling shit he couldn’t make out himself in between every collision of your lips, tangling one hand in your hair while the other slipped down to press his thumb onto your clit.
You clenched hard; he almost came right there.
His eyes rolled back for half a second and he willed himself not to finish too early but he couldn’t stop it once you clamped down with the second roll of his thumb, your name leaving his mouth, the highest you’d heard his voice be, cracks in between syllables feeding your ego. But he kept circling your clit like he was born to do it, mumbling encouragement, his forehead glistening as his head fell back.
“C’mon, sweetie, gotta make you feel good too,” He panted, gripping your hip so he could encourage you to grind forward into his thumb. “Please, please give it to me—”
It all felt too much. The onslaught of his thumb, his tip still prodding at your cervix, seeing him fucked out from one round (that made you more horny than you’d care to admit) had you coming too, him swallowing that moan by meeting your lips in the middle, stroking your hair back from your face and rolling his hips up a little so the high wouldn’t be harsh on you. His kisses turned slower, more languid, to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, finally lifting your hand so he could kiss your palm and the back of your hand.
“You’re stunning.” He breathed, kissing your knuckles. “So beautiful, honey.”
How the fuck was he respectful after the best sex you’ve ever had? There had to be a catch.
“So… that was hot.” You smiled, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “You were being pretty modest.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t last past two minutes.”
Your tongue traced your canine as you smiled. “Well, I wanna see it again.”
“i’m sorry,” clark chokes out as his hips stutter against you slowly. “i’m so sorry.” he continues to cry on top of you as his cock plunges into your tight cunt. you can’t really figure out why your boyfriend is exactly crying; you’re dazed from clark pulling two orgasms from you. he really has nothing to be sorry for.
“i’m being selfish with you.”
“it’s okay, clark.” you coo up at your whiny boyfriend, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, letting your fingers wrap around clark’s loose, dark curls.
“you just feel really good.” he cries out, rutting his hips against you. you couldn’t help but feel dizzy at the sight of clark crying just because you feel good around him. it was intoxicating.
the thought of your strong, heavily muscular boyfriend crying and falling apart from just touching you was overwhelming. it was exciting. you never had anyone so obsessed with you the way clark was.
“you’re perfect,” he stutters out, his hips still rocking hard. your heart swells at his words; he was always so sweet to you. clark always made sure you were taken care of; he always put you first.
“i could stay here forever.” clark’s large hand wraps around your thigh, hoisting your leg up higher around his waist as he thrusts in deeper.
you blink up at clark, his face screwed up in pleasure, his body glistening in sweat, and a single dark curl falls in front of his eyes.
“baby, i need—“ he sucks in a harsh breath, moving his hips over and over, hitting the spot that always made you shiver as his fingers dig into the back of your thigh.
“you need what?” you ask, trying your hardest to actually focus on clark and his words. “what do you need, baby?”
“use your words.” you coaxed, trying to get him to repeat himself as you wipe his falling tears from his flushed cheeks.
your words pull a shudder out of clark, his words getting stuck in the back of his throat, being replaced with a groan.
“come on,” you try again, your hand gently pulling on his hair. “tell me.”
“i need to come, please.” clark whimpers, his blue eyes looking brighter than they usually are from the crying. you take pity on him, leaning up you lazily place a kiss on clark’s jaw. “go ahead, baby.” you murmur into his skin.
with your approval clark picks up his pace, trying to reach his high he’s been chasing for the past hour. with just a few sharp thrusts, he spills into you with a deep groan.
“you’re amazing, baby.” clark slurs, his head falling onto your chest, kissing you there softly. “you’re so nice to me.”
a/n: i don’t know how i feel about this one, guys
desc - growing up, the one dream steve had in life was to have a wife and kids. then he got his heart broken by the only girl he'd ever loved. so fast forward to now, he was utterly hopeless. he no longer believed someone would come around and change his life. did he wish for it? absolutely. when he was out at bars drinking his life away did he sometimes picture being here with someone special? also yes. but, he realised life doesn't always work in his favour. until he met you, that is.
val speaks - AYYY new rm song yk what that means babies !!!!!! a fic loosely based on it! high hopes 3000 has been on absolute repeat and i have my cowboy boots on and everything. anyways i hope u enjoy this !!!!!
word count: 8.6k
steve harrington had spent so much of his life believing that wanting something badly enough would eventually make it real.
when he was younger, it had been easy to imagine the rest of his life as a neat little picture painted in soft colors and warm light.
a house with a porch and a little garden that never quite stayed tidy. a kitchen that always smelled like coffee in the morning and cookies in the afternoon. noisy children running through hallways with scraped knees and bright laughter. a wife who knew him so well she could tell what kind of day he’d had just by looking at him.
a life that felt full.
a life that felt loud in the best possible way.
a life that made the silence in his parents’ house seem like a distant, ugly dream instead of the thing he had grown up inside of.
his parents had always been there, technically. they had paid for the house, the clothes, the school, the kind of life that looked good from the outside if anyone ever bothered to glance their way. but steve had never really felt raised by them so much as maintained. like something expensive that had to be kept in decent condition.
he learned early how to be easy to love in theory and impossible to know in practice. he learned how to smile when people expected it, how to be charming when it suited him, how to become the version of himself that made other people comfortable before he even knew what made him comfortable at all.
so when nancy wheeler came into his life, it had felt like a door cracking open in a locked room.
he had been young, stupid, and desperately in love with the idea of being seen.
maybe that was what made it so dangerous.
maybe that was why he had let himself believe so completely in her, in them, in the future he started building in his head before he had any real proof that it could exist.
he loved her in the loud, awkward, aching way that only teenagers can.
with all the confidence of someone who had never actually been broken before and with all the hope of someone who thought love would fix the emptiness he'd carried around for years.
and for a little while, it had almost been enough.
he imagined her in every version of his future.
the woman beside him at the kitchen counter. the mother of his kids. the person who would finally make the house feel alive. he imagined growing old with her in a way that felt almost sacred, like love was something solid and permanent if you held it tightly enough.
but then the cracks came.
then the lies, the distance, the things unsaid and the things said too late, and suddenly the dream he had been holding in both hands split apart right in front of him.
nancy had broken his heart in a way he never really admitted to anyone, not even to himself, because naming the hurt would've made it real in a way he wasn’t sure he could survive.
so, he boxed it up instead.
shoved it in the back of his mind with all the other things he had never figured out how to say.
he finished high school. barely. he took a shitty job. he let his life narrow into a shape that was easier to manage than hope.
and when the years kept moving and nothing magical happened, steve started to wonder if the dream had died with nancy.
maybe that was what life had decided for him. maybe some people were built for grand love stories and some people were built to watch them from the outside. maybe he was the kind of man who got close to happiness only to be reminded that it was never really meant for him in the first place.
by twenty one, he had learned how to pretend he was fine with it.
he stopped sneaking drinks in sweaty basements and started buying them at bars where the lights were low and the music was loud enough to drown out thoughts if he let it. he bought clothes that fit properly, nice enough to make him look like a guy who had his life together even though he absolutely didn't. he moved out of his parents’ house and into a small apartment that was barely more than four walls and a handful of bad decisions, but it was his.
that mattered more than he liked to admit.
his own furniture, his own dishes, his own front door to close behind him at the end of the day. he should've felt proud of that, and sometimes he almost did.
mostly he felt lonely.
there were nights when he’d come home, keys in hand, shoulders sore from work, and stand in the doorway for a second too long just listening to the silence settle around him.
no television in the background. no soft laughter from another room. no smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom.
just the hum of the fridge, the faint traffic outside and the weight of a life that was technically his and yet still somehow felt unfinished.
-
he still told himself things at bars, of course.
tonight’s the night.
i’m gonna meet someone tonight.
i’m gonna talk to someone tonight.
he said it with enough confidence that he even almost believed it, at least until the moment came and went and he was still alone with his drink, pretending not to notice the couples at the corners of the room. pretending not to notice the girl by the jukebox smiling at some guy who clearly knew exactly what to say. pretending not to notice that he'd become very good at standing in places where something could happen and then leaving before it did.
the worst part was that he wasn’t even sure he was doing anything wrong.
he was trying, he really was.
he was just trying in the way a man tries when he's already started to assume the universe isn't on his side.
that was what made the night you came into his life feel like a mistake at first.
not because you did anything wrong, because you didn’t.
you were just there.
standing in the doorway of a bar he had almost left ten minutes earlier, the cold of the outside air still clinging to your coat, your cheeks faintly pink from the wind.
you looked around like you were deciding whether the place was worth staying in, and for one impossible second steve had the absurd thought that he knew exactly how that felt.
you were carrying a bag over one shoulder and had a look of quiet determination that made you seem like the kind of person who didn’t waste time on things that weren’t worth the trouble.
he noticed that first.
then he noticed the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you scanned the room, the small crease between your brows when the music got too loud, the way your eyes softened when the bartender pointed you toward an open seat.
it was nothing.
it was everything.
it was the sort of ordinary moment that should have passed by without making any kind of impression and yet somehow lodged itself deep under steve’s ribs before he had even told himself to look away.
he did anyway.
or tried to.
you took the stool near the bar instead of one of the crowded tables, set your bag on the empty seat beside you, and ordered something with the kind of calm confidence steve had always secretly admired in people.
he couldn’t hear what you said over the music, but the bartender smiled like you were a regular, or maybe just the sort of person that was easy to like. you took off your coat. you glanced around again. and then, for the briefest second, your eyes landed on him.
steve froze.
not dramatically, not in a way anyone else would have noticed, just enough for his fingers to tighten around his glass and for some old, painfully familiar instinct to flare up inside him.
don’t get caught staring. don’t be obvious. don’t make it weird.
he’d spent enough of his life being the pretty guy at the center of attention to know exactly how dangerous it was to be seen looking like he wanted something.
but you didn’t look away immediately.
you held his gaze for a beat, maybe two, with a kind of unreadable calm that made his stomach twist in a way he absolutely didn't appreciate.
there was no smile. no flirtation. no embarrassment. just a moment of shared awareness, as if you had both quietly registered the other one and decided, for reasons not yet explained, that the moment meant something.
then you looked back down at your drink.
steve should've left it there.
he should've gone on with his night, maybe ordered another beer, maybe pretended the strange little jolt in his chest was nothing more than boredom.
instead, he found himself watching you again and again without meaning to.
not in a creepy way, he told himself. not like that. just… noticing.
noticing the way you spoke to the bartender with your head tilted slightly to the side, the way your expression changed when the song on the jukebox shifted into something older and sadder, the way you seemed both perfectly at ease and a little far away at the same time.
there was something about you that made him think of winter mornings, of warm light, of doors being opened to places he had never quite let himself hope existed.
which was ridiculous.
steve was not the kind of man who believed in signs. not anymore. not after everything.
but there was something almost insulting about how quickly his attention kept returning to you, as if his own mind had decided to betray him on the first night of a random week in a random bar with a random stranger who had absolutely no business looking that interesting.
you stayed in your seat for a while. long enough for steve to tell himself about six different times that he wasn’t going to say anything. long enough for the bartender to slide your drink across the counter and for you to thank them with a small smile. long enough for him to take one more sip and still not decide what to do with the weird, restless feeling building under his skin.
and then the universe, apparently, got bored of watching him suffer in silence.
because someone bumped into the table behind you, and your bag slipped off the seat with a quiet thud that made your head snap down at the exact same time steve moved to catch it before it hit the floor.
his hand got there first.
yours met his over the strap.
for a second, both of you just stared.
then you looked up at him with a kind of startled politeness that made his heart do something embarrassingly stupid.
close up, you were even prettier than he'd already decided, which felt unfair.
he saw the shape of your mouth when it parted slightly in surprise, the faint shimmer of your eyes under the low lights, the little breath you took like you had just been caught off guard by a very small, very human moment.
“sorry” you said, and your voice was softer than he expected.
“no, uh, it’s fine” steve said at the same time. “you good?”
you blinked once, then looked down at the bag in his hand before looking back at him. there was the smallest ghost of a smile at the corner of your mouth, like you found his question slightly ridiculous in a way that was not unkind.
“yeah,” you said. “i think so.”
he nodded like he hadn’t just lost every coherent thought in his brain.
“cool. great. good.”
you laughed then, quietly, and it was the kind of laugh that hit him somewhere deep and unexpected.
it made him smile before he could stop himself, and suddenly the whole thing felt less like fate and more like one accidental step in the wrong direction that somehow landed on the right path anyway.
“thanks” you said, taking the bag from him.
“yeah, no problem.”
you hesitated, one hand still resting lightly on the strap, and something in your expression shifted as if you were deciding whether or not to keep talking.
steve, who had spent years convincing himself he wasn’t the kind of man to hope too quickly, found himself hoping anyway.
“are you here alone?” you asked.
the question was simple. harmless, probably.
it still made his pulse jump.
“yeah,” he said, “i mean, not like- not because i’m weird or anything. just, you know. alone.”
your smile widened a little. “i didn’t say weird.”
“right. yeah. sorry.”
you turned slightly on the stool so you could face him more fully. it was such a small movement, but it changed the air between you. made it feel less like two people near each other by accident and more like something had quietly begun.
“i’m not judging,” you said. “i just noticed.”
“good to know.”
“are you always this charming, or am i just lucky tonight?”
there it was, the opening.
the small, shimmering crack in the wall he had spent years building round himself.
steve should've taken the easy route. should have flirted back the way he had with dozens of people before, should have made some smooth comment and followed it with that lazy smile he knew worked on most people.
instead, what came out was a little more honest than that.
“i’m usually better at it” he admitted.
you gave him a look that was equal parts amused and curious. “better at what?”
he shrugged, suddenly aware of how much he wanted this conversation to keep going. “talking to people.”
“that sounded suspiciously like a lie.” your laugh came again, and this time it was easier, warmer.
he leaned his elbow on the bar and glanced at your drink. “so what are you drinking?”
you told him.
he ordered you another one before you could object.
and when you opened your mouth to protest he raised a hand and said, “please let me have this. i almost died saving your bag.”
“you did not almost die.”
“emotionally, i did.”
that got another laugh out of you, and steve had the completely unreasonable urge to keep making you do that forever.
it scared him a little, how quickly his mind was leaping ahead, how easily some part of him had started imagining a future that hadn't yet earned the right to exist.
but maybe that was the thing about loneliness.
maybe it made even a brief kind smile feel like a promise.
you introduced yourself then, and when he repeated your name under his breath, he felt something shift in him that he didn't have words for.
maybe the first real crack in all that hopelessness he had worn like armour for years.
the bartender set your drink down between you and steve found himself watching your fingers wrap around the glass.
he tried not to stare. tried not to look too eager. tried not to let the night become more than it was. but you kept talking, and he kept answering, and somehow the hours began to peel away around you both like old paint.
you were funny in a dry, unexpected way that made him catch himself smiling when you were speaking.
you asked questions and actually waited for the answers. you didn’t seem impressed by his name, his looks, his usual empty bravado, and that in itself was almost enough to fascinate him completely.
there was no performance in the way you listened. no fake interest. just steady attention, as if he were a person first and a pretty face second, and steve was so unused to that he almost didn’t know what to do with it.
he found out where you worked. he found out you were new to town, which explained why he hadn’t seen you around before. he found out you hated tequila, preferred colder weather to hot, and had a habit of collecting old books from secondhand stores if the covers looked interesting enough.
he told you about the video store. he told you about robin, making you laugh when he described her as “the most annoying genius i’ve ever met.” he told you about family christmases that felt too large and too empty at the same time, about his apartment, about the long, stupid loneliness of adult life that no one warned you about when you were younger.
you listened to all of it without making him feel pathetic for saying it.
that alone should have been enough to make him fall for you a little.
it almost was.
by the time the bar started thinning out and the music changed to something slower, steve had stopped pretending this night was just another night.
he didn’t know what you were looking for. he didn’t know if you were waiting for someone, if you had come here on a whim, if you were the kind of person who flirted with strangers just because you liked the conversation. he didn’t know if there was any chance at all that what he was feeling was mutual.
but when you looked at him, really looked at him, something in your expression told him he was not imagining the way the air seemed to pull tight between you.
and that was terrifying.
because steve had built his life around surviving disappointment.
he knew how to laugh things off. knew how to make the joke first so nobody else could hurt him with it. knew how to leave before he got attached, how to keep things light, how to turn longing into something manageable.
but you were standing there with your hand around a half finished drink, looking at him like he might actually be worth staying for, and all his old defences started to feel flimsy in the face of something he hadn't let himself want in years.
a person.
a real one.
someone kind, someone warm, someone who might sit beside him on the couch in that tiny apartment and make the silence feel less enormous. someone who might laugh at his terrible jokes and know when he was pretending to be okay. someone who might touch his shoulder in passing and make him feel, for the first time in a very long while, like he wasn't built only for being left behind.
the thought hit him so hard it almost made him angry.
not at you, at himself.
at the stupid, aching hope that had survived in him even after he had spent years trying to kill it.
you were saying something then, something about the record store downtown, and he realized he had missed the first half because he had been too busy staring at the shape of your mouth when you spoke.
he cleared his throat, cursed himself silently, and said, “sorry, what was that?”
you tilted your head. “nothing important. just wondering if you were actually listening.”
“i was listening” he said, too quickly.
you looked at him for one long second, then smiled in a way that made him think you didn't entirely believe him but were willing to let it go for now.
“good,” you said. “because i asked if you’d ever been there.”
“the record store?”
“yeah.”
“uh,” steve said, suddenly scrambling for a memory. “probably. maybe. once?”
“that is the least convincing answer possible.”
“i’m aware.”
you laughed again, and he wondered, not for the first time that night, whether you knew what you were doing to him.
whether you could see the way he kept leaning a little closer when you spoke. whether you noticed how careful he was becoming with every word, as if something in him had started to believe that this mattered.
the thing was, it did.
he didn’t know it yet. not fully. not in the way that would eventually settle deep into his bones and refuse to leave. but something about you had already begun to move through him like the first warm air after a long winter.
and maybe, just maybe, that was how it happened.
maybe love arrived like this instead. in a crowded bar on an ordinary night. with a dropped bag and a crooked smile. with a stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger for long. with a man who had spent years convinced that nothing good was ever going to stay and a person who looked at him like staying might be the most natural thing in the world.
steve didn’t know your name was going to become the first thing he thought about in the morning.
didn’t know your laugh would start living in his head like a song he couldn’t turn off.
didn’t know that one day, when he was standing in his empty apartment again, he would remember the warmth of your hand over his and feel something in his chest answer back like it had been waiting all along.
all he knew was that the night was not over.
and for the first time in a very long time, that didn't feel like a threat.
-
it happened so gradually that neither of you really noticed it at first.
one phone call became two.
two became every other night.
every other night became every night.
and suddenly steve couldn't remember what his evenings had looked like before you.
he'd get home from work exhausted, smelling faintly like dust and videotapes and whatever cheap cologne he'd sprayed on that morning, toss his keys onto the counter, kick off his shoes, and before he'd even fully settled onto the couch the phone would ring.
or he'd call you first.
sometimes neither of you had anything particularly important to say.
those ended up being his favorite conversations.
you'd spend hours talking about absolutely nothing.
books you'd found. movies you'd watched. customers that had annoyed you. customers that had made you laugh. memories from childhood. stupid theories about life. things neither of you had ever told anyone else because they seemed too insignificant to matter.
except somehow they mattered now.
steve had never realized how much loneliness could sneak up on a person until it started disappearing.
for years he'd gotten used to silence. he'd gotten used to empty apartments and eating dinner alone and nobody asking how his day was. he'd convinced himself that was adulthood, that everyone eventually stopped expecting more.
but then there was you.
calling him because you'd found a book with a ridiculous title and needed someone to laugh about it with. calling him because you'd gotten lost on the way somewhere and somehow thought steve harrington was the best person to ask for directions. calling him because your shelf was crooked. calling him because you couldn't decide what to make for dinner. calling him because apparently he was now your designated emergency contact for every minor inconvenience in your life.
and god.
he loved it.
he absolutely loved it.
it became the highlight of his day.
there was something embarrassingly satisfying about hearing your voice say his name followed by some variation of, "i need your help."
sometimes he worried it made him sound pathetic.
robin certainly would've said it did.
but steve couldn't help it.
he liked being needed. liked knowing that when something happened, good or bad or completely insignificant, he was one of the people you thought to call.
one evening he'd spent nearly forty minutes helping you assemble a bookshelf over the phone.
forty minutes.
he hadn't even been there.
you'd read the instructions out loud while he attempted to make sense of them.
"okay," you'd said. "so i've got three wooden pieces left."
"how many are there supposed to be?"
"i don't know."
"what do you mean you don't know?"
"i threw the box away."
steve had nearly choked laughing. "you threw the instructions away?"
"they were confusing."
"the instructions are literally the most important part."
"well that's your opinion."
"that's everyone's opinion."
he could still remember sitting alone in his apartment, grinning like an idiot at nothing while listening to you argue with him.
it had hit him then that he hadn't felt lonely once during that entire conversation.
and maybe that shouldn't have felt so monumental. maybe normal people experienced that kind of comfort all the time.
but steve didn't, he never had.
which was probably why he found himself asking increasingly dangerous questions, questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.
does love come around or does one come around to it?
he thought about that a lot, late at night mostly.
when the apartment was dark. when your voice wasn't filling the silence. when he was lying awake staring at the ceiling.
because maybe people talked about love all wrong.
maybe it wasn't lightning, maybe it wasn't destiny, maybe it wasn't some magical thing that appeared out of nowhere and knocked you off your feet.
maybe it was this.
slowly finding yourself looking forward to someone's calls. memorising the sound of their laugh without meaning to. learning their coffee order. knowing exactly what kind of mood they were in from a simple hello.
maybe love wasn't something that arrived, maybe it was something you arrived at.
and god.
if that was true.
he thought he was getting dangerously close.
there were still bad nights, of course. steve wasn't suddenly fixed. you weren't some magical cure for years of disappointment and loneliness.
there were nights when he'd sit in the dark and all those old thoughts would creep back in.
nights when he'd remember every failed date, every conversation that went nowhere, every person who'd eventually left.
there were nights when he'd think maybe he was being stupid again. maybe he was building castles out of nothing. maybe he was setting himself up for another heartbreak before anything had even started.
because really, what was this?
you weren't dating, you hadn't talked about feelings, you hadn't kissed.
hell, you hadn't even properly gone out together.
you were friends, just friends. very good friends. friends who talked every single day. friends who occasionally flirted. friends who somehow knew more about each other than people who'd been together for years.
friends.
right.
and then the next day he'd get home from work, the phone would ring, you'd tell him about some weird book you'd found or ask him for help choosing paint colors or call because you'd burned dinner and wanted sympathy.
and suddenly everything would feel okay again.
you had this strange ability to make life seem manageable.
like maybe it wasn't always working against him. like maybe happiness wasn't some exclusive club he'd never been invited into.
sometimes steve would catch himself smiling in public because he'd remembered something you'd said three days ago. sometimes he'd laugh to himself while stocking shelves because he'd thought of a joke you'd appreciate. sometimes robin would stare at him from across the store and look genuinely concerned.
"you're smiling again."
steve looked up.
"what?"
"that weird smile."
"i don't have a weird smile"
robin narrowed her eyes.
"did she call?"
steve immediately looked away which answered the question.
robin groaned.
"oh my god."
"what?"
"you are so gone."
"i am not."
"steve."
"i'm not."
"you literally just smiled at a copy of ghostbusters."
"it's a good movie."
she'd laughed so hard she'd nearly fallen over.
the problem wasn't that steve liked you, he'd accepted that part, the problem was what came next.
asking you out.
every time he considered it, he immediately talked himself out of it.
what if he made things weird? what if you'd only ever seen him as a friend? what if he ruined everything? what if he finally got lucky enough to have you in his life and then managed to lose you all by himself?
that possibility terrified him more than rejection ever could.
because right now?
he had you, maybe not exactly the way he wanted, but he had you.
he was the first person you called when something happened. the person you trusted. the person you reached for.
and selfishly, desperately, he wasn't sure he could risk that.
not yet.
so for now he settled for smaller victories.
baby steps.
movement.
he started calling first sometimes which had taken an embarrassing amount of courage.
the first time he'd done it he'd spent nearly five minutes staring at your number.
just staring.
before finally dialing.
you'd answered on the second ring.
"hello?"
and immediately every thought had vanished from his head.
"uh."
smooth, very smooth.
"steve?"
"yeah."
a pause.
then a smile in your voice.
"did you call me?"
he'd felt ridiculous. "yeah."
"everything okay?"
"yeah."
"then why are you calling?"
steve had opened and closed his mouth.
because honestly?
he hadn't had a reason, he'd just wanted to hear your voice. which sounded far too pathetic to say out loud so he'd settled on the truth adjacent version.
"i saw something funny and thought you'd laugh."
your silence lasted half a second.
then came the softest, warmest laugh.
"okay."
and somehow that had been enough.
because you hadn't questioned it, hadn't made fun of him, hadn't treated it like it was strange, you'd just stayed on the phone with him for three hours.
three whole hours.
and afterward steve had sat alone on his couch staring at the wall with the stupidest smile imaginable.
because for the first time in years, maybe ever, something in his life felt like it was moving forward.
and maybe he still didn't know how to ask you out. maybe his heart still jumped every time you laughed. maybe he still spent half his time wondering whether he was imagining the occasional flirtation between you. maybe he was still scared.
but for once the fear wasn't winning, for once hope was.
and steve had spent so many years without hope that even the smallest amount felt revolutionary.
especially when it sounded so much like your voice on the other end of the phone.
-
the first time you met steve in person outside of the bar, it was supposed to be simple. that was the lie you both told yourselves.
nothing about the two of you ever stayed simple for long.
at first it was little things, the kind that looked harmless from the outside.
he started showing up where you were with the kind of frequency that was easy to excuse. with coffee, a ride, a book he thought you’d like, a spare key he claimed he was only giving you in case of emergencies.
and then one day you went grocery shopping together, because steve had complained loudly and dramatically enough about needing to do it that you offered to come along just to keep him from whining the entire time. he accepted too quickly, which should.ve been a warning.
it was, in retrospect, one of the strangest and most perfect afternoons of his life.
the store should have been boring.
fluorescent lights, crowded aisles, a list tucked into his pocket, the usual dull tasks of adulthood that most people tolerated and nobody romanticized.
but with you beside him, it became something else entirely. you walked too close when the aisle got narrow, bumped your shoulder into his when you thought he was being too serious about brands of cereal, and laughed at him when he stared at the produce like he was personally offended by every lemon in the bin.
“why are you holding the avocado like that?” you asked.
steve glanced down. “like what?”
“like it might bite you.”
“i don’t trust it.”
you laughed so hard you had to stop walking, and he stared at you for a second too long before turning away with a grin he couldn’t hide if he tried. he hated how easy it was for you to turn a stupid errand into a memory. hated it because he loved it too much.
by the time you reached the cereal aisle, he’d already forgotten half the list. by the time you were arguing over which pasta sauce looked less depressing, he’d stopped caring about the list altogether and started caring about the way you leaned your hip against the cart like you belonged there. like you belonged beside him. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
and maybe that was the problem.
because the more time he spent with you, the more his brain betrayed him.
he stopped doing this years ago. stopped imagining girls in his future. stopped picturing dinners and holidays and apartment keys left in a bowl by the door and someone’s laugh spilling out of the bathroom while they got ready for work.
after nancy, he made a quiet little burial ground out of all those thoughts and called it moving on. he convinced himself it was easier not to hope, easier not to attach pictures to people, easier not to let his head wander into places that only ever hurt him.
but with you, the pictures came anyway.
one second you were holding a box of mismatched screws and telling him the instructions made no sense, and the next his mind had already placed you like that permanently. but instead, in his kitchen, years later, barefoot and annoyed and laughing as he tried to assemble something unnecessarily complicated.
it was so vivid it almost made him dizzy.
the first time you came over to his apartment, you took one look around and made a face.
“wow,” you said, setting your bag down. “this place needs help.”
steve blinked. “hello to you too.”
you looked around slowly, taking in the couch, the shelves, the sad little lamp in the corner, the blank walls.
“no, seriously. this place needs help.”
he crossed his arms. “i didn’t invite you here to insult my home.”
“good,” you said. “because i’m not insulting it. i’m saving it.”
“from what?”
“from looking like a single man with unresolved issues lives here.”
he stared at you. “i am a single man with unresolved issues.”
“right.”
he laughed despite himself, already shaking his head, and before he knew it you were opening cabinet doors, asking where the spare nails were, and telling him he needed better curtains.
he should have been offended. instead, he watched you pace around his apartment like you had an opinion about every corner of it and found himself impossibly, stupidly charmed.
and then you started helping.
really helping.
not the fake sort of help people offered when they wanted to feel useful. actual help. sleeves pushed up, hair tucked back, concentration pinching your brow as you tried to figure out what could go where.
you grunted when a piece of furniture refused to cooperate. you muttered under your breath when a screw dropped under the couch. you asked him for a hand without hesitation, like it was the easiest thing in the world to include him in what you were doing.
that part got him every time.
he would have carried boxes for you across town, fixed anything in your apartment, driven across state lines if you’d asked him with that same open trust in your voice. it felt good. better than good, it felt like purpose.
and the terrible thing was that you seemed to know that.
not in a manipulative way, never that, just in the way you noticed things.
in the way you handed him one end of a shelf and smiled like you were quietly offering him something he didn’t know he’d been missing.
the day stretched long and easy between the two of you.
music played low in the background. a chair got moved three times before you both agreed it looked best by the window. he found an old photograph tucked behind a drawer and made fun of himself for it. you laughed. he made you lunch in the middle of the chaos, and you told him his cooking was surprisingly good, which made his chest feel strange in the best way.
by evening, his apartment looked less empty, warmer somehow. not because of the rearrange, though that helped. because of you moving through the rooms like you belonged there.
that was the part that haunted him afterward.
the fact that you made his place feel lived in.
like a home could be made out of ordinary things if the right person was standing beside him.
and then there were the little surprises.
he’d complain offhandedly about something, barely thinking it mattered, and you would show up later with the exact thing he’d mentioned.
a rug, because he’d laughed once and said the one in his living room had a stain on it that probably counted as a permanent resident. you arrived at his door with a rolled-up rug tucked awkwardly under your arm, nearly toppled by the sheer inconvenience of carrying it, and he had to physically catch the thing before it knocked into both of you.
“are you trying to injure yourself on my behalf?” he’d asked, laughing as he helped you lower it to the ground.
you huffed. “it was on sale.”
“you bought me a rug because it was on sale?”
“because you needed a rug.”
“i didn't need a rug that badly.”
“steve, your old one looked like it had survived a war.”
he stared at you, then down at the rug, then back at you. “you spent money on this?”
you lifted your chin, unapologetic. “yes.”
“you didn’t have to do that.”
“i wanted to.”
that was worse. that was always worse.
because steve could handle kindness from strangers. he could even handle affection from people who liked giving it freely. what he didn’t know how to handle was the kind that felt thoughtful. the kind that remembered offhand comments and turned them into actions. the kind that said i listen to you, i notice you, i want your life to be a little better just because i’m in it.
it made his throat tight.
it made his heart feel too big for his ribs.
it made him think, more than once, that he was going to ruin this if he wasn’t careful.
so he kept trying to be careful.
he kept meeting you halfway, kept letting things unfold one small piece at a time, kept pretending he wasn’t completely undone by the way your smile changed when he opened the door.
he kept telling himself he wasn’t ready to ask you out, that the timing had to be right, that he couldn’t risk messing up something this good, that friendship was still better than nothing.
that he should be grateful for what he had.
and then one day, after a hard shift that left him sore and irritated and closer to snapping at a customer than he liked to admit, he came home and found your name on his answering machine.
he stood in the doorway for a second, key still in hand, just listening.
“hey, steve. it’s me. i figured i’d call and see if you were alive. if you are, call me back. if you’re not, haunt someone else. okay, bye.”
his chest ached.
he called you back before he could talk himself out of it.
you answered on the first ring this time.
“hey.”
and there it was again, that impossible steadiness in your voice. not pity. not obligation. just you.
“hey,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “you called just to check if i was dead?”
“mostly.”
he laughed, long and tired and real. “that’s kind of sweet.”
“don’t tell anyone. i have a reputation to maintain.”
he smiled at the wall, at the ceiling, at the empty room around him that no longer felt quite so empty when you were on the other end of the line. “you busy?”
“not really.”
“good.”
“good?”
“yeah,” he said, then exhaled and let himself be honest. “i kind of wanted to hear your voice.”
there was a pause.
then your voice came back even gentler. “you can always call.”
it was such a simple thing to say which was probably why it wrecked him.
you had no idea what it did to him when you said things like that. how much hope could fit inside a single sentence. how easily you could make a hard day feel survivable. how every tiny kindness from you seemed to settle into his chest and stay there.
a few nights later, you showed up at his apartment in pajamas with a paper bag in one hand and a small smile on your face.
he opened the door, looked you up and down, and frowned. “are you okay?”
you shrugged one shoulder. “you sounded bad.”
he stared at you. “i sounded bad over the phone and you decided to come over in pajamas.”
“yes.”
“with food?”
“obviously.” you walked past him and into the apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world. “you were having a rough night, and i thought you could use company.”
steve shut the door slowly behind you, heart in his throat, and for a second he couldn’t move. couldn’t think. couldn’t do anything but watch you pull takeout containers from the bag and set them on his coffee table like you belonged there, too.
“you do this on purpose” he said quietly.
you glanced up. “do what?”
“show up and act like you know exactly what i need.”
your expression shifted, just slightly. softer now. “maybe i do.”
he looked at you, really looked at you, and something in him finally cracked clean through.
because this wasn’t luck.
this was you.
showing up. staying. making him feel chosen in ways he’d never been chosen before.
and after enough days and nights of that, enough accidental dates disguised as errands and drive thrus and shared meals, enough of you reaching for him without fear and enough of him falling a little harder every single time, steve finally thought fuck it.
if he waited any longer, he was going to explode.
so he asked you out in the front seat of his car with takeout balanced between you, the engine off, the night quiet around both of you.
he had rehearsed it three different ways and forgotten all of them the second he looked at your face.
you noticed him staring. “what?”
he swallowed.
“i need to ask you something.”
you went still.
he almost panicked.
“okay” you said slowly, but you were smiling a little now, like you already knew where this was going and were trying not to scare him.
steve dragged a hand over his mouth, then let it fall to his lap. “i know this is probably going to come out badly, but i, uh..” he laughed once under his breath, nervous and disbelieving that he was really doing this. “do you want to go on an actual date with me?”
your eyes widened.
for one horrifying second he thought he’d ruined everything.
then you smiled, really smiled. the kind that made the whole world narrow down to just your face in the dim car light.
“yes” you said.
steve blinked. “yes?”
“yes.”
he let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for years. then another. then he laughed, helpless and stunned, and had to lean back in his seat because he genuinely thought he might float out through the roof of the car if he didn’t stay put.
“oh my god.”
you laughed too, delighted now, and he covered his face with one hand like a man trying very hard not to lose his entire mind in front of you.
“that went better than i expected” he admitted.
“you expected me to say no?”
“i expected you to laugh in my face.”
you looked scandalised. “steve.”
“what?”
“i would never.”
he glanced at you through his fingers, smiling despite himself. “you definitely would if you thought i deserved it.”
you pointed at him. “okay, yes, maybe a little. but not about this.”
his heart felt absurdly full.
there were a thousand things he wanted to say after that. a thousand different ways he wanted to tell you how much this meant to him, how much you meant to him, how long he had spent wanting exactly this without daring to reach for it.
instead, because he was still steve and still at least a little terrified of sincerity, he said, “cool.”
you laughed again and nudged his shoulder with yours.
and that was that.
somehow, miraculously, that was that.
-
after that, everything got easier and harder at the same time.
easier because you were no longer pretending. harder because now he had a reason to be afraid of losing you. but mostly it was beautiful in the painfully ordinary way he had once thought only existed in daydreams.
date nights where you ordered two meals and shared because you were both annoyingly indecisive. afternoons spent browsing records, where you’d lean close enough to smell his cologne and he’d forget entire sentences. evenings where you sat on his couch in soft clothes and let the silence rest between you without it feeling empty. mornings where he woke up with your head against his shoulder and had to lie perfectly still because he didn't trust himself not to cry from happiness.
you asked for little.
just enough to let him love you in the ways that came naturally to him.
help carrying things. help with directions. help deciding what to eat. help fixing something small. help choosing between two nearly identical shirts. help with the kind of things that made him feel useful, needed, wanted.
and you asked him on purpose.
“you do that” he said, voice going strange and quiet.
you looked up from the counter. “do what?”
“ask me for things.”
your brow furrowed a little. “i mean, yeah. because i need help sometimes.”
he shook his head, smiling even though his chest hurt. “no, i know. i just.. i know you could do a lot of this stuff yourself.”
you went still, reading the look on his face with a kind of soft intelligence that always made him feel seen right through. “steve.”
he laughed once, shaky and disbelieving. “you do it because you know i like it.”
there was no point trying to hide it from you. not anymore.
you crossed the kitchen slowly and stopped in front of him. your expression had gone warm in that quiet, devastating way it always did when you were being tender. “yeah,” you said. “i do.”
his throat tightened.
“because you deserve to be needed too” you added softly.
that nearly finished him.
he stared at you for a long second, then reached out like he couldn’t help himself and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. you smiled up at him, and he thought, absurdly, that this was what a miracle must feel like.
the gentle, impossible fact of being loved by someone who understood you.
the first time you kissed him, he swears he forgot how to breathe.
it happened at the end of a date that was not technically a date anymore because by then the word didn’t even seem big enough for the way you were together.
the two of you had spent the evening sharing fries, making fun of a bad movie, and arguing over whether a joke in the restaurant had been funny or just deeply stupid.
when he walked you to your door, neither of you seemed in any hurry to say goodnight.
the air between you felt charged with something quiet and inevitable.
you smiled at him from the steps and said his name like you were already halfway to touching him.
“what?” he asked softly.
you looked at his mouth then you stepped closer, and suddenly all the fear, all the years, all the old loneliness that had once lived in him so deeply it felt permanent just fell away.
your hand touched his cheek.
he leaned into it without thinking.
and when you kissed him, it was so gentle it almost hurt. so certain it made every part of him go still.
he felt it down to the marrow of his bones, like the whole world had finally clicked into place and his body had been waiting his entire life for that exact moment.
when you pulled back, he was staring at you like you had performed actual magic.
you laughed softly. “hi.”
he let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and a sigh at the same time. “hi.”
“was that okay?”
he stared at you in horror. “okay?”
“i mean, i just-”
he kissed you again before you could keep apologising for something so perfect.
after that, he stopped pretending he was only dipping a toe into this.
he let himself fall.
freely and completely.
and the worst part, the most beautiful part, was how easy it was.
he realised you were his first real love, and somehow you made that fact feel less like a wound and more like a gift.
you knew him in ways he'd never been known before. not because you were trying to fix him, but because you were paying attention. because you loved the parts of him he'd once thought were too much and not enough all at once. because you looked at his softness and his awkwardness and his need to be useful and his habit of filling silence with jokes, and instead of making him ashamed, you made him feel cherished.
he stopped worrying, mostly, about whether you'd leave.
not because the fear vanished entirely. he was still human. still steve. still someone who had been taught by life to brace for loss.
but because you were there.
because you kept being there.
because one night turned into a week, and a week turned into a month, and before he knew it he was waking up beside you and listening to you talk about your dreams before the sun came up, and it didn’t feel temporary. it felt like home.
that was the thing he had always wanted most.
not a perfect life, not a flawless one, just a life that felt full.
with laughter in the kitchen. with your shoes by his door. with your voice in his ear. with your hand in his. with a future that no longer felt like a blank wall he had to stare at alone.
he still thought about marriage sometimes. still thought about kids. still thought about the little house with the porch and the bright, noisy rooms and the warmth that would come from somewhere deeper than furniture or decor or good luck.
but now those thoughts didn't hurt.
now they glowed.
because he knew. he knew, with the kind of certainty that settled quietly and stayed, that he hadn't been doomed to loneliness after all.
he'd just been waiting for you.
and now that you were his, the world felt different.
steve, who had spent years thinking he was unlovable, was loved instead.
and you loved him so naturally that it rewrote everything.
he wasn't lonely anymore.
not when you were beside him talking his ear off in bed. not when you reached for him in the dark. not when you smiled at him over dinner and asked him to pass the salt.
he once thought high hopes were something that happened to other people.
now he knew better.
now he knew they were something he could have, too.
something he could build. something you had built together, one small choice at a time.
and when he looked at you, really looked at you, he felt it with painful, beautiful clarity.
you were his girl. his whole world.
that was not a dream that hurt to hold, it was real.
i want you more than any stupid song could ever say
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (3.2k words)
summary: steve wants to tell you how he feels, but he can’t find the right words. robin gives him the idea to dedicate a song to you on the wsqk radio station, but not a single stupid song can explain just how he feels about you.
tags/warnings: fluffff!!!! yearning loverboy stevie my fav ahhh. just cute stuff and love confessions and kissing and fluff and happy endings yay!!! set june 1987. eddie's still alive cause idgaf!!! alcohol and drug usage (weed), mild suggestive themes. i love the new olivia album sm!!!
–
steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.
he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.
he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.
it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.
and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.
robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.
steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.
robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.
“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.
“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.
there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.
“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.
“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.
“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.
“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”
“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.
he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.
“really?”
“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”
steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.
but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.
he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”
robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.
“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.
“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”
“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.
“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”
“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”
“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.
“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.
“save it for tonight.”
–
the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.
“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.
he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.
steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.
“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.
“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”
“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”
“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.
“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”
“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”
“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.
“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.
to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.
he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.
the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.
“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.
“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.
he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”
–
he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.
the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.
go big or go home, right?
the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.
he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.
he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?
steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.
he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.
robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?
by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.
he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.
but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.
he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.
“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”
he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.
“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.
“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.
“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”
“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”
“oh.”
the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.
“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”
“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”
steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”
the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.
“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.
“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”
“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”
he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.
“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.
“hm?” he looks puzzled.
“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”
you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.
“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.
“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.
“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”
you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.
“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction.
then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.
“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”
“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.
“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”
he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”
a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.
“can i kiss you?”
“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.
steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.
he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.
it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.
steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.
“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”
“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”
the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”
“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.
“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”
“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”
he turns back quickly. “yeah?”
“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.
“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”
“i love you, too!”
steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.
“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”
steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.
–
a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!
hey!! can i request a fic where steve and reader have been dating for around a month or 2, not too long, and reader accidentally says she loves steve for the first time? maybe when leaving the house and accidentally says “bye love you” and immediately regrets it and is embarrassed because she didn’t mean to say it? steve freezes and didn’t expect it but then it turns into him saying he loves her too and it’s really cute! sorry if it doesn’t make sense! english isn’t my first language!! thank you💗
The Easiest Words To Say
Steve Harrington x fem!reader 900 words
warnings: fluff, comfort, accidental confession
A slip of the tongue turns into a love confession neither of you were ready for, but were waiting for all along
You’d only been dating for two months, but Steve had already managed to become a bigger part of your life than you’d expected. He’s the type of person to show his feelings rather than say them out loud, making you breakfast in the mornings, automatically reaching for your hand, and remembering the little details even you would’ve forgotten about yourself.
Which is why it was such a normal moment you didn’t even think about it. Steve was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you with affection and slight humor as you wrestled on your shoes while trying to scramble out of the house.
“Okay okay, I’m leaving!” You panted, straightening up to grab your bag.
His lips tugged into a smile, “finally.” He said, though it was a lie—Steve knew he wished for you to be around him constantly, living in your own bubble, separated from the rest of the world to have you all to himself.
You rolled your eyes at him, pretending like his words stung more than they had.
“You know I’m only kidding, I’m gonna miss you, sweetheart.” He leaned over to press a kiss against the side of your forehead, you tried your best not to melt instantly.
“I’m gonna miss you too, Steve.” You offered him a quick smile, a real wide one.
“Bye, sweetheart.” He called out from behind you.
Just as you were about to step out of the front door you responded loudly. “Bye, love you—”
The words had left your mouth before you could take them back, your heart dropping into your stomach when your mind had caught up to reality.
Oh, no, no. Your eyes widened as the realization hit you. You couldn’t hear Steve’s movements because he had completely froze behind you, you very slowly turned around despite all the odds shouting at you to run away.
You stared at Steve in horror, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “…what?”
“Oh. My. God.” You sucked in a sharp breath, beginning to feel yourself hyperventilating, as heat rushed to your face, internally begging for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Steve’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, his mouth gaping at you. You slammed your hands over your face, “I-I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”
Steve blinked at you, his mind still caught up with you declaring your love for him in the most natural way possible. “Sweetheart.”
“I’ll take it back—”
“Don’t take it back.” He cut you off suddenly, his voice firm and unhesitating. You made the mistake of taking a peek at him, to find that his expression had fully flipped.
There was still a hint of shock in there, but also something softer had taken its place. His arms were dangling by his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but was still nervous, his head tilted at an awkward angle.
Your heart immediately started beating faster, gaze flickering all around the room. “Look, I know we haven’t been together for long, and I wasn’t planning on saying it like that—but I did and now I sound insane—”
“You love me?” Your rambling came to a halt, Steve’s voice had dipped quieter than before.
You stared at him for a moment, unable to identify what was going through his head. “If you want me to?”
His mouth twitched, but you noticed that tears had also begun to shine through his eyes. “If I want you to?” He repeated in disbelief.
“Okay—maybe I do sound insane.” You replied, returning to hide your face once again.
Then suddenly, his hands were gently pulling yours away gently. “You’re not insane, I’m the one that didn’t wanna freak you out.” He shook his head, you could spot the rawness in his expression.
“What?” You asked confusingly, it felt like things were moving at a thousand miles per hour.
“You know how hard it is for me to stop myself from saying I love you every goddamn day?” Steve huffed, his hands still locked around your wrists. “I tried waiting it off as long as I could, to not scare you—then you just randomly said it, and it just…it reminded me of how sure I was. How every time I looked at you, I already knew.”
Your breath hitched, feeling every ounce of sincerity settle into your bones. Steve didn’t need a rehearsed speech, his love had always been there from the beginning. Your eyes stung, feeling overcome with emotion.
“Hey—baby, don't cry.” He instantly wrapped his arms around you, thumbing away at your tears that cascaded down your cheeks.
“Sorry,” your voice came out broken, he lifted your chin to look you deep in your eyes.
“Don’t apologize, I love you.” You don’t think those words could ever sound as magical from anyone else, saying them like he was relieved he could finally tell you.
A smile spread across your face, “I love you too.”
Steve grinned brightly in response, the kind that made you fall for him all over again. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.” He pulled you closer to repeat the words against your face, punctuating them with several kisses.
Maybe that’s why the words had come so easily in the first place. It was meant to feel natural, as effortless as breathing, slipping from your lips before you even had the chance to stop it.
Banished Gothamite @banishedgothamite - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
janainaart
vaporwave
romaincrisis
