Hey I love ur fics! Would you be able to do one where Steve and reader broke up a little while ago and they end up at a party together and he sees her talking to a guy and he gets super jealous and over protective and she finds him hot when he made his way over and like started talking to her as if they guy talking to her doesn’t even exist but she acts mad and they go into the bathroom together and he isn’t over her at all and starts almost begging for her and calling her baby and then turns into a makeout and smut if that makes sense lol 💞
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Steve Harrington x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆
english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are closed!
summary: Three months after your breakup, Steve finds you at a party talking to another guy, jealousy wins and he follows you into the bathroom, begs, and neither of you walk out the same.
warnings: Explicit smut, possessive/jealous behavior, breakup angst, public/semi-public sex, begging, unprotected sex
Steve had been trying to act like he was fine, like the breakup hadn’t carved a hole straight through his chest three months ago, like he hadn’t spent every single night since then replaying the fight in his head, the way your voice had gone quiet and final when you told him it was over.
He’d done the usual Harrington bullshit, thrown himself into parties, into girls who looked nothing like you, into drinking until the ache dulled.
But none of it worked, not really.
So when Tommy. texted him about the house party out by the quarry, Steve almost said no. He almost stayed home with a six-pack and the same loop of memories, nut something restless under his skin made him grab his keys instead.
The place was already loud when he pulled up, bass thumping through the open windows, people spilling onto the lawn with red cups. Steve shoved his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket and headed inside, nodding at a few familiar faces. He was halfway to the kitchen for a beer when he saw you.
You were standing near the living room doorway, leaning against the wall, laughing at something the guy in front of you had just said. Dark jeans, a soft black top that dipped just low enough at the neckline to make Steve’s stomach twist. Your hair was down the way he used to love running his fingers through.
The guy, some preppy asshole Steve vaguely recognized from school, was standing too close, one hand braced on the wall beside your head like he was trying to cage you in.
Steve’s pulse kicked hard. Something hot and ugly rose in his chest. He didn’t even think, he just moved.
He cut through the crowd without slowing down, eyes locked on you the entire time. The guy was still talking, still smiling that smug little smile, when Steve stepped right into their space.
“Hey,” Steve said, voice low and flat, completely ignoring the other guy. His gaze stayed fixed on your face. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
You blinked, surprise flashing across your features before it hardened into something cooler. “Steve.” Just his name, flat and distant.
The way you’d said it the last time you spoke.
The guy frowned, glancing between the two of you. “Uh… we were kind of in the middle of...”
Steve still didn’t look at him, hhifted closer to you, one shoulder angling just enough to cut the guy out of your line of sight. “You look good,” he murmured, eyes dropping for half a second to your mouth before lifting again. “Really good.”
Your jaw tightened. “I’m talking to someone.”
“I noticed.” Steve’s voice stayed quiet, almost conversational, but there was steel under it. He finally flicked a glance at the other guy, quick and dismissive then back to you. “Doesn’t mean I can’t say hi.”
The guy scoffed. “Dude, seriously...”
Steve turned his head just enough to look at him properly this time. Whatever the guy saw in Steve’s face made him shut up fast. Steve’s expression wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be, it was the kind of quiet, focused intensity that used to make people step back in the halls without him ever raising his voice.
“We’re fine,” Steve said.
The guy hesitated, then muttered something under his breath and drifted off toward the kitchen. Steve didn’t watch him go, because his attention was already back on you.
You were staring at him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “What the hell was that?”
“You just... You can’t just walk up and act like he doesn’t exist.”
Steve’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Looked like he was getting a little too comfortable.”
“That’s not your problem anymore.”
The words landed exactly where they were supposed to. Steve felt them settle under his ribs, he swallowed, then stepped even closer, close enough that the heat of him brushed your arm. The party noise seemed to fade around the edges.
“Maybe not,” he said, quieter now. “But it still feels like it is.”
You shook your head, looking away for a second. “Steve...”
“Come talk to me.” It wasn’t quite a question, his hand hovered near your elbow, not quite touching. “Just for a minute... please.”
Something in the way he said please made your stomach flutter even as irritation sparked. You should have told him no, should have walked away. Instead you found yourself pushing off the wall and following when he tilted his head toward the hallway.
He led you past the bathroom line, past a couple making out against the wall, and straight into the first empty bathroom he found. The second the door clicked shut behind you, the bass from the living room became a distant throb. Steve locked it without looking.
You turned to face him, arms still crossed. “What do you want, Steve?”
He stood there for a second, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. The fluorescent light made the shadows under his eyes more obvious. He looked tired, he looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
“I saw you with him,” he said finally, voice rough. “And I… I couldn’t just stand there.”
“I know.” He took a step closer, then another. “I know we did. I was there.”
“Then why are you acting like...”
“Because I’m not over you.”
The words came out sharp, almost angry, but the look on his face was pure raw honesty. “I’m not, not even close. I’ve been trying so fucking hard to pretend I am and it’s not working. Seeing you tonight...seeing some other guy looking at you like that...” He broke off, jaw tight. “I wanted to put my hands on him. I wanted to tell him you’re mine, even though you’re not, not anymore.”
Your pulse was thudding in your throat. You should have been furious. You were furious, but under the anger was something else, something traitorous and warm that unfurled low in your stomach when he said mine.
He closed the last bit of distance, his hands came up, hovering near your waist like he was afraid you’d push him away.
“Baby,” he whispered, and the soft, broken way he said it made your breath catch. “Please. Just...let me talk to you. Let me...”
“Why not?” His voice cracked a little. “I used to, every day, every night. I still think it every time I see you. Every time I close my eyes.” One of his hands finally settled on your hip, light, questioning. “I’m not over you. I’m so fucking far from over you it’s not even funny. I miss you, i miss the way you smell, i miss waking up with your hair in my face, i miss arguing with you about stupid shit and then making up in the back of my car. I miss you.”
You tried to hold onto the anger, tried to remember why you’d ended it, the fights, the distance that had grown between you toward the end. But he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and his thumb was tracing small, restless circles against your hipbone through your jeans, and your body remembered him even if your head was trying to stay strong.
“You’re the one who...” you started, but the rest of the sentence died when he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours.
“I know,” he breathed. “I know I messed up. I know I didn’t fight hard enough when I should haveut but I’m here now. I’m standing in a bathroom at some shitty party begging you because I can’t stand the idea of you walking out of here and going back to that guy or anyone else. I can’t stand it, baby... Please.”
The word baby again, soft and desperate. It slid under your defenses like it always used to.
You didn’t mean to tilt your face up, didn’t mean to let your eyes drop to his mouth, but you did, and Steve made a low, broken sound in his throat and closed the distance.
The first press of his lips was almost careful, like he was waiting for you to shove him away. When you didn’t, when your hands instead came up to fist in the front of his jacket, the carefulness shattered.
Steve kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Deep, hungry, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other hauled you flush against him. You could feel how hard he already was, the thick press of him against your stomach, and the knowledge sent a sharp pulse of heat between your legs.
He walked you backward until your spine met the edge of the sink. His mouth never left yours, he kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, tongue sliding against yours, teeth catching your lower lip just hard enough to sting in the way that always made your knees weak.
“Missed this,” he muttered against your mouth between kisses. “Missed you so fucking much. God, baby...”
You made a sound that was half protest, half moan when his hands slid under the hem of your top, warm palms skating up your sides. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but it was getting harder to hold onto with every second his mouth was on yours.
“I know. I know you’re mad. You should be.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just under your ear that made your breath hitch. “Be mad at me, yell at me. Just...don’t make me stop. Please don’t make me stop.”
His hands found the clasp of your bra and flicked it open with the ease of long practice. The second the fabric loosened, he shoved it up along with your top and ducked his head, mouth closing over one nipple with a low, relieved groan.
Your head fell back. Your fingers tangled in his hair. He sucked hard, tongue flicking, the wet heat of his mouth sending sparks straight down between your thighs. He switched to the other side, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seemed to snap something in him.
Steve dropped to his knees right there on the bathroom floor.
He looked up at you while his fingers worked open the button of your jeans, eyes dark and almost feverish.
“Let me,” he said, voice rough. “Please, baby. Let me taste you, i've been dying for it.”
You should have said no, should have pulled him back up and walked out, instead you lifted your hips when he tugged your jeans and panties down in one motion, and the second the cool air hit your bare skin, Steve’s hands were spreading your thighs and his mouth was on you.
He groaned like a man finally getting water after days in the desert. His tongue dragged slow and filthy through your folds, collecting the wetness already gathering there, and the sound he made against you was pure, desperate need. He licked into you like he was trying to memorize the taste, like he’d been thinking about this exact moment for months.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your clit, the vibration making your hips jerk. “Still so wet for me. Still so fucking perfect.” He sucked the swollen bud between his lips and your hands tightened in his hair hard enough to hurt. He only groaned louder and kept going, two fingers sliding into you without warning, curling immediately against that spot he knew better than anyone.
You were already shaking. The bathroom was small and too bright and you could still hear the muffled thump of music through the door, but none of it mattered. All that existed was Steve on his knees, worshipping you with his mouth like he’d been given a second chance he didn’t deserve, fingers pumping steady and deep while his tongue worked relentless circles over your clit.
“That’s it,” he breathed against you. “Let me hear you. Missed those sounds, missed making you come. Come on my tongue, baby, give it to me.”
The orgasm hit hard and sudden, crashing through you so violently your knees buckled. Steve held you up with one arm banded around your thighs, mouth never stopping, drinking down every pulse and flutter like he was starving for it. Only when the aftershocks started to fade did he finally ease back, lips shiny, eyes glassy with want.
He stood in one fluid motion and kissed you again, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands were already shoving his own jeans down, freeing his cock. The thick, flushed length of him slapped against your stomach, hot and leaking at the tip.
“Need to be inside you,” he rasped against your mouth. “Need it so bad I can’t think, please, baby. Please let me...”
You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist when he lifted you onto the edge of the sink. The position put you at the perfect height. Steve lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance, and for a second he just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered. “I’ll stop, i swear. Just say the word.”
You rolled your hips instead, and Steve sank into you in one long, slow thrust that punched the air from both your lungs.
“Fuck... fuck...” His head dropped to your shoulder. His whole body was trembling. “You’re so tight, so warm. Oh god, I forgot how perfect you feel.”
He started moving like he couldn’t help it, deep, grinding thrusts that kept him buried to the hilt every time. The sink creaked under the force of it. Your nails dug into his shoulders through his jacket. He was still mostly dressed, jeans shoved down just enough, and the contrast of fabric against bare skin made everything feel dirtier, more urgent.
“Missed this,” he kept chanting between kisses, between bitten-off groans. “Missed being inside you, missed the way you squeeze me when you’re close. Missed you, baby. Only you, only ever you.”
One of his hands slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight, practiced circles. The dual sensation of his cock stretching you and his fingers working you over made your second orgasm build fast and sharp.
“I know. I feel it, come for me again. Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel how much you still want me.”
You shattered with a broken cry muffled against his neck. Your walls clenched around him rhythmically and Steve cursed, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release now with short, desperate thrusts.
“Gonna come,” he warned, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill you up. Been dreaming about it, about marking you again. About...” He cut off with a guttural sound and buried himself as deep as he could go, pulsing hard inside you as he came.
For a long moment the only sound in the bathroom was the two of you breathing, harsh and uneven. Steve stayed pressed against you, cock still twitching with aftershocks, face hidden in the curve of your neck. His arms were locked tight around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he loosened his grip.
Eventually he lifted his head, his eyes were softer now, almost vulnerable. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face with surprising gentleness.
“I meant it,” he said quietly. “I’m not over you. I don’t think I ever will be. And if you’ll let me… I want to try again. Properly this time, no more half-assing it, no more letting stupid shit come between us.”
You were still catching your breath, body humming with the residual heat of what you’d just done. The anger hadn’t vanished completely. The reasons you’d broken up were still real, but looking at him now...flushed, earnest, still buried inside you and looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, you couldn’t find it in yourself to push him away.
Steve kissed you once more, slower this time, almost reverent. Then he carefully pulled out, both of you hissing at the sensitive drag of it. He cleaned you up as best he could with the thin bathroom paper, the gesture strangely tender after the intensity of what had just happened. When he helped you down from the sink and fixed your clothes with careful hands, his fingers lingered at your waist.
“Stay with me tonight,” he said, voice low. “Not for more of this...unless you want it. Just… stay. Let me hold you, let me prove I’m serious.”
Outside the door the party continued, oblivious. Inside the small, steamy bathroom, something fragile and important was trying to take root again between the two of you.
Steve waited, heart in his eyes, for your answer.
“Okay,” you said finally, voice soft. “Tonight. We can… talk, or not talk. Just...”
Steve’s eyes closed for a second, pure relief washing over his face. When he opened them again he was already smiling that small, real smile you used to see only when it was just the two of you. He leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he was breathing you in.
“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” he murmured against your skin. “Just don’t disappear on me again. Please.”
You didn’t answer with words, you simply slid your hand into his and let him unlock the door. Together you stepped back out into the noise and the crowd, fingers still loosely linked, the ghost of what had just happened still warm between your bodies and the fragile possibility of something more walking with you into the night.
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