CHAPTER TWO (A MODERN AU. SLOW BURN, ENEMIES TO LOVERS FT. LINECOOK!STEVE X FEM!READER. 3.1K)
THE MENU
Steve Harrington woke up in a bedroom that he didn’t really recognise in the light of day. Well, early morning. He squinted against the weak blue light that came in through the gaps in the curtains and the space beside him in bed was empty and cool.
There was the sound of a shower running and Steve tried to remember how he wound up in a room that was very much not his. It was soft and pretty, feminine and a little messy with framed photos on the wall, artwork above a desk that was littered with make up and stray earrings. There was a lacy bra on the back of a chair, underwear - his and someone else’s - on the floor. He covered his face and let out a soft groan, the last dregs of the alcohol he’d drunk seeping its way out of his system via a headache that started between his eyes.
He’d only went out for a drink or two, to celebrate the new job, the one he was supposed to start in - he rolled on the mattress, reached a wandering hand down until he found his cell in his jeans and he checked the time - fuck, a little over two hours.
The shower was still running and the owner of the bed he was in was nowhere to be seen despite the early hour. He took it as a sign. Clearly, his late night companion hadn’t wanted to wake him. There’d been no touching, no noise, no switched on lights or coffee made. That was fine by him, he was more than happy to skip the awkward morning after, he was totally okay with that.
He gathered his clothes from around the room, stumbling on unsteady feet as he yanked on his jeans and searched for his shirt. If he was entirely truthful, he was a little disappointed. He couldn’t remember a lot from the night before but he did remember how fucking attractive he’d found you. Too pretty to ignore, because he’d wasted no time in approaching you. He’d even danced with you, something usually only reserved for his Nanna at family gatherings. Although, the way he’d moved against you had been far from appropriate.
And then the taxi ride to yours— fuck, the taxi. He’d never been kissed like that. Whatever you’d done to him had made him feel like a teenager again. He’d been rock hard the entire journey, something that not even the eyes of the driver had quelled. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands or mouth off of you, both of you half stripped before you’d made it to the bed.
Steve bit his lip, remembering it. His gaze raked over the bed he’d just left, sheets twisted and sprawled near the foot of it, a pillow hanging off one side. Yeah, shit, it had been a good night. But still, he shoved his feet into his trainers once he’d found them, patted his jeans pockets to make sure he had his keys and slipped out the apartment door just as the shower switched off.
But of all the things that had happened in the last twenty four hours, seeing your face again was definitely the wildest.
He’d found out about the linecook position from an old friend. He’d been told that The Gate was a cool place to work. Fifty hours a week, overtime available and despite the fact the boss was too cheap to give health insurance, he was apparently never on site, which meant unlimited smoke breaks in the alleyway out back. He hadn’t even needed to apply, Eddie had told his boss that Steve was a solid choice and he knew him from working at a diner back home in Indiana.
Steve had got a text from Eddie the same day, telling him to turn up at seven thirty the next morning, bring his knives and that he’d take care of the rest.
But there you were. Staring at him through the glass door before you’d opened it and then stared at him even more, eyes wide as you took him in from head to toe. You were just as pretty as you had been the night before, even if the space under your eyes were smudged with tiredness. You looked cute in your work uniform, a little black skirt with an even smaller apron tied around your waist, a white polo shirt with The Gate’s logo on the chest tucked in neatly.
Fuck. Fuck.
He was standing like an idiot, finger pointed at his own chest and mouth hanging open because you very clearly recognised him. Which, Steve realised, was absolutely okay. And understandable. Because it had only been a little over four hours since he’d been buried to the hilt inside of you and he’d have probably felt a little stung if you hadn’t remembered his face.
But you definitely worked here and Steve had no idea if you were his shift supervisor or just someone he’d have to spend a lot of time with. He knew your face, the colour of your bedroom walls, the way your name sounded on his lips when it was coloured with a moan and how you liked to be kissed on the neck when you got fucked.
That was it. That wasn’t a lot of information and he didn’t have a lot of time to process much else. An added bonus was the leftover vodka that was still coating his insides and the sun was too bright, even with his sunglasses covering his tired eyes.
And, well, he was a man.
So he dropped his hand and smiled again, a little too fake and said, “hi, I’m here for the kitchen position. I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Was he fucking kidding?
You stared at Steve with an expression of complete disbelief, the audacity of his words taking over from your shock at seeing him there. You couldn’t really see his eyes behind his sunglasses but he was smiling, warm and polite and suddenly you realised that you hadn’t said anything else for a minute now.
It turned out you couldn’t say much, but you managed to close your open mouth and smile back, awkward and polite, much like every other interaction at work. You gestured to the open door as you held it open, hating that you recognised the aftershave as he walked by you, silently furious that he was wearing the same one he’d worn when he’d approached you the night before.
What did he mean, ‘nice to meet you?’
Did you look that different? Did he seriously not recognise you?
You wanted to ask, you wanted to confront him. Your hangover made you mean, it made you square up for an argument that could never happen here because Eddie was coming out of the kitchen with a wide, easy smile on his face just as Steve pulled his sunglasses from his face.
“Harrington! Long time no see man, how you doin’?” He clapped the new guy on the shoulder before bringing him into a full hug, laughing as they jostled each other in the way only guys did. “Welcome to the city, big boy, it’s good to have you.”
Steve replied with something you didn’t hear because you were too busy staring, completely unashamed, at the side of his face. It was definitely the same guy. He had the same moles and freckles dotted across his skin, the same messy hair that curled under his ears and at the nape of his neck. And there was a hickey in the shape of your lips just under his jaw, a mark you remembered gifting him in your tiny hallway, right when he’d backed you into the wall and slid one large hand into the front of your underwear.
Someone was calling your name. Repeatedly.
“What?” You blinked, finding Eddie and Steve both watching you as you felt the heat of being caught creep up the back of your neck. “Sorry, I— sorry. Hangover.” You said as a way of explanation.
“This is Steve Harrington,” Eddie took Steve by the shoulders, giving him a little excited shake. “An old friend from back in Hawkins. We worked together at Jim’s old diner, I taught him everything I know, didn’t I? Steve this is—”
You didn’t listen to Eddie's introduction to you, you just watched as Steve nodded and smiled, polite as ever, eyes skating over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. His gaze lingered on the open buttons of your polo shirt, staring at the skin that had been marked by someone’s else’s lips - his fucking lips.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked back at Eddie laughing at something he said before he was introduced to Robin and Argyle too.
You spend too much time standing in Hopper’s office after that, your sore head pressed against the cool wall of the big ass metal safe he insisted on keeping beside the computer that was from the nineties. You felt like you were going crazy, like you’d only dreamed of getting absolutely railed by the hot new guy who was now in the kitchen, being shown the freezer and the pantry.
But the thump of your head and the ache between your thighs told you otherwise, and Jesus Christ, you tugged at your neckline, hiding the hickey there. It was him, right? It was definitely him. He was holding the same sweater he’d been wearing the night before. You’d tugged it off of him, you had stepped over it on your way to shower just hours before. How was he just acting like he didn’t—
The door to the office opened and when Steve stepped inside with you, it became infinitely smaller. It closed with a click behind him, the low lamp on Hop’s table making the already grey-blue walls look darker and moodier. Steve leaned against the wood and for a second or two, you both only stared at each other, as if remembering what the other looked like naked. You could recall the mole on his left shoulder, right beside the space you’d sunk your teeth into when he’d called you a good girl, the scratches you’d left on his back when he’d told you to ride him harder.
“Eddie said you know where I can find some whites?”
His sunglasses were in his back pocket now, his face the same one you’d invited back yours. There was zero doubt about it. His gaze was fixed on your own, a game of chicken neither one of you was willing to lose until— Steve’s eyes dropped.
A glance that turned into more, a heated look that lingered from where it started on your bare legs, drifting upupup over your hips and chest. His eyes met yours once more, but still, he didn’t say a damn thing.
Fuck it.
“Do we know each other?” Your voice was a lot more blunt than you intended it to be, but working at seven am with a hangover did that to a person. Your face was blank, neutral, at least you hoped.
Steve took his time to ponder it, face just as expressionless as your own before he shrugged, lips turned down. “Nope. Don’t think so.”
You stared at him. He stared back.
“Uniform is down by the bar,” you finally conceded, voice sharper than a chef knife. Cutting, only dulled slightly by a chipped ego. You didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to say, but your pride was finding that swallowing the words down harder than a dry pill.
But what were you supposed to say? We fucked last night? You were in my bed this morning? Loved it when you went down on me, by the way, welcome to the team?
You didn’t say any of that, of course you didn’t. You did, however, knock your shoulder into Steve’s when you made for the door. He didn’t say a thing, but he did follow you. Too closely, and you could smell his aftershave, the same one from the night before. He followed you back to the kitchen, new chef whites in hand after he’d grabbed them from the bar and the room was already too busy to talk quietly.
The grills were aggressively noisy, sparks of hot oil landing on the tiles behind it, Eddie’s speaker playing music too loudly. Argyle was hammering fillets of chicken breasts with a wooden mallet as he prepped for lunch and you decided to very much not look at Steve as you spoke.
“Pantry door sticks a little, freezer temp jumps sometimes so let Eddie know if things start melting. There’s a set of knives in that second drawer over there and no opened toed shoes in the kitchen - you’d think that would be common sense but nobody told Argyle, apparently.”
Steve suppressed a smile and nodded. “Got it.”
“Hopper’s barely here so ask Eddie for anything you need, wages go out the last Friday of every month, deliveries come at six on Monday mornings and you want any of the wait staff’s help, you ask nicely. No one yells at my girls.”
You turned then, waiting for another agreement, eyebrows raised.
Steve let his eyes roam over you, his lips curving. “Right,” he said.
You felt yourself boil over at the sight of his smile, at the way his hair flopped in his eyes and you hated that you suddenly remembered yourself brushing it out of the way when you were kissing him hours before, your knees hitched at his waist, pressed into your own bed. “If you need a first aid box, you’ll have to buy one and try not to sleep with any other staff members before lunch.”
The kitchen halted to a screeching stop at that. Eddie’s spatula stopped half way to the pan and Argyle’s mallet tumbled out of his hand. Both men stared at you, their eyes flitting to each other and then to Steve, whose cheeks were pink from more than just the warm air. If anyone was planning on saying anything to you in return, they were too late.
You were storming out, hands slamming onto the door so hard it hit the wall behind it. “Welcome to The Gate,” you yelled over your shoulder, just as Robin was unlocking the front door and the first of the regulars poured in for their morning coffee.
It was going to be a long fucking shift.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Eddie let out a long, low whistle. “Dude. It’s been ten minutes. The fuck did you do?”
Steve was still staring at the swinging door, long after you’d disappeared from sight. He groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck that was prickling with an uncomfortable, embarrassed heat.
“Something bad, I think.”
Eddie appeared at his side, eyes glittering with amusement. “You know her, man?” He dug an elbow into Steve’s ribs, a gasp leaving his lips when Steve opened his mouth and didn’t respond. “Oh shit, you two totally banged.”
Steve still didn’t reply, instead, tugging on his chef’s jacket over his shirt, head bent and eyes avoiding Eddie and Argyle, who was back to filleting chicken and definitely listening in
“Dude, when?” Eddie was beside himself now, his grin too big and too happy at Steve’s miserable situation. “Did you not call her back or somethin’? I mean, you’d be crazy not to - I’ve been flirting with the girl for over a year now and she won’t crack—”
“Last night,” Steve was leaning over a butcher's block, his hands in his face as he regretted every single action he’d taken since he opened his eyes that morning. “Well, technically this morning. Like, five hours ago.”
Argyle dropped the premise of pretending to not listen. He snorted, looking over Steve with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Oh you’re so screwed, Eddie’s friend. Why you out here actin’ like you don’t know the lady?”
Steve scrambled for words, his hands gesturing helplessly to the closed door, out to where he couldn’t see you. “I— I don’t know, okay? I panicked. I woke up this morning and she was gone! I didn’t know she worked here! I thought— I thought it might have been easier to just pretend it didn’t happen, that we didn’t know each other.”
Eddie was staring, his features set in an unimpressed mask. “Jesus, Harrington, that’s so fucking dumb, even for you.”
“I know, okay!” Steve snapped and then crumbled once more. “Fuck, I was standing at the door and I don’t know, I thought she might have been my fucking boss or something, I don’t know how to be professional when it’s been in the fucking morning, I’m probably not legal to drive yet and my dick is still half hard from how many times she ro—”
The door swung open and Robin appeared. “There’s four people wanting to know where their bagels are, why isn’t anyone taking tickets? Eddie, what the fuck?” She gestured to where there was a trail of receipts hanging on the rack by the kitchen window and sure enough there were tables filling up, groggy eyed customers all waiting for breakfast.
Steve spotted you through the open hatch, your back to him as you took another order from a table taken by a tired looking dad and his three kids. There was already spilled salt on the wooden surface, an iPad blaring on the bench seat and despite the way he could hear you speaking pleasantly, your foot had set an impatient beat on the tiled floor.
He didn’t take his eyes off of you when you turned and walked towards the kitchen, heading for the hatch with your order in hand - he couldn’t. Steve was staring - blatantly. And for a second, maybe two, you looked back with just the same intensity, like you were sharing the same memory, both of you remembering the way the other had moaned their name, the way the bed had creaked and groaned with every stroke of Steve’s hips. Like you were thinking of doing it again, like neither of you would’ve minded a repeat in the back office, crushing each other against the lockers or on top of Hopper’s empty desk.
But then you reached the hatch and your gaze hardened. You slammed the order down with a sharp hand and when you lifted it, your middle finger saluted Steve before you walked away once more.
No one said anything for a beat and then Eddie laughed, clapping Steve on the back. “Yeah, what she said, man. Welcome to The fucking Gate.”
steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort
warnings: mentions of sex, fingering, heavy making out, underaged drinking, erectile dysfunction (not for hot shot tho AYEEEE 😼), angst, figuring out feelings!!, steve's pov, this is from chapter 12 so you might see similar actions :)
words: 5.4k
summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.
a/n: oh wow... hello friends... it's been awhile. this was meant to be a tiny little blurb about the first kiss between hot shot and steve, but then dkat steve was like, BLAIZE LET ME DEFEND MY CASE HERE!!!! so, low and behold the drabble turned into a small bonus chapter and it seems that's where the others are heading too. is anyone... complaining? also please be nice... i'm a little rusty with writing and writing for dkat.
masterlist | Rules/Playlist
Broken.
That's all Steve can call himself the past few weeks. Hell… the past few months. Ever since Valentine’s Day, everything was different for him. He’s really tried hard not to think about it. To think about you. But to think about it was a whole new plethora of implications: his vulnerability laid bare, his feelings metastasizing into something he can no longer pretend are manageable.
He couldn’t talk to Eddie or Robin about it. He knew Eddie would clap Steve on the shoulder and tell him to “follow his heart.” Eddie never hid the fact he was rooting for you and Steve— well he hid his comments from Robin that is. Robin, who now had Nancy. Who now had something real and fragile and worth protecting. Steve made promises to her. He might be a dick the majority of the time, but he's loyal. He has always been loyal. Who was he to make it harder for them?
He tried to distract himself. Amanda on Monday. Mary on Tuesday. Both futile. He felt disgusted with himself, guilty in a way that didn't make logical sense. You two weren't together, had never been together. But the guilt sat in his chest regardless, heavy and persistent and— fuck.
Another secret he's been carrying for two months: he's been faking it with everyone else.
He slips the condom off before they can notice, drops it at the bottom of the bathroom trash, and waits in there until he's sure they've left. He never finishes himself off afterward. He knows the only way he can is if he thinks about you, and that knowledge sits in him like something radioactive. It’s too dangerous to acknowledge directly and too present to ignore.
He can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, wondering what you’re doing, if you’re in your dorm with Robin or if that meathead is feeling you up— nope. He can’t be jealous. It’s not fair to you if he’s jealous of you messing around with other people too. Even if it’s a fucking Alpha Tau.
He doesn’t know what is wrong with him.
On Wednesday you were walking out of the library when he caught sight of you, and his entire body responded before his brain could intervene. You looked so pretty in the moonlight. He watched you laugh when you caught his eyes, your breath a small cloud in the cold air, warm and there and real. Your hand squeezed his arm when he held the door open, and then your mouth was on his neck and his hands were moving under your blouse— butter yellow, soft against his palms, genuinely so pretty on you. It drove him mad.
He always hated when the other girls left marks on him. But yours were different. Yours he'd flaunt, wearing shirts that wouldn't cover them, pretending in some parallel life that he was allowed to show off that he was yours. People assumed it was Robin. He let them assume.
Neither of you had the patience to undress properly. He'd hiked your skirt up, your legs hooking around his waist, pulling him deeper. His chain had swung against your collarbone with each thrust. His jeans bunched at his thighs. Both of you loud and breathless, the car rocking with the rhythm of it, your skin against his a sound he'd been replaying ever since.
He'd looked down at you— eyes clenched, fingers digging into his shoulders, neck arched— and dragged his tongue up the column of your throat. When he spat into your mouth and watched you swallow, the moan that tore out of him was completely beyond his control.
Sex had always come easily to him. But with you there's a challenge he keeps wanting to solve. He loves being the reason for your sounds, loves finding the specific combination of things that makes you cry out, loves the places in you that he finds and you didn't know existed. He loves how he fits inside you, the way you stretch and clench around him perfectly. He thinks about what it would feel like without a condom— like the first time. He thinks about it too often.
With you he doesn't hold back. He never has to muffle himself or perform. He just is. And that, more than anything else, is the thing that terrifies him.
He knows what anyone would tell him if he described this out loud. End it with the others. Or if he can't do that: think of you when he's with them. He's tried the second option. He's ashamed to admit it, more ashamed to admit what happens when he does.
He doesn't think of you in those moments. His mind doesn't go to anything compromising. It goes, instead, to conversations. The way you make him laugh. The particular sharpness of your wit, the patience you extend to Robin and— somehow, inexplicably— to him. More patience than he deserves and you both know it.
He thinks about how people are drawn to you and you have no idea. How they gravitate toward you at parties, on the sidewalk, in line at the library, and you move through it all like it's ordinary. He thinks about the line between your brows when you're irritable, and how badly he wants to press his thumb there and smooth it out. He thinks about how when you get mean, you're ferocious— certain and passionate and immovable— and how hours later you always go back and apologize to whoever it was. You always know what to say. He has never once known what to say.
Thursday, he tried to write off everything as stress and a bad week. This time of year is always hard for him. Nightmares. Headaches. The insomnia that arrives like a seasonal houseguest who doesn't know when to leave. He guesses he can add ejaculation issues to the list too.The anniversary of the accident, seeps in, coloring everything gray, his scars aching before his brain has caught up to what day it is.
He'd skipped his classes and gone out once for air. He told himself it was coincidental that he wandered toward the building where your class meets. That he hadn't, over the course of the past several weeks, memorized the rough shape of your schedule. That he didn't sometimes take routes that would put you at the edges of his vision, even from a distance.
Purely coincidental.
He wasn't even sure he'd say anything if he saw you. He could ask if you wanted to get lunch, take a walk— two friends, only two friends, who happened to be sleeping together. He ignored the small sharp pain in his chest at the phrasing.
When he rounded the corner and found you kissing Sammy, the guy's hands on you and yours on him, Steve stopped walking. He stood there for five full seconds. Then he turned around and went back to Pike.
He'd like to say he did the honorable thing after that. Moved on, let it go, focused on something else. He can't stop thinking about it. It's his own rule— the one he made, the one that's supposed to protect both of them— and it's eating him alive.
Which is why he snapped at Robin when she started in about Nancy. He knows it's different for them. He does. But a selfish, rotting part of him was jealous— not that he'd ever say so— jealous that at least she got to be with someone she loved without everything being underwater. He felt guilty about it almost immediately. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for them. He was. He is.
He's also drowning.
He didn't even register you asking to come in when you appeared in his doorway later. He was too busy being struck dumb by the sight of you— hair up, pink sweater he loves tucked into your light wash jeans, fresh manicure you'd probably done in your dorm with Robin. He watched you cross the room and felt his chest do that thing it does. Tighten first. Then soften, like something rigid giving way.
You touched his knee. You gave him the look that meant it was okay.
He felt safe. He always feels safe, and that is the most dangerous thing about you.
His rules dissolved and he put his head in your lap because it was the only context in which he was allowed to do that. He went limp and hoped you couldn't see his eyes going wet. He breathed you in— clean laundry, something faint and warm underneath, the specific scent he's started associating with a future he wants and can't have. He asked you to talk about your day because he could sit for hours inside the sound of your voice. You made the mundane parts of your life sound like somewhere he wanted to be.
Broken, he told you. He feels broken. He didn't tell you he wasn't sure how to fix it. Or that he suspected he knew exactly how, and was terrified of what it would cost.
After you left, the thought of you kissing Sammy returned and wouldn't stop. It moved through him in different frequencies. He wondered what your lips would feel like against his— not his neck, not the geography of his shoulders and chest, but his mouth. He wondered if the rhythm would be the same as everything else between you, that strange melodic fit, the way your bodies always seemed to find the same tempo without trying.
On the night of Mardi Tau, he'd told Robin three times he wasn't going. He couldn't. Couldn't watch you across a crowded room, couldn't watch you dance with Sammy, couldn't see your mouth on someone else's again and pretend the sight wasn't carving something out of him.
He watched from his window when your car pulled up and Eddie climbed in. It was dark outside andhe couldn't see you. His heart thumped anyway.
The car pulled away.
His heart sank.
It should be him.
.-.-.-.
Katrina was always a sweet girl. Her hair was a bit much sometimes— reminded him of when Tammy Thompson got her first perm and he couldn't see the board in Mrs. Click's class until he finally moved seats.
But she didn't deserve tonight.
Everything was going well. He did everything he normally did, and by her sounds, Katrina was enjoying herself. All while his mind kept drifting to Sig Tau. To you. His heart racing because the rumors had been circulating through Greek life all week— that Sammy really likes you.
It was all dirty touches and heat between them until he got Katrina over the edge.
But when it was his turn and she went to touch him— nothing.
He laughed it off awkwardly and told her to give him a second, spitting in his hand, trying to coax any reaction from his body. The redness crept up the back of his neck and deepened in his cheeks, not from the sex but from something worse. He kept trying. But even looking at Katrina sprawled naked on his bed, cheeks flushed, watching him with patient eyes, he still couldn't think properly.
He kept thinking about what an asshole he was. What an utter prick, to be here with a nice girl who deserved better than this. All because he couldn't fucking admit what he'd been running from all this time.
His shoulders drooped. He deflated.
"Oh my god," Katrina whispered.
Steve opened his mouth, a lump rising in his throat. "I—" Nothing came. No excuse worth saying out loud. "It's not you. I swear—"
"Oh my fucking god." She stood up from his bed. He could tell she wasn't happy by the way she moved— quick and stiff, snatching up her clothes. He saw the tears rolling down her face before she turned away.
"Katrina—"
"I am missing the biggest party of the year for this," she said, voice unraveling as she pulled her shirt over her head.
Steve stood there, still holding his limp dick, unsure whether he should wait until she left. He didn't know the proper etiquette for this situation. He'd never had anyone leave in the middle of a hookup before. Never because he couldn't get hard. He rubbed his face with one hand, trying to think.
"I'm sorry. I'm really stressed out—"
She turned around, lip quivering. "This," she hissed, motioning between them, "is what's supposed to relieve you of stress."
Steve picked up his boxers and slipped them on, feeling her watch him. Then his jeans. He looked at the floor, then up into her eyes, hoping and praying her memory of the last half hour might somehow evaporate.
It was in that humiliating moment he realized it wasn't only hating the fact you were with someone else tonight. He was too. Even though his hookups with other girls had become rare. Even with the lie he'd told you from the start— that he had a once-a-week rule— it still sent pain radiating through his chest, the particular kind that comes from knowing you're doing something wrong.
"I don't think we should keep seeing each other," he said, trailing off because he was a coward.
Katrina ticked her jaw. She sniffled once, sharply, through the hurt. He watched her shrink into herself, arms crossing over her chest, trying to make sense of something that didn't make any sense. She didn't have feelings for him— he knew that. But he could almost see the trust between them severing, clean and quiet as a cut. Without another word she picked up her handbag and walked out.
He wished he were man enough to sit with it or run after her to tell her… anything that would make her feel better. To feel the full weight of hurting someone he hadn't meant to hurt. To reckon with the ways his selfishness was splitting him apart from the inside.
Instead he got dressed quickly and put on his glasses. He needed to see you.
Not needed. Wanted. Both. He couldn't untangle them anymore.
His adrenaline was high and he ignored the beaming DON'T DO IT sign glowing right in front of him. Rules be damned. There were never really rules with you to begin with.
He smoked two cigarettes on the walk to Sig Tau without realizing it, and hadn't noticed he'd arrived until he was already pushing through the crowd outside and through the doors. He stood in the middle of the main gathering space, chest heaving, eyes scanning the room.
The scary thing was he always knew when you were there before he found you. Some magnetic pull in his chest that swung toward you like a compass finding north— maybe it was your perfume, the one you only wore when you went out. He found you before his brain caught up to the fact that he was looking.
You were alone. Relief moved through him so fast it embarrassed him.
Except you were scanning the room the same way he had been, searching for someone— Sammy, probably. Then you stopped. Hair framing your face, lip gloss catching the colored lights. He watched your expression shift. Watched your lips flicker upward. You looked exactly as relieved to see him as he felt seeing you.
He crossed the room toward you, taking you in the whole way. Gold crop top. Your purple skirt and white pumps. The line of your collarbone. But he kept returning to your eyes. He drowned in them every time and he did it willingly, like a man who had made peace with the water.
You were the most beautiful person he'd ever met. It drove him absolutely crazy.
He was so close but he needed more, and if there weren't people watching he'd have pulled you into him right there. Instead he motioned toward the bathroom tucked out of the way, the one nobody else seemed to know about.
He pulled you inside and crowded you against the counter.
"Touch me," he said. The words came out wrecked. A plea, not a request.
You started to say something and he shook his head. He said please. Said it again. Please.
And you did. You touched him exactly where he knew you'd touch him first, and he twitched and let out a breath that was equal parts relief and pleasure. His skin knew you. Reacted to you the way muscle reacts to memory— without instruction, without hesitation. He whimpered when your fingers traced along his scars and brushed through the trail of hair on his stomach.
He pressed his hips against you involuntarily. Already hard against your bare thigh.
Both of you were asking for more without saying it. You pulled his hand and pressed it against the damp cotton of your panties. His knees buckled, his weight nearly crushing you as he started working slow circles against your clit. His mouth found your cheek, breath short and ragged.
Then you were up on the counter and he was fucking you with his fingers, his cock aching against his zipper, completely engulfed in your wetness and the sounds falling from your mouth. You clutched at him. He still wasn't close enough. It wasn't enough anymore. It hadn't been enough for a long time.
He worked faster, stretching you with another finger, curling to find that spot that made your whole body shift. He could feel you shaking. He could hear the pitch of your whimpers climbing.
He rutted against your leg, moaning into your neck, until you made a sound he'd never heard from you before. He pulled back to look at you— half-lidded, mouth open— and his eyes dropped to your lips. Parted and pretty, lip gloss still sticky.
Before he could think longer he grabbed you by the head, fingers fisting your hair, and kissed you.
Then froze immediately.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm sorry—"
You smirked at him. Hunger in your eyes. One finger hooked into his chain necklace, pulling him back.
Your lips crashed against his.
He grunted when you bucked your hips, grinding on his hand still inside you. The kiss was messy and filthy and open-mouthed and unforgiving, and it rearranged everything inside him. His skin felt like it was burning, the heat moving straight to his cock. But underneath all of it— underneath the want and the noise and the desperate friction— his heart was beating against his ribs in a rhythm he recognized from somewhere he'd been trying not to visit.
He couldn't ignore it this time. Didn't want to.
All he wanted to do was smile. Because he was kissing his girl. His Hot Shot. Finally.
He felt you getting close and threw himself into it— fingers moving faster, palm pressing harder. His tongue licked into your mouth because if this was the only time he got to do this, he refused to forget what you tasted like. Sweet and warm and everything kissing was supposed to feel like and never had before. Feeling you kiss him back with the same urgency, the same hunger, he whined against your lips.
You nipped his bottom lip between your teeth and let it go.
In the fraction of a second it took, he thought about your first time together. How he'd wanted to kiss you then. How he'd wanted to kiss you every single time since. He thought about how swollen your lips were now— wet from him, undone.
That was all it took. He came, pressing against your leg, letting you feel it. Letting you know it was all you.
But he doesn't stop kissing you.
Can't.
And the thing is— he knows, standing here with his hand leaving your thighs and both arms pulling you in instead— that this has nothing to do with sex anymore. It stopped being about sex somewhere between the first time your mouth found his and right now, in this dim bathroom at a party neither of you particularly wanted to attend. What he wants is not the thing bodies want. It's something older and quieter and much more frightening.
He wants to keep kissing you in the morning. He wants to know what you look like when you're half-asleep and grumpy. He wants to sit across a table from you and argue about something stupid and be wrong and have you tell him so. He doesn’t want to say goodnight, because then that means leaving. And he’s so tired of leaving.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and the groan that comes out of him is helpless. It’s not because of the pain but because of the wanting underneath it, the sheer volume of it. He wraps both arms around you, one hand wide and flat across your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head, and he holds on.
You clutch at him with the same desperation and something in him cracks open. He moves his mouth to your jaw, your throat, pressing kisses into the warm skin there. He needs to touch every part of you he can reach, needs you to know he's here, he's here, he's been here this whole time.
His hands won't stop moving. One slides up your side, thumb grazing the underside of your tit through your top, and the other grips your hip hard enough to mark. He's not sorry. He wants to mark you. He wants there to be proof.
You pull his face back to yours and he comes back willingly and gratefully. If he's honest, every second his mouth isn't on yours feels like something wasted now. The kiss shifts, messier, all tongue and teeth and two people running out of ways to say something neither of them has said yet.
You slide your hands under his shirt, palms flat against his stomach, and every muscle in his body contracts under the touch. Your nails drag up his sides and across his ribs and he shudders. It’s not even from sensation but from the specific tenderness of being known. You know exactly where to touch him. You've always known.
He pulls you impossibly closer, hands roaming across your bare back, until there's no space left between you. Chest to chest. He can feel your heartbeat against his own and he doesn't know which is which. Doesn't care.
He kisses you slower this time. Still wanting, still urgent, but slower. His tongue slides against yours and he thinks: this is the problem. This has always been the problem. There is no casual version of this. There never was.
Your fingers find his belt loops and pull his hips flush against yours. He can feel the wet warmth in his jeans against your inner thigh. He makes a sound into your mouth. It’s broken and wanting and almost pained, like something has been held under pressure for a very long time and is only now, in increments, being allowed to surface.
He brings his hand up to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheekbone with a tenderness he has no business feeling, and he knows it, and he does it anyway. You tilt your head and deepen the kiss and he thinks: I would do anything. I would blow up every rule I've ever made. I would stop being careful entirely.
The kisses slow. Gentle now. Each one landing separately, softly. Just lips resting against lips. Just breathing the same air. Just staying.
He draws your bottom lip carefully between his teeth one last time. His tongue soothing the place, and then he pulls back.
Steps away.
He looks at the floor. Then at you.
Something moves across his face that he can't stop in time. Something guilty and sad and full of all the things he hasn't said and should have, all the moments he's walked away from and chosen rules and Robin over this, over you.
He opens the bathroom door.
He leaves.
The click of the latch behind him sounds, in the silence that follows, like the loneliest thing he's ever heard.
.-.-.-.
Steve walked into the empty Pike house and the silence swallowed him whole.
His eyes were still blown wide, hair wrecked, clothes wrinkled and askew— every detail of him a confession he hadn't meant to make or even think. He trudged inside and let out a heavy breath, both hands dragging down his face like he could physically rearrange what had happened tonight into something he could live with.
He knew he'd fucked up. The only thing he could do to avoid thinking about it was sleep, which meant he was going to lie awake staring at the ceiling and think about nothing else.
He made it to his room and threw himself backward onto his bed, depleted and spent. His fingers drifted to his lips without him meaning for them to— still buzzing faintly, still warm from where your mouth had been.
A smile crept onto his face before he could stop it.
Then, as fast as it arrived… gone.
His phone rang.
He launched himself off the bed. He looked at his watch and wondered who the hell was calling at this hour. Eddie? Robin? His heart lurched sideways at the thought that it might be you. Could it be you calling to come over, to talk, to say something that would either fix everything or make it completely irreparable?
He picked up. "Hello?"
"Steveee," a voice slurred.
Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear, stared at it, put it back. "Uh..."
"Were you asleep?"
His eyes went wide. "Max? Why are you calling this late? Are you okay?"
"Stevee, I'm more than okaaay." She hiccupped.
"Are you drunk?" His voice came out protective before he could temper it. He knew he'd gotten into things he shouldn't have at her age, but he was an idiot. Max was not. He bit at the skin around his thumbnail. "Are you safe?"
"I'm at Wheeler's." The line crackled and her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "We got into a bottle of Mrs. Wheeler's wine playing truth or dare."
Steve laughed, the coiled tension in his chest easing slightly. "Right, and are you doing a dare right now?"
"Yuuuup," Max sang.
"What is it? You supposed to prank call me or something?"
"Nope. Got dared to tell someone I love them. Dustin, the shithead he is, wanted me to probably say it to Lucas in front of everyone, because apparently I kind of suck at telling people that shit..."
Max's words drifted off.
Steve went completely still. He replayed the sentence. Made sure he'd heard it correctly. Because it was true—Max had never said that to him. Not once. Not directly. Not without enough sarcasm layered on top to make it deniable.
"Steveee, oh my god, did you die over there? Hellloooo?"
"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "I'm here. Sorry."
"Oh god, don't tell me it cut out and I have to say it again," she groaned.
He smiled at the ceiling, something loosening in his chest. "No. I heard you."
A beat of silence.
"I love you too, kid."
Max made an immediate and theatrical gagging noise. But he could still hear her smiling on the other end. "Gross, dude. You didn't have to say it back."
The quiet that followed wasn't really quiet at all. It was the specific kind of silence that exists between two people who both meant exactly what they said and know the other one did too.
"Now it's my turn to dare you to do it," Max giggled.
He rolled his eyes. "That's not how the game works and you know it."
"Maybeee. Or maybee you're scared."
"Max—"
"Steveeee," she mocked.
"I'm going to hang up now. Go be a pain to Wheeler or something." He shook his head when he heard her cackling.
She went quiet for a moment. Then: "You never called this week."
His throat went dry. He sighed, picking up the base of the phone and moving to sit at the edge of his bed. She couldn't see him, but he looked down anyway. "Yeah. I know. I got busy. I'm sorry."
Another wave of silence settled between them— the weighted kind, the kind that carries whole seasons inside it.
Steve raked his fingers through his hair.
"I don't miss him, y'know?" Max mumbled, her words soft and slurred but perfectly clear.
"Max—"
"And I know you still feel guilty, and we haven't really talked about it. But I needed you to know that."
She was right. They hadn't talked about the accident. That was probably mostly his fault—he never wanted to drag her back into bad water. He wasn't sure what to say.
"Drink water before bed. Okay?"
"Steve." His name was soft on the receiver, careful with him in a way she rarely was out loud.
"Yeah?"
"I dare you to tell me if you love her."
"Robin? Of course I love her, you know it's not like that thou—"
"No, not Robin." Max said your name.
It moved through the phone line and landed somewhere behind his sternum.
He froze. His face fell. Something cold and certain moved through his blood all at once. "Max, you know that's—I can't—why would you—she's a friend. A friend, okay?"
"Do you?" she asked again. Steady and almost sober-minded. Almost like she already knew the answer long before he ever did.
And Steve felt all the weeks of careful avoidance collapse at once.
He thought about you. He let himself, fully, for the first time in months— didn't redirect the thought, didn't shut the door on it before it could open. He let it open.
It wasn’t like a lightbulb, or a lightning bolt striking him. That was the thing about it that undid him. It didn't arrive the way he'd always assumed love would arrive. He had always imagine it to be loud and obvious and impossible to miss. It had crept in the way warmth does in a room you've been sitting in for a long time. Slow. Pervasive. Already everywhere before you think to notice.
The specific moment for him was all on Valentine’s when he saw you lying on his chest fast asleep. It overwhelmed him. It excited him. He knew it then, there was no one else. But he stayed in denial, tormented by thoughts of what it’d be like to go steady with you.
It felt like something that had always been true and was only now, under the specific pressure of Max saying your name through a crackling phone line at midnight, being acknowledged.
He carried it the way you carry an injury you've decided not to mention— working around it, adjusting your movement, telling yourself it wasn't that bad. But it had been pressing into him constantly. Heavy and specific and shaped like everything about you: the way you looked at him when he wasn't performing anything, the particular patience you extended to him that he hadn't earned, the sound of your laugh when something caught you off guard, the way the room organized itself differently when you were in it.
It felt like something that was equally killing him inside but also the thing that was keeping him alive.
He wanted things he hadn't let himself want in years. Simple things. Quiet things. He wanted to call you for no reason. He wanted to make you breakfast. He wanted, god help him, to introduce you to people and have a word for what you were to him that was true.
Instead he had rules. He had arrangements. He had you hidden away in a bathroom, holding a kiss that rearranged everything and a door he'd closed behind him anyway.
The wanting sat inside him like a lit match in a closed room. It illuminated everything, consuming itself, running out of air.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."
The words landed in the quiet of his empty room and he didn't take them back.
When he finally got off the phone and lay down in the dark, Steve stared at the ceiling and wondered if this was what it was like in every version of things. Every alternate arrangement of choices and timing and circumstance– did they all wind up here? Something in him said yes. Something in him had been saying yes for a while now, quietly, in a register he'd been working very hard not to hear.
No matter what he built around it. No matter how many rules he made or broke or pretended still applied. No matter the timing, no matter the cost.
as a makeup girlie i hate when in fics they make it like "oh there's my pretty girl" as soon as you take off that makeup. 😭 like it feels so backhanded to me, like do you not think my makeup looks good??? i just spent like an hour on it and you have the nerve to say you like me better BARE FACED??? maybe it's because makeup is genuinely one of my passions but i genuinely can't stand it 💔
thank u @diamondmunson 4 tagging me u sweet sweet soul
1. steve harrington
i genuinely don't think anyone can grasp how much i FUCKING LOVE STEVE HARRINGTON!!!! he's been my man since the ripe age of 10 and i genuinely don't think it'll stop anytime soon. he has taken over MY LIFE!!! LIKE THATS MY MANNNNNN
2. keys mckey
he is just a total cutie butt and kinda a loser but hhhhhh. like he's so sweetness and adorbs it's genuinely TERRIBLE!!!! he has so much love and adoration in his heart i can feel it
3. michael kelso
imma be honest idk how or why i have a crush on kelso bruh 😭🙏 he was kinda a douche bag to jackie n shit but also he's so stupid and adorbs and his hair is so pretty... can u see a pattern???
4. raj koothrappali
STOPPP raj is so awkward and cutie it makes my head hurt. plus he was the only one who didn't get lovings at the end of the show???? ☹️☹️☹️ like he's so sweetie pie its terrible
5. robbie hart
THIS WAS LIKE ONE OF MY FIRSTTTT FICTIONAL CRUSHES BESIDES STEVE OMGGGG!!!! idk guys something about robbie hart from the wedding singer makes me giggle and kick my feet like he's sooooo fine and sweet and UVHHHHGHHHAAAAAHHAHAHAHA
okay that's it ahhahahaha
wait i tagggg @charlston-chews bc that's all i got bro genuinely 😭🙏🙏🙏
could i request cute apple-themed dividers? as in apple themed and. also cute themed. maybe with kaomojis and emoticons and such if possible. thank you so much !!
🍎Cutecore Apple Dividers🍏
(PT: Cutecore apple dividers)
❀ please make sure to reblog & credit if you use!
❀ recoloring / editing is allowed and encouraged! (with credit)
(PT: Please make sure to reblog & credit if you use!)
tag list: @savanaclaw1996 @bloodythornsandskulls @humancorps3 @imachaoticghost @the-sides-archive
stonathan x reader where jonathan is designated driver, supposed to drop off robin, nancy, steve & reader after a party but after dropping off nancy & robin, steve & reader make out in the back seat. all leading to the three of them fucking at jonathan’s house (bonus, joyce „catching“ them asleep the next morning, all in one bed🤭)
LIFE OF THE PARTY (18+)
After saving you from Vecna’s curse months prior, you proudly became the newest member of The Party. You didn’t pretend to understand their past trauma, only that they all seemed rather close; almost too close. While tipsy and stuck with a long drive home, Jonathan finally decides it’s time to confess to you the groups rather ‘unconventional’ method of de-stressing. Steve, of course, happily demonstrates. When your heart is pulled between two men and a good time, who’s to judge when they both choose to indulge in you?
~ 10k wc. No use of Y/N. Some plot only for the sake of smut — lots and lots of smut
TAGS: MDNI!!!! ALL ADULT CHARACTERS!! (AFAB reader she/her), (tipsy but consenting), (oral sex both give and receive), (drinking), (unprotected piv), (light degrading), (spanking), (creampie?), (Daddy mention once), (pet names), (hickies), (breeding mentions), (blindfolded), (fingering), (Eiffel tower), (poly/bi themes), (spit), (dom!Steve), (softdom!Jonathan), (sub!naive!Reader), (implied open relationship!Jancy), (voyeurism), (semi-public/roadhead), (getting caught), (aftercare), (no chapters, we take it all at once), (not beta read, just filth).
AN: Thank you all for the love on my previous oneshot (pt. 2 coming soon)! I have been receiving lots of juicy prompts, and I’m definitely planning to work through them, but I was inspired to write a full Stonathan x Reader fic based on what the lovely @tracymbcm sent in. I had them do a bit more than making out to start (Steve’s a slut, what can I say) so thank you so much for the ask!
I’m still holding the kinky thoughts back so…Please continue sending me HCs, one shot, or fic requests for any STs pairings
(If you prefer your smut without the scene setting & buildup, scroll down to the first “₊˚✩ “. Have fun! 🌹<3)
Stranger Things Masterlist
“You’re insatiable”, you chided fondly, removing the plastic red cup from Robin’s surprisingly firm vice grip. You don’t know why she had insisted so strongly on bringing one last cup from the party for the ride home since she was already well within the bounds of intoxication, but leave it to Buckley to never understand her own limitations when it came to having fun.
You couldn’t lecture her too harshly, though. You’d been drinking the same mystery cocktail the party hosts so graciously provided just minutes ago, as evidenced by the soft berry stain on your lips from the punch. In an effort to dispose of the remaining liquor, you swallow a quick shot of what is still left in Robin's cup, as familiar sting of vodka slithers down your throat.
You couldn’t help but smile at the face she was making. “Awe…Don’t pout, Robs. I’m just trying to save you from another terrible hangover!”
Robin exploded with laughter, somehow finding your words incredibly entertaining. “POUT?!?! HAHAHA I NEVER POUT! YOU POUT, NANCY POUT, STEVE POUT, J-”
“Please, Robin. Not so loud,” Nancy hissed, rubbing her temples in annoyance. You had almost forgotten Nancy was sitting to your left, as she had barely spoken once you had all been piled into the backseat of Jonathan's sedan for a much-needed ride home. Maybe you were secretly thankful for the headache Nancy had developed while there. You were getting pretty tipsy yourself; who knows where the night would’ve led if you’d all had stayed longer — probably nowhere good.
In an attempt to ease the tension that often came with Nancy’s frustration, you provided a gentle scratch across her back as she had so often done for you. “Did you have fun at least?” you offered.
“Cheap beer and even cheaper liquor. Everything there was so nasty; I didn’t dare touch any surface. Who even throws a house party in an apartment? I was basically stuck in the corner between a guy who wouldn’t shut up about the Pacers' game and Sue Myrick sucking the face of some asshole from Purdue. No wonder I have a migraine,” Nancy mumbled softly, burying her face into your shoulder.
Loud groaning could be heard from the far-right of the backseat, Steve doing little to aid your attempt to calm your best friend’s headache. He looked rather uncomfortable, currently being squished against the side window by Robin’s slumped-over form.
“The party was fine,” Steve mumbled, “but I agree on the bad liquor. It had to have been bottom-shelf shit ‘cause I swear to god, I don’t remember Robin being such a goddamn lightweight. No more parties for Buckley.”
“Agreed.” Jonathan finally chimed in from the driver's seat.
He himself remained relatively quiet throughout the drive, his soft eyes occasionally glancing back at you through the rear-view mirror. You watched carefully as his gaze shifted from your own to the left, where Nancy was now resting against her seat belt. His blue eyes then locked with yours once more, only for a brief moment, before settling back on the dusty road that expanded into the Indiana night.
You couldn’t help but look down at your lap, feeling something subtle flutter within your chest. Probably the booze. Maybe it was just Jonathan Byers. He was always the quiet heart of the group. He’d been kind enough to volunteer as the designated driver for the party, almost eager about it. You insisted he indulge in at least a beer in a subtle attempt to ease the awkwardness he’d been exuding while simply standing around at the party.
“No,” he responded, “Someone has to make sure you all get home in one piece tonight. Your safety is my only priority,” Jonathan emphasized, standing rather close to you.
The apartment's space was small, but he was closer than he needed to be. Near enough for you to fully smell the lavender-scented laundry detergent embedded within the sweater Joyce probably knit for him. He offered you a soft chuckle, suddenly finding his shoes of interest as he gazed down. “Besides, I’m more of a weed guy, myself. Go have some fun. I’ll make sure Steve doesn’t hit on a houseplant, again.”
You shook the memory from your head, trying to bring yourself back to the present. The car chatter began to simmer down as you sank into the blissful intoxication that seemed to settle within your bloodstream. This was not the first time you partook in alcohol; far from it. It was, however, the first time alcohol had made it far enough past your gag reflex for you to actually drink more than just a few sips. It was a party after all.
You remember downing at least one or two cups of punch, but had lost count when Nancy also forgot to keep a drink tally for you. You were more likely hovering around four drinks by the time you left with the others, and they all seemed to start hitting now.
Fuzziness began to gather around your vision as your thoughts shifted to the passengers sitting on both sides of you. Sure there was Nancy, but there was also Steve. There was just something about the alcohol that made his presence mesmerizing in a way you didn’t usually observe when around him. You crossed your legs, trying not to read too much into it as you began searching for anything else in the car to draw your attention towards.
Steve was humming a tune allowed, ‘Ohhh hoo Witchy Woman’ as he pulled a half-asleep Robin against his chest for her to rest.
You had seen Steve drink at the party, sure. Shot after shot, chasing it with beer. The man was basically a tank when it came to handling liquor. It was only in the steady shake of his voice you could really tell he was at least feeling something other than sober.
“Really, Byers? That road has been closed since winter. Nice goin’, genius,” Steve huffed, unimpressed with Jonathan’s direction taking.
Jonathan’s fingernails dug into the steering wheel. “Maybe if you didn’t keep reading the map wrong, we’d get there faster. Jesus…”
Even with the bickering, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Steve. You knew he was attractive. Hell, he knew he was attractive. In your drunken state, you took the time to really see Steve. The brown moles on his neck, the perfect swoop of Harrington Hair that was always styled towards his right side, and the scent he was wearing… You’d become so used to the cologne cloud that seemed to trail behind him constantly. Some cheap Abercrombie bottle a worker at the mall had promised was all the rage, but tonight, you smelt something sweet. Something feminine. Expensive.
The foreign scent immediately pulled you out of your hazy thoughts and back into your body, realizing your drunken mind had somehow compartmentalized the memories of Steve grinding up on some chick in a short leather skirt earlier tonight, his hands on her asscheeks, spreading her open in a rather lewd position on top of the bathroom sink as he dry humped into her.
Steve’s desperate grunts were something you’d probably replay in your head for months. ‘Fuck yeah, baby. You wanna ride it, don’t ya? Ask nicely, and I might let you.’
Perhaps it’s your fault for not knocking on the bathroom door before entering a house party. You didn’t get a good look at the scene before immediately turning away in embarrassment (and a heartache you’d rather not acknowledge) as you shut the door and went to find the rest of the group. You two weren’t dating. Hell, you were barely anything but decent friends with Steve, though you’d be lying if deep down there was always a part of you that had always wished you were more.
At the moment, your heart tugged towards Jonathan. Your throbbing clit towards Steve. You shook your head, feeling idiotic for thinking of two friends who had saved your life in such a way. What’s worse, one of them is in a relationship with your best friend! So stupid. Bad alcohol.
“Hey. You doing okay?” Jonathan asked softly, interrupting your thoughts.
He found your eyes again in the rear-view mirror, almost routine by now. That warm feeling came back in your stomach again, his gentle features illuminated momentarily by the headlights of passing cars before fading into darkness once more. “You’re pretty quiet back there.”
“Yeah. Just…” you wanted to tell the truth, but what were you honestly supposed to say — hammered, horny, heartbroken, hungry? “Tired.”
Steve scoffed, buttting in. “It’s barely 1 am. These are rookie hours.”
Jonathan shook his head and continued driving. “We’re almost to the Wheeler House. Three minutes, tops.”
With a soft tap, you gently woke Nancy. After a few soft blinks, she quickly got her bearings as the car turned into the familiar neighborhood of her childhood home. Nancy sat up, stretching momentarily in the backseat before tapping Jonathan’s shoulder. “Hey, just drop Robin off with me. She can sleep the drinks off in my room. There’s no way in hell she can go home like this without waking up her whole house.”
Steve nudged Robin off his chest for a response, to which Robin gave a drunken slur of seemingly Russian (or gibberish) phrases. A drop of drool began trailing from the corners of her mouth as Robin settled back into a short slumber against Steve once more.
“Commfyyyyy,” she squealed.
“God damnit,” Steve sighed, extra loudly this time. You felt the weight shift to your left as Nancy turned to face you, seeming to be in a better mood after her short nap.
“And you? You’re doing good?” She prodded, glancing at your tousled hair and smudged black eyeliner. The confidence that came from the liquor gave you hope that you still looked hot, even if a hot mess.
“I’m good. Great, even,” you giggled, holding up a fist bump you often did with the kids of the group. It made Nancy chuckle, and she put her fist to yours, shaking her head at your silliness.
Steve interrupted, “Great? She better be great. I was watchin’ her like a bloodhound all damn night. Her first time at a party, and I wasn’t about to have her passed out in the yard ‘cause she doesn’t know about roofies, yet.” He wiped Robin’s drool from his shirt. “I can only keep my eyes on so many drunken idiots at once, ya know.”
A scoff escaped your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Watching you’ was not what Steve had been doing tonight. Sure, the boys had assigned themselves bodyguard duty before you all left for the party, but Jonathan was the only one who seemed to actually give a shit about your well-being. Steve was usually so protective and heroic when you were fighting monsters, but it seems his priorities slipped out the window when alcohol got the better of him.
That and his attention being dick-deep in some goth whore.
You sighed, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, sure. We survived alright.”
Steve hiccuped, taking an opportunity to jab at you some more. “I bet you would’ve fallen for any bastard that told you you had pretty eyes.”
“Are you saying I don’t have pretty eyes?” You snapped. The words came out harsher than intended, but Steve only seemed to interpret them as teasing in his tipsy state.
“… why do I even try with women?” he shook his head, “Yes, you have pretty eyes. Happy?”
“We’re here!” Jonathan shared, pulling the car up against the familiar curb spot beside the Wheeler driveway.
“Thank God,” Nancy mumbled, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. Even as best friends, you can’t recall a time Nancy had done this before, the liquor seemingly having an interesting effect on her own inhibitions, as well.
“Get home soon, stay safe…” she paused, looking to Jonathan. He had parked the car and was now able to turn in his seat to face you both completely. His expression was something you couldn’t quite make out with the way the streetlight shadows darkened his features, but whatever knowing glance he shared with Nancy was certainly interesting.
“Oh, and have fun! Don’t play with them too hard.” Nancy winked at you before giving a quick kiss to Jonathan and unbuckling her own seatbelt.
You nodded, mumbling a ‘goodnight, Nance’ as she hopped out of the car. You were probably drunk, yes, but too intoxicated to understand what she was implying?
Also, yes. Probably much too horny, as well with the way Jonathan’s quick wink to you made you feel.
“C’mon, Robin. Sleepover time,” Steve huffed, unbuckling her seatbelt and hauling her dead weight over his lap before setting her sneakers onto the pavement.
Her legs were quivering like Jell-O as she tried her best to walk straight. Robin mumbled something as a goodbye to the car, this time about red balloons, allowing Nancy to guide her swaying form towards the Wheeler garage. Steve closed his side door, now leaning back against the headrest as if exhausted from the ordeal.
“Aren’t you gonna go with them? Ya know, girl’s night and all...” Steve asked. He was right. You were usually conjoined at the hip with Nancy on most missions within the group, and Robin usually tagged along to form a proper flower-power trio. Jonathan turned over his shoulder to look at you, curious about your decision as well.
You shook your head. “No, I was hoping to spend more time with you guys. I need to sober up a bit, anyway. Maybe we can keep the party going a little longer?” you teased.
You weren’t entirely sure what you meant by your own words, or why they slipped out in the order that they had. Were you really looking to spend more time with them when your emotions were such a wreck? You began moving yourself from the middle seat to where Nancy had been occupying, giving some much needed space from Steve.
“Alrighty then.” The car revved up as Jonathan shifted back into drive, heading towards the freeway.
Steve raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “Oh yeah? How do you suggest we keep it goin’ then?”
The way he worded the question, his warm eyes looking you up and down as prey he’d been chasing all night. So now Steve wanted you, probably because his own drinks were hitting his system and you were now the only woman still in the car. You were naive, naught desperate, right?
“Hey, sorry. I forgot, where do you live again?” Jonathan interrupted your thoughts, looking over his shoulder at you.
“Forest Hills,” you offered.
Another dramatic groan from Steve, always so whiny when he drinks. “That’s literally a whole town over from Hawkins. It’ll take at least thirty, probably forty-five minutes to get there. Why don’t you just stay with Nanc-“
“Forest Hills. Done. We’re going,” Jonathan confirmed. “Try not to make the ride there too unbearable, Harrington. She said she wanted to have fun, remember?”
“Fun, fun, fun,” Steve mocked, “yeah, yeah, I’ll think of somethin’.”
- ˚✩ -
The ride towards home fell quiet again – annoyingly so. Steve hummed the same stupid chorus from earlier over and over again, now tapping his foot for added rhythm. He seemed to be sobering up a little bit (or getting better at hiding his drunkness) but you still felt deep in your own emotional trenches that the alcohol had washed over your mind.
God, why’d Nancy have to leave first? You were always together. Come to think of it, you cannot recall a time when it was just you, Steve, and Jonathon. There was minimal opportunity for you to ever be alone, whether it was Robin tagging along with Steve after a shift at the Squawk or Jonathan bringing his beloved everywhere he went. Maybe it was for the best, considering your complicated crush on Steve and newly developed (and likely unrequited) feelings for Jonathan.
Maybe you really were a bad drunk. Your heart was beating faster with unidentifiable anxiety. Your palms have started to sweat. The buzzing in your teeth was a relatively new symptom as well. You hoped Jonathan was speeding at towards your house at this point.
Steve broke the silence first, looking at you. “Hey. Are you mad at me?”
“Huh?”
He shrugged, slurring his speech slightly. “I feeeel like you’ve been trying to avoid me all night, yeah? What’d I do?”
“It’s not what you did, it’s who you did,” you shot back, unsure what had gotten into you. For some reason, you simply couldn’t hold back your true feelings. They called it ‘liquid courage’ for a reason.
“Who I-... I didn’t ‘doooo’ anybody?!” Steve blurted frantically.
“Mallory Morbech,” Jonathan corrected from the front, “she probably saw you fucking Mallory in the bathroom. She’s mad because you got sloshed when you were supposed to be helping the girls not overdo it or something.”
Leave it to the sober one to understand what was actually going on.
Your heart fluttered slightly as Jonathan helped with your argument. Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion, leaning back against the headrest. He closed his eyes to help visualize the memories from the party.
He only vaguely recalled a woman. She was definitely not his type, but pretty. He barely recalled having the pleasure of, well, pleasing her tonight.
“We didn’t fuck…” Steve corrected meekly. “But was Mallory really her name? I think I kept callin’ her Mindy.”
“You’re such a slut, Steve,” you said under your breath, turning away from him. Perhaps only a trivial matter if sober, it seemed rather painful to drunk-you that your crush would seemingly forget you and the girls safety in favor of humping a chick who he can’t even name.
“WHOA WHOA WHOAAAA!” Steve raised his voice, turning his body towards you in disbelief, “What the hell has gotten into you? Do you always turn into such a mega-bitch when you drink-”
Jonathan intervened quickly. “HEY! Too far. Don’t call the lady a slur, Harrington.” He glanced over his shoulder, sending a pointed look at Steve. “You know she’s right.”
Now it was Steve’s turn to scoff, leaning forward from the backseat to be near Jonathan’s face. “What was that, Byers?”
“I can’t even count on my fingers how many times you and I have fucked in this car. Or how many times you and Nancy fucked. Or all three of us, really…”
You blinked, drawing your gaze from the out the window. Your eyes are now bouncing between Jonathan’s in the rear-view mirror and Steve’s flushed cheeks beside you. God, you must be insanely fucked up because there is no way you heard that right.
“Wait… you and… Nancy and… all three?”
Jonathan sighed, driving below speed limit in an attempt to gather his thoughts slowly. “It’s not as weird as it sounds, okay? No gross orgy stuff or anything, just…” god, how was he supposed to explain this one? Especially to someone as sweet and sheltered as you have always been.
“No orgy, yet,” Steve added, snickering at his unfunny joke.
Jonathan began again, his voice softer now. “Over the years, we all thought the world was ending — multiple times over. The trauma is unbearable sometimes. I have nightmares constantly. There’s no one we can really confide in. We don’t seem to connect well with anyone who hasn’t been through the Upside Down. If Vecna hadn’t targeted you and all, well, I doubt we’d ever really be able to open the group to an outsider. It’s nice to be held and loved by people who understand.”
He looked back in the mirror, seeing if you could got what he was hinting at without saying it directly. “Our little group dynamic is sacred, you know? We’d all been forced to see each other dying, or covered in blood, or naked…At some point, we all just kinda said ‘fuck it,’ and found that there’s lots of more ways to heal than just keeping to yourself.”
You nodded, a soft buzz ringing in your ears. Your hand absentmindedly gripped the seat belt around your chest to allow more air into your lungs. “So… that dynamic being-”
“Sex,” Steve laughed loudly, almost startling you. “‘Cause chatting about our feelings can only do so much.”
“I see.”
You were disturbed by the revelation of what seemed to happen so often in the car you were currently occupying, but it was also a bit thrilling. It made sense in a fucked up way. You knew Jonathan was probably into some interesting things based on what Steve had gossiped to you about in his past, and Steve was known to be quite openly bisexual around the right people.
As for Nancy? Well, actually, maybe you shouldn’t have been too surprised about Nancy ‘Knock ‘Em Down’ Wheeler having her cake and eating it, too.
“You’re not grossed out?” Jonathan asked, his eyes searching for any disgust in the mirror.
“No. I’m actually intrigued, honestly.”
Jonathan nodded, letting out an exhale he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Good. Because there’s another matter at hand… The slur Harrington called you earlier was a bit harsh, even for his standards. Would you allow us to make it up to you? Or I mean, just Steve for the time being, I have to drive and all-”
“What?!” You blurted out, Steve’s large hand already unbuckling his seat belt.
“What do we say to pretty women, Harrington?” Jonathan prompted, hoping the man could muster a decent apology for once.
Steve grumbled, rolling his eyes. He hated being wrong. “I am so very sorry for calling you a ‘bitch’. Forgive me.”
He placed his head on your shoulder, his eyes big, brown, looking up at yours. They almost seemed glassy in the dim streetlight. You felt the edge of his fingertips tentatively touch your skin as they landed on your exposed hip, only slightly visible from your crop top.
The warmth from Steve’s touch left a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he began to trace across your naval, his hand now grabbing the hem. He stopped himself from yanking it off, his eyes searching yours for any distress. He knew you had wanted this as much as he did, sober or not, but he was also a man of honor. This situation was foreign to you, your boundless naivety only adding to your confusion (and arousal). Steve didn’t move again until you gave consent.
A swift nodding of your head was all it took. Steve undid your seatbelt, quickly pulling your shirt over your head and onto the backseat. His fingers now moved up your abdomen, then your sternum, before eventually reaching the lace of your bra.
You held your breath as his palm slipped under your the lace and cupped your breast, giving it a loving squeeze. Steve let out an exhale of what could only be excitement, eyes still looking up into yours as he finally had the chance to touch your body for the first time. His thumb trailed over your hardened nipple.
“Pierced? I didn’t know you took after Munsun, sweetheart,” He teased, burying his face into your neck with a vigor you hadn’t been expecting from his gentle touch moments ago.
“Not such a good girl after all, is she, Harrington? Too bad you get to taste her first,” Jonathan laughed sarcastically from the front, glancing in the review mirror. “Let Steve make it up to you, love. He really is a good slut. He’d be humping everyone’s leg if we don’t keep him satisfied.”
Steve laughed into your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His tongue now trailed up your neck, planting gentle kisses there as well as on your jaw before nibbling your earlobe gently.
“You passed ‘initiation’, yeah? Being trusted enough to join in our little de-stressing activity and all. Welcome to the group, babe,” he whispered, his tone teasing.
Steve found his way back down your jawline and to your neck again, this time biting all the soft spots that he knew would make you whimper and squirm. Red blotches were left where bruises would later form as he made his way towards your collarbone. He was becoming more and more rough with you, perhaps even needy. On the sore spots, his tongue felt so warm and soft, providing soothing relief.
“I can’t see…” Jonathan mumbled, trying to get a decent view in the rear-view mirror. “Can you take her bra off?”
Steve didn’t need to be told twice, not bothering to unclasp your bra and instead pulling it over your head just like your shirt. You moaned loudly at the sensation of your tit being taken into Steve’s mouth, so wet. So damn soft. He bit on your nipple, sucking on the tender bud desperately. The whole time he was tasting your skin, he remained looking up at you with those eyes you fell for again and again. Something seemed to activate in him, making him desperate to please you.
You couldn’t help but whine when Steve pulled back with a loud ‘pop’, lips swollen and plump, your tit now also covered in his bite marks. He chuckled, “Every chick should get their nips pierced if they’re this fun to play with.”
You should feel ashamed, right? Vulnerable, at least. Car sex? With Steve and maybe even Jonathan…at the same time?? While Jonathan was in a relationship? Oh my god-
“Hey, babe.” Steve tapped your cheek, seeing you begin to overthink. “Nothin’ is wrong. Focus on me. Imma make you feel real so, so, sooo good, m’kay? I promise. I know what I’m doin’,” he winked. Oh, the charmer Steve Harrington is.
Jonathan added, “Trust us, yeah? You’ll be begging for more by the time we’re done.” The tone of his voice was as soft as ever, encouraging you to trust him. To allow yourself to enjoy in the opportunity that was being offered to you.
The freeway exit to Forest Hills Drive came and went, as Jonathan was making absolutely no effort to drop you off at home anytime soon, instead taking the long loop back towards Hawkins. An innocent mistake, he had reasoned; way too distracted. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he was becoming more and more interested in the explicit activities taking place within his backseat.
You couldn’t help but feel giddy as another small wave of drunken endorphins settled in. A dorky smile began to settle on your lips as you started to feel a bit more at ease with the situation. This was something you had longed for, right? Why not allow yourself to have a bit of fun?
“That’s a good girl…” Steve cooed as he saw you relax under him. “You want this, don’t you. You want us both?”
‘Good girl’ echoed in your mind for a moment. Of course, you wanted to be good for him. For them. Words seemed to catch in your throat as all you could do was nod.
“Then can you be good and do as we both say? We won’t do anything you don’t want. But you gotta trust us on this if you wanna have fun. You said you wanted that, right? To spend more time with us?” Steve waited patiently for you response, still massaging your tits in an attempt to placate his hands from unzipping his jeans.
You trusted him. You trusted Jonathan. Both have helped save your life on multiple occasions. Nothing was ever going to change the feelings of love and loyalty you had to both of them. “Y-Yes. You’re right. I trust you. Both.”
Steve chuckled in amusement. “Yeah? Good’,” he paused, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “You’re way too cute for your own good.”
He went straight back to work, grabbing your chin and guiding you to his lips. He kissed you with needles, sucking your lower lip in to allow his tongue greater access to every crevice of your mouth. He tasted just like the whiskey he’d been shooting at the party earlier, bold and spicy. His tongue completely dominated yours, almost distracting you from his wandering hands moving down from your tits and towards the waistband of your jeans. He popped the button open, unzipping and pulling the jeans down your plush thighs.
Steve let out a soft hum of approval into your mouth, causing Jonathan to turn around in curiosity.
“Baby blue thong. Victoria’s Secret,” Jonathan smiled to himself, turning back to the road. “A gift from ‘Nancy’, right?”
Surprisingly, yes. From Nancy. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, getting a whole bag of goodies from the mall that Nancy had kindly gifted you for your birthday last month. How long had they been planning this? Allowing you in ‘group activities’? It almost warmed your heart to realize the depths of just how much this group wanted you to be a part of them. Maybe your crushes weren’t doomed after all.
“Gifted by your suggestion, I presume?” you asked, curious.
You watched the back of Jonathon’s head nod. He’d be lying if he didn’t get off to the thought of you innocently wearing the panties he unknowingly bought for you, dreaming of the opportunity to one day rip them right off, preferably with his teeth. You were his and you didn’t even know it yet.
“They look really good on you. But I think they’d look even better completely off.”
Steve took Jonathan’s words as his cue again, pulling the thong down your legs. You inhaled at the sudden chilly air that hit your bare cunt, now feeling vulnerable once more as any remaining effects from the alcohol were gone for the time being. You frantically looked outside the car window, hoping no other cars were going to come down this road soon.
“Shhhh. Don’t worry, it’s the middle of the night. With a pussy this pretty, you think I would let anyone else see this? Well, ‘cept Byers.” Steve growled, his eyes keeping steady contact with you as his hand ghosted over your inner thigh.
You let out a nervous laugh, unable to help yourself. Steve ran his other hand through your hair, gripping your locks firmly. His dominance helped ease you into it, allowing your legs to spread apart further.
“That’s my girl,” he nodded, other hand now slowly tracing the outline of your glistening folds oh so gently, it was almost painful the way he teased you.
“Ya know, Nancy was right about you — being submissive and all,” he smirked. “I owe her a big thank you later for giving the approval to let us have you,” he finished, right before plunging one of his long fingers into your core. You let out a loud moan, gripping his jacket for something to hold onto.
Jonathan almost swerved into the oncoming lane, trying to get a decent view of you over his shoulder, the car too dark to see much of your lower body in the mirror.
Steve moved closer to you, bringing your naked body onto his lap. You found some relief from lingering embarrassment at the fact that his cock was already visibly hard in his jeans, a small wet spot visible near the zipper.
“Fuck, you’re so warm,” he grained, adding his index finger to join the middle one already thrusting into your hole. You whimpered into his shoulder, his other hand continuing to caress or pull on your hair depending on his whim.
“Oh baby, you must be really lovin’ this, yeah? You’re dripping down my damn arm,” Steve praised, letting you ride his fingers. You rocked your desperate cunt into him, hoping for some sort of relief that was building in you as he pumped his fingers in and out before switching the two fingers into a scissoring motion inside your tight walls.
“And so needy, too. Uh huh baby, that’s right. Use my fingers. C’mon. Good girl. Gooood girl. Such little fuckin’ whore for Daddy, huh?”
“Steve!” Jonathan yelled. “Way too much for her!”
“It’s not a slur in this context, Byers!” Steve shouted back, a cocky smirk on his face.
As you moaned again, Jonathan let out a loud sigh of frustration, unable to participate in the excitement. “Can I just pull over and we-”
Steve refuses to stop finger-fucking you, only turning his attention to Jonathan for a brief moment. “What? No. We’re like fifteen minutes to your place. That work?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, “Fine. I’ll make it ten,” he said, speeding back towards his house.
You kept pushing against Steve’s fingers, imagining that it was Steve’s cock you hoped to ride soon. Steve held you close on his lap, his thumb rubbing over your clit. “Hey, I think Byers is feelin’ a bit left out up there. You wanna help make him feel good?”
You sucked in a final whine, almost tearing up from the tension that had been building in your stomach. You mustered out a small, ‘of course,’ eventually. Honestly, there was no denying your excitement of now having Jonathan. It was almost indulgent, the opportunity to be bossed around by two beautiful men who craved you as much as you did them. The way Steve had been playing with you, you might even think they’d wanted you more.
“Good,” Steve praised. “Do you want to suck him off or do you want me to blow him and you can-”
“I’ve had your mouth before, Harrington,” Jonathan hinted.
“Fine, fine. Go on,” Steve sighed, helping to position your naked body in the cramped sedan correctly. Your knees were now on the car's center console, allowing you to tilt your ass in the air as you did your best to lean down, getting close enough where your mouth could be near the swelling tip of Jonathan’s cock. He’d already taken it upon himself to shimmy out of his jeans and boxers while driving, no doubt jerking himself while you and Steve got it on in the backseat. You began pooling saliva in your cheeks in an effort to spit on his pink head, precum already leaking.
Steve held your wrists behind your back, helping your weight balance evenly on the console as you lowered even more to place your mouth around Jonathan’s cock. The prettiest whimper escaped Jonathan’s lips, hair tossed from when he’d been running nervous fingers through it the whole drive. ‘Fuck don’t crash, don’t crash,’ you heard him chant to himself as you continued your movements.
Your mouth made it further down his length with each head bob, taking him deeper down your throat. The noises that filled the car were obscene, with your wet mouth sucking him hungrily and Jonathan’s cussing and whimpering. You pulled yourself up, taking a moment to catch your breath.
“You know you’re so damn hot, right?” Jonathan breathed, a smile of pure elation on his face. His eyes kept looking between you and the road ahead as you began again, this time taking him in with your cheeks hollowed around his length. Your throat vibrated around him, letting out a surprise moan as you felt the warmest mouth begin to suck on your clit.
Steve had surprised you, pushing his face into your pussy, letting go of your hands so he could grip onto the backs of your thighs instead. There’s no doubt he left a new set of bruises there, too. Steve lapped at your clit, suckling the wetness. His tongue traveled a bit lower as it found its way past your pink folds, pushing it into your throbbing hole. You had to stop sucking off Jonathan again, catching your breath as the pleasure from Steve and the danger of sucking Jonathan off while driving began to consume every fiber of your being.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathed, sucking in any air you could.
Jonathan chuckled, seeing you come undone in his lap by Steve’s skill. He was getting off to the scene of you two almost as much as he was now with his cock in your mouth. One hand on the wheel as the other helped hold your hair out of your face.
“That’s it. Good girl. Tonight is all about you and making you feel good. We can all feel good, right? Is Harrington doing a good job, love? I taught him everything he knows...”
You nodded, now stroking Jonathan’s cock to the rhythm of Steve’s tongue pushing in and out of you. He was twisting it up inside your walls, wanting to taste every single part of your soaked pussy. You could feel his nose pushing against your ass, bouncing yourself on his face in an attempt to garner more of Steve’s tongue. He positioned your thighs towards him, causing your balance to skew towards the backseat, allowing you to practically sit on his face. You heard muffled sounds of approval as you used his face to get yourself off in between gasps before going back to Jonathan.
Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to suppress another whine from your soft hands stroking his cock. You almost didn’t notice the car slowing down and pulling into a gravel driveway until he turned the ignition off.
Steve’s tongue flicked out of your aching hole, flattening it against the outside of your cunt and inner thighs I n an attempt to quickly clean his spit and your sweet juices off. He pulled back, but not without giving your ass a hard spank. “We’re here. Took us long enough.”
You hummed in agreement, Jonathan pulling his pants up before quickly helping you down from the awkward position and into the backseat beside Steve once again. The windows had become fogged from the heat of your bodies, but you could still easily see that the car was pulled into the familiar driveway of the Byers' home.
“What, so you decided to not take me back home?” You teased.
Jonathan unbuckled himself, turning to you with a shy smile. “Guess I’m pretty bad with directions, huh?”
“Gee, I’ll say,” Steve shot back as he helped you put your bra, shirt, and jeans back on rather carelessly after not-so-secretly pocketing your panties for what he told you were ‘selfish reasons’.
You knew your clothes wouldn’t be staying on again for long once you all went inside, anyway.
- ˚✩ -
Steve had taken it upon himself to do a quick sweep of the Byers’ home once inside, peaking his head in every room. Jonathan had insisted that Will, Joyce, El, and Hopper were currently on a road trip out to Chicago for the weekend, but Steve couldn’t be too careful.
The house was extremely dark and just as quiet in the dead of night. You could hear your pulse swish around in your ears, beating quickly with anticipation. You no longer felt the alcohol from an hour ago; any buzz now being entirely replaced by the continuous rush of dopamine.
Jonathan held his palm out for you to take, helping guide you towards his room at the back of the house. He wore his usual antique rings, slender fingers wrapped protectively around your hand. Though you spoke no words, the man could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you.
“You doing okay?” he asked. “Just say the word, and we will stop. I’ll take you home right now and-”
“I’m fine, Jonathan. Truly. Actually, I might be better than fine.”
“I told you, Byers,” Steve laughed, trailing behind. “We’re lucky enough she’s actually interested in both our asses.”
“Nancy told you, actually,” Jonathan corrected. “You thought she had a crush on Robin.”
“Okay, yeah, I was obviously wrong about that part. I’m not good at the whole ‘gaydar’ thing, yet,” Steve conceded.
You laughed; their bickering was always a present sound within your group. The familiar banter was helping to ease your anticipation. Even though all of this felt rather strange, you knew you were in great hands as the three of you reached Jonathan’s room. Jonathan fumbled around in the dark for something before turning on a light, a large lava lamp proudly displayed on one of his shelves. A warm glow now illuminated the room. Your eyes adjusted quickly, admiring the tidiness of Jonathan’s room.
Steve immediately took off his shirt, his broad shoulders and toned chest drawing your eyes. He began undoing his pants just as fast. “I call dibs. I wanna fuck her first.”
You blushed at his forwardness, unused to the enthusiasm that came with someone as hot as Steve wanting you so badly. Earlier tonight at the party, you figured you had no shot with him, and now he was practically begging to have you. Maybe he really was a slut.
Jonathan groaned in annoyance, sitting on the bed. “You can’t just ‘call dibs’, Harrington. She’s not some toy.”
“Maybe she wants to be,” Steve smirked, glancing back at you with a wink as he tossed his jeans to the side. His fingers caught the hem of his cotton briefs, pulling them down eagerly.
Steve stood there proudly, now completely naked. You almost had to stop yourself from staring. His thick cock was completely erect, with prominent veins protruding down the sides of his length. A good seven or eight inches (not including what was concealed behind those delicate curls of dark hair at his base) that would have you aching for a week if you attempted to let him fully inside you. His cock twitched, leaking cream colored drops down his muscular thigh.
A mess Steve Harrington could be when it came to getting what he wanted. A desperate, needy, stupidly overconfident mess who would do anything to plunge himself into your warm cunt he’d been tongue deep in just minutes ago.
“Like what you see, babe?” Steve mused. The man was confident, but you could still detect the soft whine of want in the words that followed. “Think you can take it? I-I bet you can…”
In all honesty, you weren’t positive if you could or not. Your body count consisted of one long term ex boyfriend back in high school. Sex, in general, was a bit daunting, but you sure as hell would try.
Your fingers gripped the plaid sheets of Jonathan’s bed. You could see the other man’s gaze in your peripheral vision, waiting to see your reaction to Steve’s… everything.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help make sure everything feels good,” Jonathan offered. You turned towards him, intrigued.
Jonathan’s eyes caught your gaze once more. A game of tag you two had been seeming to play all evening. When his eyes darted to your lips, you leaned to meet his own in a gentle kiss. The way Jonathon kissed wasn’t with the same feverish domination Steve had earlier. He kissed you as if you were delicate. Small. Something to be held and cherished.
You felt it in the way he didn’t bite and tug at your lips. Nor did he insist on stuffing his tongue down your throat. Instead, he seemed to bask in the momen, relishing in your emotional connection of his lips melting against yours. He didn’t taste as strongly as Steve, only slightly of menthol Chapstick, which you had watched him fidget with at the party earlier.
Jonathan pulled back, whispering against your lips. “Are you ready for that ‘fun’ you talked about earlier?”
You nodded softly, trying to contain your excitement.
He smiled, pulling away from you. Steve had been stroking himself to the scene, apparently, still incredibly eager to fuck you. Or Jonathan. Or both.
“Then undress for us,” Jonathan said.
Although you were naked minutes ago, the bluntness of the request still caught you off guard. “Huh? Uhm- yeah, sure.”
You slowly removed your shirt over your head. Jonathan began removing his own sweater. As you unzipped your pants, he did the same. You quickly unclasped your bra but one step ahead, no panties to be found.
Steve smirked, proud of himself for his earlier theft.
Both men had arranged themselves near each other on the bed, their naked bodies obviously eager by their erections. This was also the first time you had seen Jonathan naked. Milky skin and slim limbs, he seemed almost delicate compared to Steve’s muscular, tan build beside him.
Steve reached for Jonathan's cock, his large hand wrapping around Jonathan completely. Steve began stroking him slowly in an effort to get him hard enough for the activities that lay ahead.
“Mmm. You wanna bend over for us, Princess?” Steve smirked.
You were almost unable to hear the question over Jonathan's loud whimpering. He was quickly becoming a withering mess under Steve’s touch. Jonathan’s fingers were wrapped around Steve’s cock as well, both men staring at you in waiting.
“I-...” you paused, unsure what their next move would be from such a request. But you nodded, turning around and bending slowly over to show everything. You felt lewd and embarrassed as your pussy was now on full display, glistening with arousal and a bit pink and puffy from grinding on Steve’s stubble earlier. Even your soft asscheeks were being spread a bit, by this position; giving such a taboo view of both of your pretty holes.
“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan gasped, moaning as Steve continued stroking him.
Steve eyed you, his gaze primal as he now spoke in commands rather than asking. “I want you to close your eyes for us, babe. We’re about to make you feel so good, just like I promised, yeah?”
“Close my eyes?”
“Yep. We’re going to play a little game. Stay beant over.” Steve ordered.
You did as told, feeling a knot of shame and excitement settle in your chest. Your cunt throbbed, eager to know what was to come next. Your body was turned away from them, gaze staring at the carpet, your hands on the floor to in what you’d believed to be a variation of doggy style. You could hear someone stand up from the bed as the springs squeaked, along with low whispers from both voices behind you.
Someone’s body heat could be felt against the back of your thighs and near your pussy as your vision darkened; soft silk now bring wrapped around your eyes. You pulled back in an attempt to stand up, almost in a panic as Jonathan’s calm voice soothed you from behind.
“Relax, love. This is just part of the game. ‘Fun’, remember?”
A dark laugh came in the same direction could be heard from Steve. “I bet you’ll like it. You’ve been such a good little whore so far, huh Princess?”
You swallowed your apprehension (and pride), allowing whoever's fingers were near to tie the silk around your eyes. “How am I supposed to know who’s touching me?”
“That’s the point, babe,” Steve said, as you immediately felt a cold brush against your pussy. You let out a soft groan, the man behind you spreading you open with his fingers. The blindfold added a new level of excitement, your senses heightens.
You heard the floor creak as the man sank lower, most likely kneeling behind you. Your legs and asscheeks were spread even further open as you heard a lewd spit, feeling warm saliva land on your ass before dripping down to your already soaked cunt. His fingers ran up and down your folds, making sure his spit lubed you up enough before inserting a finger inside, eliciting another moan out of you.
“Guess who?” Jonathan asked, both speaking from behind you.
“Steve,” you said without hesitation. “Jonathan wears rings.”
Steve chuckled, not answering you directly. “Clever girl. That’s why I made Byers take them off. Wouldn’t wanna spoil the fun for you.”
Whimpers escaped your mouth as the man fingering your pussy you removed them. You felt yourself guided down into a deeper doggy position on the floor. You could hear footsteps as you now felt the presence of a man in front of you, gently pushing on your shoulders to angle you to his liking.
The newcomer's fingers gently tapped on your soft lips, shoving past them and into your mouth. His fingers pushed past your tongue and down your throat, causing you to gag before pulling them back.
You now felt a soft grip from behind on your hips, an eager cock thumping against your pussy before being pushed up against your cunt, the swollen head teasing you slowly, before finally entering. In and out, slow and thoughtful, feeding you only a few inches of his length each time he pushed in a bit further. You could hear one of the men trying their best to muffle their moans in an attempt to keep you guessing.
The fingers from the man infront of you were being laced into your hair, guiding your open mouth around his cock. You felt the wetness of salty precum touch your lips before he slipped the head past your teeth and towards the back of your throat. You swallowed as much of him as you could take, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations going on within your body and being stuffed by two men, letting them use both ends of you for their pleasure.
You moaned around the cock in your throat as the other bottomed out behind you. Now your own moans were the ones muffled, but you could hear both Jonathan and Steve grunt and groan in pleasure. Your thoughtful position they’d arranged you in beneath made it hard to tell which side each voice was coming from.
The cock behind you pushed further into your cunt, slick with your wetness as he was trying to reach his goal of your spongey G-spot. His grip of returned to your hips again in an effort to help guide you back and forth on his cock at a quicker speed. Your pussy would sink onto his cock, and then you’d be jerked forward into swallowing the others.
Whoever was gripping your hair switched between having you suck on his balls and making sure to be (slightly) unselfish and allow you time to breathe before then continuing to push himself as far down your throat as you could take without gagging
Your brain couldn’t seem to form any thoughts. This is what you were — they were all right. You were made to be used. To be played with. To be a part of this group. You’d always longed to be a part of something greater than yourself, and your greater purpose just so happens to be between Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byers tonight.
The room was quiet, both men’s groaning seemingly growing quiet. Both cocks continued taking pleasure from you, the jerking of your body back and forth finally causing the silk around your eyes to fall slightly down one side of your face. You now had a clear visual of what exactly was happening.
Steve had been the one shoving his enormous cock down your throat, his rough fingers still tangled in your hair as leverage to pull you deeper. That must mean Jonathan is the one who’s balls deep in your walls, trying his best to stir your insides, it seems.
What you hadn’t expected was the two men making out above you. Hair askew, tongues desperately licking into each other's mouths. You would be lying if it wasn’t the hottest scene you could only dream of. You’d been the one being ogled all night, and now it was your turn to finally watch.
Steve gave you a break, standing on his toes to allow you access to his balls again Jonathan slowed down for a minute to catch his breath. You watched the way Steve’s attacked Jonathan’s slender neck, leaving purple marks on him as well. Your walls began to tighten around Jonathan as he started fucking you harder. He grunted in Steve’s ear each time.
Finally, overwhelmed from the car foreplay and physical overwhelm of pleasure you were experiencing, you suddenly came around Jonathan, the tension finally easing from your body and leaving a blissful, floating warmth in its wake.
Jonathan pulled away from kissing Steve, grabbing onto your hips for a few more deep thrusts.
“I’m gonna- oh shit I-” was all he managed before immediately coming inside you, surprising you with the sudden rush of heat. He stayed there for a minute, whimpering as he let himself release everything within and lazily pushing into you. As he eventually pulled out, you flushed with embarrassment at the feeling of him now dripping down your thighs.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, taking a step back to admire his work. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.”
Steve laughed loudly, clearly bemused by the situation. He began removing the blindfold from around your eyes, “Seems Byer’s ruined our little guessin’ game by coming too fast – again. Now I gotta improvise a bit.”
“It’s not totally my fault,” Jonathan shot back, “but I got her warmed up. She’s nice and stretched for you, so don’t complain.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Steve chuckled, looking down at you as he held your face in his palm. You looked so pretty, now kneeling before him naked and covered as the bruises he left on you earlier began to set in. Your makeup had finally rubbed off, but your lips and cheeks were still flushed red from the physical exertion.
“You look really pretty like this, ya know.” he smiled.
Steve then made his way to the bed next to Jonathan, holding your hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, allowing his length to stand fully erect. His hardness still proudly slick with your spit.
You didn’t need to be told what to do as you wrapped your legs around Steve’s lap. His hands massaged your tits, letting you settle over him before reaching for your ass, giving it a harsh spank. Then another. One more until he heard the cutest ‘yelp’ from you. “There we go. Good girl. Gonna make me feel good too, yeah?”
His hands continued to stay on your asscheeks, using his grip as a guide to position your swollen pussy onto his length, grunting almost inaudible sweet nothings in your ear. ‘Just like that, baby. I know you can take it, just let it stretch ya out. You did so well earlier with Jonathan. It won’t hurt in a moment’.
You were thankful for the added wetness already within you as your own arousal mixed with Jonathan’s for the perfect lube to help Steve large cock ease inside of you.
Taking the first few inches of him in your mouth was one thing, but now, feeling him stretch your pussy set your nerve on fire. You felt full, the veins along his length adding a ribbed effect as you were finally guided down completely onto him.
Steve looked at you with the purest smile of elation, his eyes glassy and full of care for your comfort as he searched for any signs of pain. He began to lie down fully on the bed, adjusting his hips so you were now in a position to ride him to your heart's content.
Jonathan stayed seated beside you both on the bed, observing with anticipation as his fists continued to bunch the sheets. You knew he was into a bit of voyeurism from when Steve had told you about his ‘weird picture-taking’ incident back in the day. Jonathan smirked as you began to grind on Steve, watching every moment as he continued to catch his breath.
“She’s really tight, huh? Feels so good,” Jonathan cooed, coming closer to kiss your shoulder blades gently, trailing up your collarbone to kiss over your hickies from earlier.
“So good,” Steve muttered, his cock twitching inside of you.
“Why don’t you go ahead and bounce on it, love? I want to see him going in and out of you,” Jonathan offered.
Steve took the liberty to choose for you, moving you up and down in an effort to make you bounce on his cock. His hands were still glued to your ass, continuing to spread you as open as he could so his length could ram your cervix. You shook, unable to control the immense amount of pleasure that was starting to build. His grip never loosened, bringing your ass down hard, making your hole take everything your pussy could give.
Steve’s movements were starting to get a bit rushed and sloppy. His long hair had fallen over his face, sticking to the sweat of his forehead. He slammed into you once more, gasping while bottoming out before the dominance within him softened. His hands dropped, clutching the sheets. He became a whimpering man who just wanted to feel good. It was clear he wanted to come, but was holding back in an effort for you to reach your own orgasm.
Jonathan took finally stepped in to help you get there, putting his fingers against your clit. He rubbed circles into your bundle of nerves as you switched between grinding and bouncing on Steve’s cock. You were close, but the second orgasm always took longer than your first.
For better leverage, Jonathan also straddled Steve’s legs and pushed his chest against your back. He wrapped his long arms around you, one hand continuing to rub circular motions in your clit while the other palmed at your tits, squeezing them and pinching the piercings on your nipples. He continued to lick up your neck, mumbling dirty talk into your ear. ‘Look how good he fucks you. Never seen Harrington so desperate. Can you feel his cock pushing me further up into you? I wonder whose babies you’ll have.’
Jonathan’s sweet voice was so filthy. You were becoming overstimulated, your body now engulfed in various forms of pleasure.
“Cum in me, p-p-lease, Steve,” you whined.
Steve grunted, still thrusting himself into you. He was more than happy to hear those words. “Gonna come with me, babe?”
You nodded, focusing on the tension building in your abdomen.
Jonathan’s fingers moved into a fist, putting pressure against your clit with his knuckles, “You gonna be a good girl and come for Steve? C’mon, love. Let us see that pretty face when you-”
He didn’t even have to finish his sentence as Steve’s cock brushed your g-spot once more, sending you over the edge and into a perpetual state of bliss as the rush of endorphins and dopamine hit you.
Your peripheral vision faded into a soft, dark vignette. Your orgasm caused your body to tense around Steve, forcing him to release himself into you as well, finally.
Both of you moaned in ecstasy, continuing to ride Jonathan’s fingers and Steve’s length through your orgasm. Your hole continued to grip onto Steve’s cock, milking him dry. You only started to slow once the warm vibrations left your body, easing you into reality.
You groaned loudly in overstimulation, Jonathan noting it was time to stop his movement against your clit.
As the pleasure dulled into a floaty sense of satisfaction, shame also quickly began to rise within your chest. You felt vulnerable once again, both men staring at you. Was this a mistake? Did you let the drinks get to your head? You weren’t drunk earlier, were you? Oh god, you wish you were. It’d be a better excuse for why you would let this happen. What if-
Steve saw the look in your eyes, gently pulling himself out of you with a grunt. “Hey, shhhh. It’s okay, sweetheart. You did so well,” he smiled, his voice soft. Loving.
Steve adjusted, pulling himself up towards the pillow on Jonathan’s bed, moving your body with him. He brought you to rest on his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight embrace.
“I know that was out of your comfort zone, but I am so damn proud of you for letting yourself indulge a bit. Thank you,” Steve mumbled into your hair, caressing your back.
You heard Jonathan shuffling around in one of his dressers, coming back hastily with some baby wipes. He gently lifted between your thighs, cleaning the sticky mess the three of you had created. His touch was also soft, making sure you felt cared for.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want one of my shirts to sleep in tonight, or you can take a shower if you want?” Jonathan blurted, wanting to do anything to aid your comfort.
“I’m fine, just tired,” you sighed, your body spent and growing sore now that the adrenaline was gone.
Steve nodded in agreement, continuing to hold you close to his chest. He pulled the blanket up and over your bodies to provide some warmth, pecking your forehead.
“It’s late, Byers,” he mumbled, gesturing with a nod for Jonathan to come join them in bed. “It’s okay if we sleep here, yeah?”
Jonathan nodded, crawling under the covers and into bed beside you both. His long arms reached around both you and Steve, embracing you in a warm cuddle. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, giving gentle kisses to your skin. You seemed more relaxed now, but Jonathan had to make sure you knew the truth.
“I told you, my only priority is to keep you safe. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you at the party, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you tonight. Not now not ever. Okay? This only brings us closer.”
You nodded, finding comfort in his reassurance. Jonathan was right. You did feel closer to both of them. Even closer to Nancy, who had allowed (and possibly planned) for all of this to happen. They truly did have your emotions in mind, not just their own pleasures. Maybe this way of trauma bonding isn’t too odd after all.
The weight of both their bodies helped in easing you into a deep sleep. Your head remained resting on Steve’s chest throughout the night. The subtle sound of Steve’s heavy breathing and strong heartbeat being the perfect white noise. Jonathan was continuing to spoon you, one arm wrapped around on top of your body, while the other rested underneath Steve’s weight.
- ˚✩ -
“Is that- no, that can’t be Steve Harrington? And... oh God, isn’t that Nancy’s best friend?!” Joyce whispered to herself, stunned by what she was seeing in her son's bed. The morning sun was just starting to peak through Jonathan’s curtains while the three of you remained unaware of any observers, deep in a peaceful sleep.
In an uncertain panic, Joyce knocked on the doorframe frantically.
Steve was the first to wake, slowly stirring and untangling himself from you and Jonathan. He stretched his arms and let out a loud yawn before reluctantly opening an eye to gain his bearings.
“Hmph… oh- OH MY FUCK!?!” he shouted, jerking the blanket up around his bare chest in a desperate attempt to cover himself.
You and Jonathan were now startled awake as well, quickly conscious of what was happening as a very puzzled Mrs. Byers was standing in Jonathan’s doorway. All three of you were still completely naked under the covers, or you’d have otherwise leapt out of bed and feigned ignorance - ‘just sleeping off some drinks. We didn’t want to drive to Forest Hills. Nothing more’ you would’ve told her, but it was a bit too late for such excuses.
“Mom! Get out!!!” Jonathan groaned, absolutely mortified. “I thought you were supposed to be in Chicago with-”
“There’s a snowstorm forecasted for tomorrow. We drove back early,” Joyce said flatly. “Do you always have… company over when we’re gone?”
Jonathan flopped back on his pillow, unable to handle this conversation while he was lying naked next to two people who most certainly weren’t his girlfriend. He didn’t feel like explaining their ‘unique group dynamic’ to his mother, of all people.
Your hand reached for Jonathan and Steve’s under the covers as Joyce finally mustered the courage to step inside the room. You had no doubt she had noted the pile of clothes on the floor, the lingering stench of sex still in the room, and the hickies that littered what skin was visible on your neck. Any plausible deniability was out the window at this point.
“Uh, hi, Mrs. Byers. You look nice today,” Steve smiled awkwardly. “How was the Windy City?”
You kicked Steve in the shin under the blanket to shut him up. His weak attempt at being charming wasn’t going to get you out of this mess.
Joyce simply sighed, “Jonathan, do I even want to know?”
“Probably not. Just know it’s not as bad as it looks. Nancy knows,” he blurted out quickly.
“I-” Joyce stopped, unsure of what to do with the additional information.
If there is one thing she has learned from her time living in Hawkins and experiencing the unexplainable daily, it is to accept the truth for what it is and move on.
“I am going to whip up some pancakes if you and your friends want breakfast.” Joyce finished.
“Gee, yeah, ‘pancakes’. Thanks, Mom. You can go now,” Jonathan encouraged, nodding in the direction of the door. “Like, right now, please!?”
Joyce nodded reluctantly, stepping out of the room and closing the door quietly behind her.
“Jesus Christ. I am so sorry about that. I had no idea they’d be back so early,” Jonathan groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in frustration. “I promise next time we do this, it’ll be under better circumstances.”
“Next time?” you asked.
“What, there’s gonna be a next time, right?” Steve huffed loudly, rolling over to face you both. “‘Cause there are a lot of positions I didn’t get to attempt last night.”
Jonathan chuckled, the tension from the earlier intrusion dissipating. “Yeah, love. You’ve always been our friend, but now you’re officially a part of the group. We have this kind of ‘fun’ on a regular basis…if you want, of course.”
You blushed, cuddling into both of them more, “Yeah. I think there will definitely be a next time.”
hot, hot days where the only thing you can do is lay on the hard wood floor of your apartment and close your eyes because even the couch is too much fabric for you to handle. and you can hear the click and flash of a camera from over you, where you groan, steve laughs, and jonathan says that it’s the best one he’s taken yet.
late nights with wine, sat at a wide open window where the breeze is a comfortable mix between warm and cool and there’s an arm around your waist and a head on your shoulder.
wandering around the city, sweating and shoulders on the verge of being sunburnt but laughing with each other anyway. you guys like to go to the park and sit in the shade (majority rules here because steve likes to sit in the sun). someone brings a deck of cards and you guys laugh and play bullshit, of which jonathan and steve have terrible poker faces for so you call them out every time.
"yeah, bullshit."
"i swear to god, i have four aces!"
"steve, how could you have four aces when i have two of them."
sitting on the concrete stoop outside of your guys' apartment and people watching. you like to make up little stories about the people passing by based off of their walk, their style, anything that catches your eye. jonathans started to get quite good at it, too.
with that, steve had picked up social smoking (again) from hanging around yours and jonathans friends so you guys tend to pass around a cigarette from time to time. steve likes to blow the smoke in your face and jonathan likes to press the cigarette to your lips for you.
dash 🍎⋆˚࿔ @honeycrispharrington - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
